I close both sides
of heaven and hell
noctournal persuasion
held within
dust leaves
walking shadows
casting souls
to find another

I was born free
and I’ll die me.
This ain’t my society
it’s just a phase.

There ain’t
no one
who died
for my freedom
cause my freedom
came free.

My government
tried to put
chains on
people who
they were
preying on
those who
were barely
hanging on
so for them
here is my
truth song

From the womb
to the dirt plot
they want to take
what we got
but those things
do not define
you or me;

And their taxes
and their prisons
and their religions
want to confine
my already free mind

But I was born free
and I’ll die me.
This ain’t my society.
it’s just a phase.

to do today
or leave till tomorrow -
a simple thought
that only requires
my procrastination.

a sigh of tiredness
hoping that it could
only be done
on a day that's
not today.

a wish of regret,
coming on the last minute
of when something
could have been done
before.

a mere idea
to be deepened over time
after quite a while
when i did it
not today.

having so many
questions, questions, and more
that will be
answered
never.

then
i think to myself,
i can do it today
[ but i can also do it
not today. ]

I sit often in my bed,
wishing for inspiration to melt its way from my heart
into my fingertips
which click against the keys on this machine
to form words that get jumbled in my brain,
that I may untangle their knots
and loosen their grip
just enough that the ache in my forehead subsides,
and the weight on my chest is lifted even a little.
Most of the time,
whatever reactions are supposed to happen in me,
whatever connections are supposed to form
don’t,
and I continue to ache until the numbness sets in.

I handle emotions alone.
I don’t seek attention.
I don’t want the weakness.
I don’t reach out,
because I got sick of the sting
of each slap that shouldn’t have surprised me.
I love being alone;
In fact, I crave it,
but I miss the social sense of belonging that used to balance me out.
I want to grasp a hand that is stretched out to me
for a change,
but the air is always empty.

Even as I type this
I am running out of words that explicate
the cause of the dyspnea that overwhelms me
at abrupt, random moments,
and my ability to form lucid, complete thoughts
is lost.

How do you wipe a wound that isn’t even bleeding?
How do you heal a bone that isn’t even broken?
How to you fix a muscle that isn’t even torn?

I am not fragmented.
I am not cracked.
I am not damaged,
yet something in me is still leaking,
seeking something more.

I am not standing in the darkness;
I am just waiting for this sun to shed light
on a soul that knows
when to reach out
and when to let me be.

Please do not call yourself a rebound.
A rebound is a disgusting sound that screams out after a breakup,
It’s a call for attention to the heartbreak.
You were not that.
You were the first full breath of fresh air after running a marathon.
You were a resurrection, an awakening.
Yes, I was fragile.
Yes, I was vulnerable.
But you did not take advantage of me.
Your touch didn’t take me from my body,
It grounded me.
Your mouth did not shrink me down,
It allowed the confidence to bloom inside of me.
With you,
I saw my five foot frame grow to heights I never imagined reaching.
With you,
I was not a hollowed out shell of a love that used to exist.
With you,
I was a human who owned their body,
Who could fight wars with her words,
Who could live forever.
So, please, do not call yourself a rebound,
Because a rebound does not bring comfort,
A rebound does not bring light,
A rebound does not bring growth,
But you,
You do.