Advertisements

Tag Archives: messy

A Magician Knows

sleight-of-hand-magician

 

I can’t think about it. If I think about it, I feel and if I feel it…

I miss it.
I start missing my heart before it was covered in scars and I miss him when we had no lives to get on with. I miss her and her outrageous laugh and the way she looked up to me.
I miss being looked up to.
I miss the freshness of my blood and the way every feeling hit me like an electric shock. Every breath would fill the outline of my chest, take it’s time on the soft parts of my mouth, and become an invisible cloud I could still somehow see.

If I think about it, I’m older. I know more and I’ve felt so much and I know how to keep things at bay. Every arm’s length-distance I place between me and whatever-it-is makes me wish I could go back to how I was before I hated things touching my heart.

Maybe I’m not as messy as I once was. Though, was it all bad to be that raw to the world? To drink from a glass and let it dance from the edge to your tongue and feel it like it was the first time?

I can wield my words like magic, but what’s the use if I know the secret behind the tricks?

Maybe I want to be awed by it, too.

I want to feel for the first time, again.

Advertisements

Heavy

1920x1080_day_and_night-1242611

This weight on my chest stays perched like it’s always been there. Usually I forget it even exists.

There’s a dizzy draining of my thoughts flowing down a pipe that I don’t remember placing in my foundation. My hands are open to catch anything that doesn’t make it through, but I can’t seem to close my fingers and everything slips. It touches my skin and for a moment, I think I can really feel it.

But then it’s gone.

I’m left cold from the memory of it ghosting and something is misplaced and I’m just a little bit off. This warmth under my skin is so unfamiliar and it radiates not unlike a poison and it evaporates everything that exits the end of that pipe.

The cold comforts in a sick way and I’m getting used to the heat. Sometimes, in my sick ways, I wish it would leave me with the frost that so easily cradles my very form. Those desires are fleeting now, and the warmth feels like the sun and I can almost bask in it.

But then I lose pieces of me that runs down that dizzy drain. The grip on the ledge that gives me clarity into me is so hard to hold onto. I’ve lost my grip a few times. I feel myself slip down the pipe with everything else and the tight walls leave me gasping for the water I can’t breathe in.

I ache for the cool running thoughts that flood my blood but all I am is warm.

I’ve always been drawn to red. To orange, to yellow. I’ve always ached for the warmth I never had.

Now all I dream of is blue.


Scribbles

scribbles

When everything gets messed up inside

It’s like your insides are scribbles

And then your lips stop working

Because how could you explain

All of the different things inside of you

When you have a hard time telling them apart?

 

It’s okay that things can’t exit my broken lips

And it’s okay that I’m all in scribbles inside

I’m untangling everything piece by piece

And rearranging them as I know them

It’s okay that the pretty shows in the pretty words

And it’s okay that there’s dark underneath them

 

Even know there are complicated thoughts mixing

And the feelings in my chest seem to coil around themselves,

While there is misunderstanding in most of the faces I see,

I accept it and bear on, trudging through

It seems almost pointless at times and worthless

But then it’s worth it and maybe even beautiful


White Noise

When all is said and done

We talk just to fill the silence

Because we fear the words that aren’t said

So we scream the words we want our hearts to feel

And just what the other wants to hear

The silence seems to break us

And the chips that fall from the picture

Scatter on the floor

So we tip-toe around those fragile pieces

Never not talking

Just to fill the silence