I Will Never Stop Searching

My heart yearns for you
Aching with the solemnity
Of loneliness
As my fingers reach out to caress
Your soft frame
Yet all I can feel
Are the empty sheets
And dusty pillow
On the side of the bed
Where you used to lay
And I can’t help but wonder
If my hands will ever stop
Searching for you
But I have yet to discover
Whether that is either
A blessing or a
Curse

Scattered

Scattered
As if every thought
Every stream of consciousness
Is to no avail
And I know not who I am
I have only ever learned
To examine myself in pieces
Lost fragments of time and space
That do not quite match up anymore
But my puzzle is beyond scattered
So far lost and broken
That to start anew
Would be much more sensible
Than to search for myself
In the nooks and crannies
Of this mundane world
Straining to see
The distant pops of color
That might still be lingering
Somewhere within
The soiled depths of my mind

Still Standing

Don’t cry for me
I cry enough for myself every day
And the tears I shed
Burn like acid as they
Stream down my cheeks
But my heart still beats
And my lungs still breathe
And I am still standing

She

She is solid
an unmoving river that has coincidentally
washed all my sorrows away.
And if it were not for her
I don’t know if I would have
both my legs to stand on
or both my lungs to breathe
as they beat in my chest
reminding me that I am still alive.

And I’m alive.
That’s the miracle of it all
that reminds me to be grateful
everyday
when I get out of bed each morning.
I’m still here
with both my hands and my heart
and my sickly brain
And she is the only reason I breathe
she is the only obstacle.

 

Now and Then

We used to paint our fingernails
But now we paint on smiles
Hiding in our every wake
Down the lonely aisle

Loving you

My heart has swelled
to the size of an ocean,
and all I can do
is blame you.

This is not about you

This is not about you.
This is not about about all those times you made me feel worthless and pathetic or how you spat my own name in my face like a curse.
This is not about how your betrayal ripped a giant gaping hole in my heart that I have not yet even begun to patch up. I can only keep ripping off the bandaid to remind myself of what it feels like to hurt.
And this is not about how your name will forever feel like acid on my tongue, burning the back of my throat as I try to smother the urge to scream it out into the night.

This is not about you.
This is about me.
This is about all the hurt and torment I have endured as I passively watched you set me on fire. This is about my struggle to love myself to fill the hole that you made, as you left me to fend for myself like a lonely and wounded animal.
This about how I will rise high above the flames and spread my hatred like wildfire, so that maybe one day, it might reach you.
This is about how I hope neither heaven nor hell will take you, for you would surely be a disappointment to both.

So, no. This is not about you.
This is about me,
like it always has been.