🥀

bring community to me so that I may bow and touch its feet and pay for love in a life once so barren. The blood I spill for the sake of touch and conversation will fill my life for the rest of my time. bring community to me so that I will finally live and rid myself of "just me".

You hear poetry from everyone else's mouth but my words are a mere suggestion- something to think about and to do without. You speak to strangers on the road and your eyes finally light up. The dictionary - now borrowed - and finally used to decode. But somehow the stories I wrote for you still sit on the shelf collecting dust after a year or two; still forgotten, hitherto. It falls, occasionally, from the top shelf where it was once displayed when we first met. There it lives, in perpetuity, where your embarrassment cuts the deepest.

If I died today, She'd be the first person I'd want to see. and all of the anger I once felt would separate from the love and bounce against each other like oil and water. I wouldn't know which is heavier but I'd wipe it all away for a clean slate; just to have her shoulder to lean on, again. If I died today, I'd save a spot on my grave for her to sit and read to me. To tell me where she's been and if she ever thinks of me, anymore. and when she doesnt show, I'll hold it for her, anyway.

The prettiest package is stored in a box of authenticity like the softness of her face. In me is ugliness enough to make my own throat burn when I speak. My feelings are just as harsh. In another universe my hair might glide like a waterfall and my body might move like silk unencumbered by the weight of failure. but until then, my existence is fragmented- it skips like a DVD; lost in the milliseconds of darkness. panasonically paranoid - nb

The "closed mouth" hangs open silently, unable to reverberate its yearns. The presence of love tends to it - feeds it without a sound, sustains it without being asked, loves it as it is. closed mouths do get fed \\ nb

Palpable is the tension between me and my self destruction - to fill myself with any and every antidote to forget you.

I see my 6 year old self in the back of my mind - yelling at me to protect her. I put her in harm's way without a second thought. But she keeps forgiving me, over and over and over again, no matter how angry she is. She watches me at 27, going on 28 do the same for people who keep hurting me over and over and over, again, no matter how angry I am. My elder self looks at me with pity and understanding. My younger - rage and understanding. So I take the common denominator and put it on a platter for others to eat off of. They are satiated and full while it feels like my flesh is falling off of my bones to feed them. I siphon from the 6 year old in me. I hurt her to please others, and I don't even thank her for it.