wake up

i have no words to write today.
hands have closed around my neck, and i haven't got a care.
i'm in a better place now.

i want to cry because of the sleepless nights and lucid dreams and cheap motels that await me.
i want to cry because i'm no longer drowning.
i want to cry of wanderlust and ecstasy and illumination.
i want to cry because of paris and evan and summer.

it's like i'm waking up from a good night's sleep.

various shades of white

i am convinced that the world around us is formed of several layers of reality.

one of them is solely built of lies.

every day we all add a brick to the wall

'dinner was delicious.'

'you look great in that dress.'

'yes, that felt good.'

'it's okay.'

'yes, i'm happy.'
'of course i love you.'

soon, the walls around myself will become a home.

it'll be the prettiest home, the bricks will be various shades of white.

see how lovely everything becomes when you coat it with lies?

it doesn't matter that who gets trapped inside

everyone outside wins, everyone outside is satisfied.

'what a lovely home you've built.'

for the birds

a few heartbeats ago, i could have never imagined being who i am today.

i was a broken little girl.

i poured salty tears into wounds that couldn't seem to heal.

it's funny how a person can grow, grow, grow.

it must be all the rain.

it has been raining every day since may turned to june.

and i can't imagine being in a better place.

dear friend, open your window and take the deepest breath

promise me that today, you are going to stop pretending to be someone you're not

instead, you are going to let your soul roam free 

'till it comes home heaving under the weight of the beautiful sights that it has seen. 

 

fourteen hours

i'm alive.
i'm breathing air.
i ride a bicycle absolutely everywhere.
every week, i get chinese takeout in a crumbling alley off somerset.
i wake on a sunday morning, i make coffee, and i'm out the door.
i'm alive. i'm alive.
in the evenings i spend time in the arboretum
where i fill my lungs with haze and close my eyes and-
i'm conscious. i'm aware. i've got both feet on the ground.

a work of art

i no longer wish to create any form of art.
not after what i saw.

why would you want to mar the beauty of your mind's own creation
by materializing it within the barriers of the 'real' world?
you must understand that you are the work of art.
the work of art is really the inside of your head.

and what kind of witchcraft is this?
what could make the human brain, so proper and structured,
explode into a million of galaxies
offering you an unobstructed view
of a parallel world, just like this one,
but amplified. perfected. uncensored.

é l i s e

they took you away from me, once

to a place where only placid safety exists

and you cried and held my hand

and i remember saying i will not cry. i will not cry for her. 

i remember telling you that sometimes

i prayed to god. and sometimes it worked.

in the night, on the rooftop, 

but smoke curled around us like a blanket.

and you thought it was alright.

sister, soul-mate, best friend.

you are a treasure.

you are a kind, kind creature. 

you are an angel. 

and if i had to offer you a part of me - 

you would deserve every speck of light left in my tar-black lungs.

you would deserve the softness left on my fingers

the tenderness left in my soul when all is said and done.

you would deserve every bit of goodness 

a drifter like me could offer.

but you deserve so much more than my love. 

i want nothing more than to keep you safe.

and if you ever need someone to kiss your cheeks when they fill with oceans

or to keep you warm in the winter of your mind-

call on me. 

growing pains

i'm trying so hard not to consume you.
i met you and you were a free;
and i was trying to be free too.
i thought i knew how to love before
but i did not, and i'm learning every day-
you are not mine and i am not yours
and the moment there is any hint of possession
you must run as fast as you can from me.