when I close my eyes…

it get easier to imagine him there—

holding my hand,

touching the creases in my skin,

filling the spaces between my fingers

and kissing my love.

may I never stop remembering

how his smile touched my skin,

planted seeds within

and watered my love for him.

he lives rent free

in the spaces

he left empty.

To get away from the pouring rain, with leaking coats and squishy shoes, you two bolted inside laughing after tripping over the stairs.

You tiptoed at the door, rubbing your hands together for some heat as he rushed to turn the lights on. To keep you from freezing, he fetched you a towel, straight from the dryer.

“Towel?” As he extended his arm to you.

“Please.”

Your shuddery tremble could shake the water beads off the leaves. Still dripping over the kitchen floor, he offered to remove your sweater before offering to hug you warm. The fluffy towel smelled like ambers and lilies of the valley in a room already dispersing what seemed like cinnamon and vanilla. All the scents sounded too heavy, but they made you feel right at home.

You enjoyed the quiet hug for a while, that was until he breathed against your neck and buried his face in your hair. The tulip was opening and the urges slept on his lips — those beautiful, red lips. The sensations were explosive, melting into each other. You two had agreed to keep the urges to a minimum, but when your hearts found bliss, colliding souls with just one kiss as it poured outside, it was a promise you had to forget.

Here lie

The raw,

unpolished,

& mostly

disjointed

pieces of

my soul

my mind isn't just a place

it's a safe house

well for me that is

as for people

it's often misunderstood

a place of so many questions

feels like a maze

seems like wonderland

not the good kind

where Alice finds herself

but where Alice is lost in time

time that doesn't really move

to me it's a piece of my soul

The dark twisted part

the part that constantly blurs my ability to believe

hope

feel like "normal" people

eye don't see like normal people

i don't feel like normal people

what is normal anyway

at least it's a question I've been asking my whole life

eye know I'm not

At least because of the way "people" describe it

but what do people know

people don't even understand themselves

I don't either

Doesn't that make me "normal"

because although I don't share positive qualities

I share the negatives

negatives are still okay

Right?

the gift to see thru another soul

to understand a person's pain

it amplifies mine tho

gives me more to write about

at least try to right them out

I am not perfect

But "no one is"

it's what _they_ say

but I think those with crooked smiles and slightly different words to speak of are the most perfect of them all

why label a person's sanity because of the words they spit

I think the words you spit are far worse

For you not want to understand more than you know

So your ignorance and shallowness tries to degrade another

if it were to be up to me "insanity" wouldn't be a thing

wouldn't have meaning like we do other words like "weird" and "imperfect"

We kill people

like we aren't already dead on the inside

I look into mirrors

I search for things I don't even see in myself

I look into mirrors

And hope that I'm looking at my "self"

Who am I really

Do I exist even

What am I, maybe?

See I lost that power

My sense of knowing (what or who am I?)

I'm split in two like that crack

Or am I, that crack...

Am I that flaw in something so perfect

a world so "perfect"

A flaw that can't be fixed

A flaw so powerful to question one's "self"

A split in two (into) personalities

..I AM or..AM I?

let me bleed on this paper

let my pen move as reckless

as you have

tear stains on my cheeks

heart slowly cringing

I'm on my last straw

let's hope this pen and paper

redeems me

washes off this pain

washes off this anger

cleanses my mind

cleanses my soul

it's a haze up in there

stroking my pen furiously

across this blank paper

I can't stop

I can't stop

Please don't let me stop

this pen and paper has to save me

this paper has to understand my thoughts

this pen has to feel the wrath

of my hands

Oh God let this pen and paper save me

It's all I have left

hate me like you mean it

and don't ever come back

to the place you never

wanted to be in

to the place you never

wanted to mean things

so hate me like you mean it

and never look back

as tender a age

i learned that

some hands

weren't made to love

scared of hands

that touched my body

more than it did my heart

“I love you’s” became frequencies

of ‘don't tells’

external bruises

became internal ones

body shivers at the sound

of your footsteps

late night

on the kitchen floor….

at a experimental age

i felt penetration

without love

i felt hands

without purpose

i felt hands

that never loved me

more than

I felt love

it was too early

i knew it was too early

there was blood

on a blade

on the floor

in my eyes

in my mind

with a few pills scattered

I wanted to go

I wanted to leave

I wanted to be free..

at the brink of a new age

I felt a soul growing

Inside me

A soul of innocence

A soul of love

it was the only good thing

that came off

pretend love

still scared to move forward

I lost you too

every august is the worst for me

because of

you..

at a stage of feeling redemption

I watched a man

watch me say no

fight no

a man who's hand

I wanted to hold before

I could let touch me

but he watched me cry rivers

pinned under his strength

it burned

I begged…

At this age…

I feel everything all at once.

-s.w