“She couldn’t close her eyes”
With such an array of colors,
and so many different sizes,
it was impossible to choose only one.
Grabbing at least six off the shelves, she inspected them closely,
trying to find the one she would love.
Each one unique in its own special way,
each with its own fatal flaws,
she searched and searched to find the right book,
That would ease her curious mind.
And when she finally found it—just the right story,
The one hidden under a blanket of dust,
this girl brought it back home,
giving it a different kind of warmth—the kind brought about only by desire.
And as she entered this story,
her wonder grew large as the story traversed her mind,
And the sky grew dark,
but she kept on reading,
Because she couldn’t put it down—
She refused to close her eyes.
Masquerade
Everyone hides behind a mask of accomplishments. They use this starry-eyed version of themselves like a bandaid to cover up the gloom—to make sure it never shows through. They tuck their failures deep inside, right next to their insecurities, hoping that it will stop the heartache if pushed deep enough into the center, packed so tightly together that it looses all hope of escaping. This mask is worn so often that sometimes even the wearer forgets the masquerade he takes part in. With a silver tongue and a heart full of helium, nobody ever notices the seams, and the only time their real face is shown to the world is when it is paired with a eulogy.
What it’s like to have Anxiety
My mind is like a room.
four walls, no windows, a single light
Thoughts written onto the plaster
ever-moving, ever-changing,
Written in unimaginable shades from
bitter warmth to exuberant sorrow
flying around these singed barriers
too fast to catch...
too fast to understand.
The remnants of the inferno known as
memories
will never go away,
Always showing through the
new coats of paint
The darkness ever eminent
through the lighter colors I
try to hide them behind,
They always poke through
eventually.
Trying to redecorate will never
be easy. It seems
there will never be any outlets
for a lamp, and all the couches
turn to stone.
Comfort is a luxury
my brain will never accept.
And yet I try to rebuild,
always a toolbox by my side
...maybe soon I can build a window
and let others see into
my obscurity.
To the Basement
Oh the things I have seen that pass
my mortar.
Oh the stories I could tell!
from laughter to tears throughout
my years,
for some they have been tough!
Many new beginnings have sprouted between my walls,
such dandelions they have been...
Oh the stories I could tell.
the growth intertwined with worries
that sat upon my floorboards
the drooping yellow thats’ stem has tilted with time.
Oh the stories I could tell...
the laughter, the tears,
I have seen it all.
Pain and pestilence, poured from flesh,
brought out by good intentions and great lies
...oh the things I have seen
One Million
Love is easy to feel yet hard to understand. It is easy to hold in your heart, yet hard to push through your teeth.
...bone is hard to push through.
Instead,
Say it with your arms every time you hold her close.
Say it with your lips every time you kiss her.
Say it with your breath every time you laugh with her.
Love can even be said without using the word Love itself.
Instead say, how are you feeling?
Instead say, you are always so beautiful.
Instead say, you are brilliant.
There are 1,000,000 ways to say I love you.
Only one of them is hard.