Leaf, one of us, on our own,
Seeking for the pure truth in the horizon,
Drifting in the vast ocean,
They said the world is round,
I believe those mortals,
For they believe mocking death.
I see the light, do you?
If darkness ever dares to steal your soul,
You have my ripples to navigate you.
I am just a leaf, on my journey.
Tracking every sunset, now and then,
Blades of my leaf feel weary.
Oh dear friend, I am in search of you,
If I ever cross path with your ripples,
I’ll own you to be my one and only.
I look like a miniature boat, made out of frail veins,
Maybe you can take a ride on me someday.
For it is strong enough to embrace you.
You will see whales and seagulls,
Creatures you only dreamt of.
Live the journey with me, my friend,
I shall not let you drown, I promise.
I will only captivate you with the art of this world,
Stories of our forefathers,
The endless love from the creator for his creations.
Come; relish this journey to the horizon!

In the end,
Who tells me who I am?
he tells me that it's him,
and she tells me that it's her.
And this entitlement is surely not universal.

We must decide ourselves.
Horrifically.
But how can I possibly be blind to all of this noise?
When the streets are filled with final blueprints
Of how my life will play out?

For all of us
The words placed upon us slither around our arteries
And up to our brains.
They insert venom into the soul gleefully.
And the poison is ubiquitous.
It's terribly malicious.
Because we must decide.
Who speaks fact
and who fiction.

In the end,
I must decide who I am.
I must dig into my heart with a rusty shovel and push.
My only wish
is that I don't hate what emerges from this abyss.

you. are it
you. are her
you are my bit of serendipity.
you are my pleasant surprise.
you are it. you make it ok. with you i can bare it. you make me ok.
my bit of serendipity, my fortunate happenstance.
you, you and only you.
call it what you will?
call me what you will?
an addict, a druggie, your druggie.
my bit of serendipity you are it.
my bit, my aftermath, my something.
yes you are something.
my different.
you. me. serendipitous. i see it. do you?
my something. my black and white. my grey at 3am, my fucken lucid dream.
you, mine? no? ok.  you, me ? us ? no ? someday. my blue moon? my black and white? my grey my black and blue?
my bruise? i am bruised ? Its hidden? like you and i? yes? it is hidden. like my love for you? Unrequited. yes that's true. we're done? i'm done i'll be back someday.
and i will be.
Your bit of serendipity.

I am but a slave to you.
Motionless.
You remain.
And I cannot fathom
Why I cannot fathom.
Why I cannot break free from these shackles
I've been unwillingly volunteered to wear.

You are my coffee date.
And why I'm always sleeping late.
You cast paleness into every inch of me,
And darkness upon any possible casualty.

I can't wrap my head around the fog.
Why have I been given so much,
Just to regard it all as gathering dust?
Is this a reminder of my fragility?
Or a framed portrait of my futility?

I am just so terribly afraid
Of what may happen if I drop.
Because the glue does not always repair
The arbitrary shattering
Of what I had hoped would be there.

Anxiety is not a feeling
As some of you may believe
You wouldn't be alone
Because plenty of people place it in the same category as
Sad, angry, elated
But one of these things is not like the others.

You see, anxiety is everything and nothing
All at the same time.
Anxiety is when no matter how spacious the room is
It seems to be getting smaller
Until you can see every intricate detail on every wall
Each corner touches your skin
And flattens your chest
As it rises and falls
Your breath is getting short until it stops
And then you become as functional as a corpse
After all, isn't that what you are?

Anxiety is
When your love stands over top of you
Watching your diaphragm as it rapidly pulsates
Wishing he could hold your hands as they sweat profusely
Wanting to breathe life into your convulsing body
But instead, he cannot even grasp the concept
Of why you are not alright.

Anxiety is
Accepting that your reality is not truly real at all
And deciding to realize that people wish they could fix you
But understanding that they don't know what to do
And you don't either.

Anxiety is
Learning from all the
You're blowing things out of proportion's
And
You put to much pressure on yourself's
When you begin to have these panic attacks
In which you feel like death in imminent
Over trivial things.

Anxiety is
Being with people who love you
And still getting bursts of loneliness
That ignite and explode inside your pores and underneath your skin
The blood flowing silently through your veins reminds you
That you are all alone.

Anxiety is
Relating each and every thing you do
To how you are not adequate
And how you must take charge of everything.
It influences the things that tell you
"Make yourself throw up"
And
"Skip that meal today."
Most times, you shoe it away with every particle of strength that you have
Other times, you are not so lucky.

Anxiety is hard to personify
But it is.
And as I muster up the courage in my soul
And the hope in my being
I realize that those things need not be stored
Because I use them every day as I fight this battle.
We are all waging wars
Mine just happens to be against
This thing that is so intricately woven into the chemistry of who I am.
It is a part of me
But it is not all of me
And my voice is louder than this sickness.

Hello.
Really have you cared?
Spare it.
I'm waiting for my real conversation.
For my real moment to connect.
Because I haven't ever.
I haven't ever felt that,
that sweet euphoria of intimacy. Of
enlarged pupils.
And apathy towards sweat.
And birthmarks.
And gaps in teeth.
And oversized guts.

I have told you
That love is the first of the emotions,
And the last.
Whatever lies in between,
Is a fatal confusion.
It fills the space.
And whatever that means to you,
is.
And that's okay.
Because
We cannot be told what it is.
We must fight.
And we must bleed.
And we must lose sleep.

For the last, most true level of enchantment
is enlightenment.
Enlightenment is finding this love.
It's scratching and
it's clawing and
it's kissing and
it's miserable and
it's the best thing you'll ever know.

And if you don't know,
you will.

So despite all of my hollow hellos,
and yours,
You are not devoid.
You are just scratching.
You are just clawing.
You are just kissing.
You are just enduring the misery.
Because you are here.
And you will.