I need time to breathe
Or to time my breaths
But the counting creates a mood of apathy
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.
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.
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.
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.
My favorite part of your body
Are your hands.
They feel like
And a little more
Ethereal to the touch
Than the rest of us.
*Inspired by Rupi Kaur
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.