10 years

The word grief is too small
to embody the woes that flow
out of my fingernails as
my hands grab and dig
into my pillowcase while I scream
but I know you can't hear me.

I don't even know if you're there
and that's what hurts me
because what has kept me going
is knowing that you were still becoming
something
even though you left us.

That somewhere in Heaven or whatever it is,
you're bowling with your friends.
and I know you're probably cooking a lot
and I'm so sorry I can't be there to help
but I hope I get to eat with you again some day.
Holding hands to pray isn't as irritating now..

But what hurts is I think maybe
you would want to be here
which is why not knowing if you're still there
is so scary because
if you're gone and like, really gone...
what do I do?

Knowing you was knowing you forever.
Everything about you was perfect
and all of us needed you.
And I'm sorry if it didn't seem so at the time
because really I was still so young,
just always looking forward to what came next.

More thoughts

Anger is the only reaction I've ever known in these situations

which is why this feels odd because the truth is all I have is love

I used to hate myself

The feeling is still familiar, 
like a blanket from the same childhood home that created this trauma you struggle with in the first place.
I know myself and my destructive habits 
but these parts of myself do not feel like their origins are within me, so where do they come from?

There are days when it feels as if I've never left home,
That this world is a tiny cottage surrounded by trees that prevent me from seeing through them,
Woods so dense that my scream are inaudible, but the forest is filled with life that I can't touch.
It's not that I'm afraid of a life on my own, but that I don't know where a life on my own would begin.

Like eating the same meal everyday for years, but what else could you eat?
Instead of tasting unfamiliar flavors, you just don't eat at all.
Lack of nourishment does not seem like such an issue in a body that isn't your own--
A body that disappoints you in the mirror, that you've accepted but still refuse to love.

And the thoughts that are yours don't feel like your own, but instead those of a character that you relate to,
But do not always admire or understand.
Yes, her and I share passions, but is the way that we act on them the same?
Is my indifference to my ending something of concern? or just a phase because what the fuck is happening to me right now...

Sometimes I do wish that I could run away from everyone I know,
Because when I think of a life of my own, it seems impossible with others.
But would it really be a life of my own if I ran away from the things that do make me feel like myself?
The sweetness of a life of solitude is all-too-tempting.

From what I've learned, selfishness has always meant failure.
But to rip away these restraints would require hurting the ones I love.
A scale that will never be balanced, even moving the grains of sand one. by. one..
Walking a tightrope attached to neither an end nor a beginning, so what's the point of walking?

And the solution to these things seems so simple,
If only I had my own room to lock myself up in, where I can break out of this tiny cottage.
Because in my own room I could be anything, I could leave this world.
For hours, I could finally take the time to acquaint myself with me.

Accepting my existence is simple. Loving my truth is not.
For 22 years, I have insisted on pouring myself into others, but now I am dry.
To recollect all I have given would truly be impossible. Creating something from nothing defies the laws of nature.
Removing reality from my life seems to be the answer, so I'm sorry if I disappoint you.

When friends was the first thought
of how things were between you and me
I just remember how good it felt
to have you
for a friend
And yeah of course I still feel it too
Because how can I look at you
and not
kiss you
But when friends was everything
        That was really something
Because the pieces of my soul don't require definition
They just need to feel complete
The things made of love don't have names
because there isn't one so adequate

Palm Trees

How I love these palms
that for years of my life
felt so distant.
Even with an abundance at my fingertips
here in this tiny beach town,
upon reflection, it dawns
I seldom touch them.
I only admire their gleaming wispiness,
soft in the thick, warm air.

Oddly enough, when the palms fall to the ground
I find them less appealing
even though they are really the same.

But Golden Hour palms sway alone,
The sun sees her reflection with a tint of life
And the word happy receives a visual definition.

Welcome to the tropics
where neon is a neutral
and vibrancy is the natural state of being.
The summery air squeezes your heart
and despite being in a place meant for holiday
a small piece of it feels like home.