I find myself here again
head in heads
starring at the emptiness behind closed eyes.
The world around me falls silent to the storm thundering inside.

Why am I here again?
Feeling so helpless, drained
with 24 hours in the day I devote 23 to everyone else.
To anyone who needs me
to everyone who needs me.
Everyone does not include myself,

I seek solace in between heartbeats and sighs.
I gather myself in dark corners,
moments alone as someone looks away.
I force my voice up to a chipper tone,
and cement a smile on my face.
I remind myself that this is not the end,
an ironic thought that should be comforting,
but makes my soul weary,

Here I am again
head in hands
stapling my will back into place
like a worn pack of papers, thumbed through too often, too harshly.
A whisper of a sigh
hold it together again
the day marches on,
and so to must I.

I knew when you thought of me
I felt it like a whisper

I didn't forget your presence
But I locked the feeling of butterflies away

Like book marked love poems
And songs that make me think of you

Buried in a cardboard box
With all the loves I ever lost.

Marijuana kisses stolen in the front seat
Lips curved into smiles
Fingers curled against your chest
Butterflies in a frenzy
Fogged windows
Gasping breaths
High off the moment
And lingering in it with you.

In a world
with never ending possibilities
we were inevitable.

It's getting bad again.
That, Summer time
restless melancholy *******.
That, I want to crawl out of my skin,
drive into forever sunsets,
need my music so loud my ears ring.
That, frustrated with the mundane,
trying to stir up chaos,
wanting to be anywhere else
wanting to be anyone else.
That, feeling that suffocates me,
keeps me up at night
staring at stars,
at the clouded night sky,
staring into streetlights
until tears burn my eyes.
It's getting bad again
and I can't ******* stand it.

I am an open book,
but I do not lay splayed wide
with ink spilling off my pages.  
I wait for careful hands
to read between the lines
and dive into my story.

Wisps of ethereal touch,
sent down a wave length we share.
Slipping between carefully crafted tendrils
of silver spun words in the air.
A shiver slithers down to my core.
You're whips and feathers,
petals and thorns.
Your greatest weapon of all,
is that you leave me wanting more.
The way you leave me gasping
is something of a dream.
The sting of bitten lips,
desire undoing me at the seams.
Melted sugar drips from your tongue,
in sweet temptation of honey laced promises.
And I could drown in how intoxicated you leave me feeling.
Drunk off words that get me high.
A broken cadence of breath as heat unravels inside,
melting candy coated desire
that leaves a slippery trail.
When I ache to be devoured
my anxiety will fail...

I kept the obituary pinned to the top of my social media for a year
A white flag unto the masses
“I surrender, I can't take anymore”
Because eventually the sympathy stops pouring in (thank god)
But in its absence is a feeling that you are meant to stop grieving also
Like if it didn't happen recently
If their death isn't fresh
If the soil of their burial is not still damp from being upturned
It’s not supposed to hurt anymore
But how do you reconcile that your world stopped and restarted in the span of time that they took their last breath?
How do you make amends with who you were before
and who you are after.
So what if my person died 6 months ago
or 10 years ago
Should it not hurt the same?
If you break a bone
it feels different for the rest of your life
Aches in the cold and the rain
If your heart breaks is it not the same?
Songs, smells, places, pictures
Should the grieving have to pin white flags of surrender to their breast in hopes the world will be a little kinder?

I don't think I know what happiness is.
Or at least I haven't felt it in years.
I used to be illuminated from the inside,
positivity simply bubbling out of me,
like sunshine you could feel when I smiled.
But now all I feel is temporary relief.
A lull from the constant marathon in my mind.

It is not happiness
It's just not anxiety
It's not happiness
It's just not anger
It's not happiness
It's just not grief
It is numbness
With fractured fragments of feeling.

And in those moments I feel too much.
Tension that fills me from cascading waterfalls I'm helpless to dam,
and I wish I could find the girl in me who felt like sunshine during a summer rain.
Slightly magical,
full of whimsy,
and relishing in being beautifully out of place.

But she stopped dancing a long time ago.
Lying in concrete puddles,
soaking up the cold,
I'm not even sure she feels it anymore.
I'm not sure she feels anything anymore.