To you;

I would sleep forever if it meant I could spend all my dreams with you.

Usually my dreams of you are nightmarish.
The flourescent lights, the cold steel, the rip from my body.
Over and over and over again,
an endless loop of what I won't will myself to forget.
And I'm told I weep through my sleep sometimes,
the surreal pain spilling into reality.
But last night I met you.
On the day I would have met you, you came to me in a dream.

I was wholly enamored the moment I saw you,
more real and perfect than anything I've yet imagined.
I willed myself to memorize every inch of your face,
I drank in your presence like a woman parched and broken.
And when I reached out to brush your cheek,
to finally know the feeling of your skin,
to finally know what I should know,
what I wish I did know,
you smiled at me.

And in an instant,
you were pulled away.
And I couldn't bare the emptiness of my body,
as if someone had stolen my purpose, my sense of direction.

A reminder of what I feel like in my waking days without you.

All Tangled Together;

 I am living in two worlds.

Firstly,
This is the ending of an era,
nine months stretched into an eternity now slipping like sand through my open hands.
And in moments of weakness and fits of self pity,
I can feel myself welcoming that day of finality,
to finally be free of the guilt that has hollowed me.


Secondly,
You have this way of quieting the mess in my head.
I don't feel the usual creeping emptiness along my skin when I'm with you,
the muted but pressing wish to dissolve into the sheets.
And I want this with a certainty I almost never experience.

I'm alive and breathing and I have people to love.
I feel like this should be enough for me.

In the midst of chaos;

Miles and miles of complete inaccessibility may be necessary to pull myself away from you.

Isn't it most heartbreaking to know you aren't what you're supposed to be?
I hadn't talked to you in weeks, in months. It could have been years for how it felt.
And on that cold night, you painted yourself as some wiser man,
a vine climbing toward the light, out of immense shadow.
And the lies I told back could hardly hold themselves together because I've really been drained and hollowed by the things I once thought I was missing.

More than anything,I crave the days of summer, when every second and minute and day falls effortlessly together.
When you're lying on the grass and you realize that essay you did or didn't do,
that week your parents took your phone away,
that boy that made you cry,
all of the things that feel so heavy and threatening in the winter
is only ice thawed away by summer's gentle heat.

I want to become a new person in a place where the summer is eternal,
where winter can't reach me.



As always, here's some pictures for you.
Only I've added some of my favorite quotes from my favorite poems.
How exciting.

There’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I'm too tough for him.

I say, stay in there, I'm not going

to let anybody see

you.

-Charles Bukowski

By a mad miracle, I go intact. 

-Sylvia Plath

i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying, Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

-e.e. cummings

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.

- e.e. cummings

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul. 

-Pablo Neruda

It isn't for water that I thirst,
I am unable to name that
For which
I do thirst
And am therefore
Forced to quench
The only thirst I know.

-K. Prospect

 

 

Hopeless and tongue-tied, yet I loved you dearly

with pangs the jealous and the timid know

-Alexander Pushkin

 

 

Vulnerable.

This week shouldn't have existed.

I suppose I miss the devilish realization that there is someone out there that wants you and cannot wait patiently to have you.
And I don't mean this only intimately, but a craving for your being, your presence.   
But I know myself too well. If I had that now, I'd still feel empty.
I'd still feel hollow in the dim light, clothes strewn across the floor, his fingers twirling my hair like creamer in black coffee.
And every inch of my skin would be saturated with reticence, every nerve burning with the urge to run, run, run.
I ruin all good things.

If they were ever good in the first place. 


But enough rambling, here's a poem that has been a favorite of mine for years now.
And some hipstery pictures, of course.

Separation

Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle
Everything I do is stitched with it's color
-W.S. Merwin

I think everyone can relate to that in their own way.

Hello, old friend.

For some reason my thoughts, sober or otherwise, always return to you.
Lately I’ve felt I’m chasing after the unattainable.
I accumulate and accumulate and never feel fulfilled, never satisfied.
It’s frightening to be aware of what you’re lacking but be completely helpless to occupy that internal void.
It’s as if I’m struggling for oxygen in an airless room.
There’s a mask in the corner that will replenish me but only at the expense of all else.
And so I struggle on, searching for other means of endurance.
And as fruitless as my attempts surely are, I must persevere, for what other option is left?

I don't swallow my words, no, I swallow whole sentences.
I'll never let you know how deeply wounded I was left.

Happy New Year?

2011, you feel no different.
Maybe even worse.
It's interesting the way intoxicants bring out the worst in everyone and everything. New Years was completely saturated in them.
And the way alcohol tugs at the very things you've buried,
and how easily they resurface.

I only want to conquer myself.

But I found my old notebook of poetry.
And I suppose this isn't really a poem, just rambling.
Written 3 years ago.

Fragility is an acquired taste; (I was 14, so this title is excusable)

Ah, I see you around here too often these days
Filling your mouth with cold coffee, black
like the smoke from your cigarettes
polluting lost lungs
You always tried to be this fragile thing
broken and dead to the world
But I felt the warmth of those fingers,
the beat in your chest as I rested my head
And the dreams you whispered in your sleep,
they were enough to lift the deepest black.