Another chance to get our high from the powdered dust of dreams, from digging desperately, getting closer to the voice of the demons we buried just yesterday, breaking nails and curfews to save the skins we can’t live without.
Another chance at making a home, choosing colors for our ceilings, choosing the sides we will sleep on, choosing not to be the ones we have always been. Another chance, another precious child to be broken, another angel dress to be painted red waiting for our hands, for our tasteless kiss. Choosing everything that leads us to lives that couldn’t possibly have been ours, couldn’t have been so wrong.
I know we are the only ones who can give each other chances. Chances – that we are so fond of. But do we need to call it love?
Though we have tried and tried and have run out of things that can be fixed. Do we have to call this happiness just because we have been told we must?
Do we have to ruin every word, every feeling that we have not felt yet, just because we fear we may never feel them otherwise.
I find myself trapped between forgiveness and frustration.
How often have I said that I want to be your strength. How easy it was to say it when I didn’t really know you or me.
But now when your breaking and my sadness is of your making I am fumbling for better words-
words that can show my heart that aches for you and because of you,
words that don’t forget or diminish your own hurt while talking about the parts of me that are finally dying after loving you for so long,
words that show my hatred for my brittle self, for my heart that is not big enough for real pain or real forgiveness.
Now I don’t know to talk about saving you, about loving you in spite of the demon you warned me about, the part of you that is stronger than me and you, together or apart.
As I kiss you I hear the other part of you digging playgrounds in rain, erasing you furiously from your skin, coloring each bruise with paint of happiness, clawing me, scaring me, making me scared for you.
As I kiss you I want to stand with you in your nightmare I want you to have someone beside you for once. As I kiss you I want to run far away from your world and forget this love.
“warm” this word has become cold sitting at the base of my throat my throat burns and my everything else? my everything else -my pretty flesh and my ugly insides- who want me to be there and at the same want me gone. i guess they want me to change. this is my new low where my organs are my imaginary friends the only ones Ican talk to, the only ones who need me, the only ones I can disappoint, my new friends who are learning the weariness of living for me. I ask around for a lover who has a love for knives and tolerance for madness of all kinds. I hear a hundred thousand sighs in me when the new replacement of romance appears, asks me my name and digs his sharp canine teeth on the last bits of my happiness as a hello. The hundred folded cranes look more like ravens and the one who promises me an end is now my only hope. Now things are easy now that I can’t hear myself breaking now that I have this strange loud laugh to hide behind, this person stranger than me, taking up the blame of everything I have done, helping me hide from everything that I have killed in my life.
I was convinced that if I wrote a bit more my skin will turn into the golden sand that lines the beach that I write of, that I can finally dig into myself without bleeding, without anyone’s help, without anyone’s love, and find something of value in myself.
But when I reached that shore and I saw that sky I forgot to dig, to look for myself. I sat there and thought ‘I am lucky to see this beautiful sky’. In hindsight, I think it was fortunate (and surprising) that I didn’t ruin that moment, that feeling just for the sake of finding myself.
On evenings such as these when the all the withered flowers of my heart have regained the life that once left them, when I have known what is it to die, when I have known how rare it is to find a road back to life when I have known the pain of losing, I feel even now I can try once more. I can try to hold your hand. I can try, I can stand at the edge once again because even though you are not mine yet, but the thought of days without you seems grayer and sadder than all that I have suffered. No, I won’t die. It won’t pain even if you don’t end up with me. But the possibility of a life with you has made me a bit more greedy. I have started expecting a bit more from life and you are the only difference between between my now and my dream.
On evenings such as these when the soil of my heart have been dug too deep, have seen the seasons of happiness that never stays, when it has known how tiring life can be and finding my way back once doesn’t mean I won’t be lost again. Though the memories of your smiles are as fresh as the ones of filled with your resentment. I find my heart filled with nothing but you. I am where I once was and I want to stay here forever always in love with you. Praying for one more day with you. Praying to always be the one who gets your love. Even when you are here, even when you are mine I want you more, a little bit more of you.
You are a thorn in my heart
that only hurts, that only digs deeper
when in rare moments
I find my way to doors in my life
that can’t be opened now
and I stand helplessly in front of you
whom I no longer love.
When you utter the same words
but they sound different
and I realize that I have never been around
to notice this change.
We may walk in a present
disconnected from our feelings in past.
We are nothing to each other now.
Your sorrows are no longer due to my mistakes
and I feel nothing but relief for that.
an unfulfilled dream breathes in me
refusing to die,
for it is happy to have you around.