Misscommunication

When I am around you,

I feel lost.

Maybe it’s because of the thoughts I have

That drown out what is real,

And what is not–

Maybe it’s my mouth replacing the air with water,

Heavy in my lungs–

 

I’m afraid of what will come up

Once I try to connect the words in my mind

To the sounds in my throat.

I feel closed.

 

I want to protect my heart from the heavy weight I hold

When I see you,

But I’ve realized I can’t see you.

How can I see you when I can’t see myself,

Or when I look around and find no familiarity in my surroundings?

Grey is now permeating everything I see—

So first, it starts with me.

 

I choose to remove the weight

And look forward to my day.

I focus on being present

When the past is pressing in on all sides,

Forcing me to hide.

 

I focus on having patience

When I feel wasted by

The people surrounding me on a daily basis.

 

I focus on communication,

And protecting my mind and my heart

from the forces around me asking me to change who I am

For them,

Because I am worth it.

 

I will say it over and over again,

That I am who I am,

Fallen and imperfect.

I love the cracks in my hands and freckles on my skin,

And the excitement I get from a small moment.

 

I ask nothing to forgive,

I only ask for a conversation,

Not a misinterpretation.

 

I ask for someone to see me past expectation.

See me as a living and breathing human who is prone to making mistakes.

See me as you would see yourself at the end of the day—

As a person.

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.