confoos

There may be some songs that I can never get back
but I can rewrite them because sometimes
the keys beneath your fingers glide just as smooth
and the hum in the back of your throat simply croaks instead.

But walking away I notice that my bare feet feel better walking on the grass
than walking on the sidewalk and I also know that I don't know
many other people that like to walk barefoot at all
but I know why I love it and that is why I love myself.

Even though I don't know what color it is, I know that I glow
because when I walk I can see it in people's eyes
and the shift is so specific that realistically I could be delusional
but if I am, then why does everyone still want something from me?

senseless

I wish I could clear your pain as easily as
I wash away the sand on my feet after a day at the ocean

but lately it seems as if we are constantly swept by the waves,
tumbling through the saline and spray
but only gasping for bits of air
obtaining just enough oxygen to survive,
lungs filled with water
but never enough to make us numb.

but maybe
instead of a lifeboat that I am actually
the current
and you are helpless lost in the middle of sea
and I'm sorry I can't save you
I'm sorry

It is one of my most distinct childhood memories
that I only remembered yesterday after forgetting for a long time.

I remember the heartbreak and choking on air
hiding in my mother's arms and sobbing
from truly understanding the reality of pain on this planet.

living in my flower

I've been living in this flower
and it feels like home.
Gold dust sticks to the wrinkles on the bottom of my feet
but never tickles my nose enough to make me sneeze,
only enough to make me feel something.

Living here is beautiful and whenever I think differently
I am quick to be corrected because who wouldn't want this?
My walls are perfect petals, long and smooth with
perfectly spaced nourishing lines forming a path
leading me to the sky.

I lean into the walls and even though they don't move
they are still soft.
I quickly forget why I was leaning into them in the first place - a cycle.
Light leaks through lapping lines and long lengths of lace
I can't remember wanting to get out of here.

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.