1 2 3

I need time to breathe

Or to time my breaths

By 1…2…3

 

But the counting creates a mood of apathy

and emptiness

Like I can’t stay awake like this—

And I’ve missed the reason

For methodically breathing

In and out.

 

It’s broken down for peace,

Not destructive thoughts

That beat up my heart,

But slow beats so I can stop and think,

And count to slow down every word racing

In my mind.

 

I want to stop hiding behind a glass wall.

I don’t want to wait for it to fall

Just so I can tip toe around the glass pieces

Holding distorted reflections of what I used to be.

Or how people see me.

 

1…2…3…

I don’t care what they think.

I care about finding the light behind the door I closed 4 years ago.

I care about holding time close as I think about the future I don’t know.

 

1…2…3…

I know what I need.

I need to stop thinking, keep counting, and move into the place that is meant for me.

 

I want to be free.

Paper Planes

Breathing is like pen to paper—like a paper plane flying with writing hidden inside a single page—

Who will get the last say?

Who will find the message left behind?

Maybe it will land in the water and become a boat holding all the hope an entire ocean can hold—

Maybe it will go its own way on a journey to a new place.

Maybe it will find me someday.

Listen

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.