Just Existing

Everyday I ask myself,

“What am I doing with my life?”

And sometimes… I feel fear when the words escape my mouth–

Like they are running into the unknown,

Quickly being ripped away from me

Without giving an answer to the emptiness I am left with.

I meet a crisis everyday.

I ask myself when this anxious feeling will end

So I can begin again,

But I haven’t found the solace yet.

I haven’t discovered relief from the questions.

Today I ask myself,

“Am I a part of the living, or am I closer to death?”


This isn’t what I asked for.

I asked for freedom and confidence to open my hands and catch promises,

But I feel crushed by a suffocating loneliness that bids me to go to bed.

My eyes close and I let the darkness fall in on all sides,

because I realize I am afraid of myself.

I am not content with sitting up at night, listening to music,

Writing in a bed made for one person.

There’s this empty space beside me, cold and unloving,

Reminding me of a time when it was filled.

Now I’m filled to the brim with emotions,

Holding my face in my hands,

Wishing he was here to listen.

But I am quick to forget how it felt when he listened.

He listened to speak,

So he could tell me the image he wanted my body to portray.

He pulled me into his world and eclipsed mine in a blanket of

Black and white devoid of any of the color I created.

So I trade a warm body for solitude,

And tell myself I am strong, and I can be strong alone.

The Lack of

I have a block in my mind that weighs the rest of my body down

Until I am buried beneath the ground

Blinded by my apathy and self-doubt.

The block causes build up in my brain with random strains of words

That mean nothing–

It only cause my nerves to stay in the past tense of things

As I replay days over and over again

Until I feel sorry and sick

From my remembering and retelling of stories that have ended.

I don’t want any part of this collage of faulted thought,

But I can’t erase my mind block.

It overwhelms my ability to remove the piece stopping me

From moving forward–

So I am cursed to relive dead end passages

As I sink farther beneath the beginning.

The Breaking

I lost my voice when he told me about his past–

Past lovers and pieces of body parts that weren’t mine

Phrases that didn’t seem to fit

The small hands I held out to hold his face

And look into his eyes–

the color of earth and life

That seemed so far away from me.

He didn’t keep the memories I let burn into my skin

Whenever he touched me.

He didn’t need the words I gave him

Or the fire I kept alive when we came together

Beneath warm sheets and heartbeats

When I let him in.

He didn’t see me breaking beneath the weight of

Sharp words and heavy images

That imitated someone else,

And he didn’t see me leave until I told him I had to go.

My heart had left weeks ago, but the only part of me he noticed was

My body.

Skin and hollow bones waiting for blood to flow

And wake me up again,

But I came to an end and felt my bones break the frame

I let him see.

A frame I built to keep him looking at me,

Before my image fell apart,

And left us both with nothing but

The Breaking.




Waiting for love is like

Waiting for warmth in December

Or for snow in the middle of summer–

It’s as consistent as the weather

And as simple as an atom,

Or a quiet explosion–

But I can’t seem to find it.


Talking sounds more like listening

To bursts of thunder crackling in the distance

Filling the room with static

Until the build up in our space becomes charged with rage–

Until everything has changed–

Until our bodies become nothing but pieces of wreckage:

A chaotic explosion for the barren wasteland

Where our minds are left behind to deal with the aftermath

made by our hands.