Note to self

Note to self: stop falling in love with boys who have issues liking someone else, it's just tiring. Just stop. Fucking 3 strikes hello.

Down

I know it's probably a challenge,
But not telling me anything beforehand,
Just dropping off the grid like that,
Do you think about me at all?
I see you're still alive,
But it irks me even more.
Cause honestly,
I see you with your friends and still doing what you do,
It kills me.
I don't want someone who thinks little of me,
Even if we're not together,
This is cruel,
You're cruel.
If you don't want me anymore just tell me,
I don't want to wait like this.
Let me cut you out swiftly,
Because i don't want to be the only one who wants this.
I'm tired of games.

Down

I don't need this,
To have to guess what's happening.
I don't have my shit together right now,
This isn't helping.
I respect ones boundaries and won't intrude incisively

To this

It is this,
The void.
The future.
The unknown.

It is the times I run into it just to be swallowed by it,
It is learning to dance around it but not with it,
It is a creeping movement that grows and growls.

It is this,
The fear.
The silence.
The uncertainty.

Hush.
Exhale.
Be still.
Wait.
Listen.
Decide.

Up

It scares me a lot,
How much I want this to work.
I worry if this isn't the right choice.
But i somehow think this is what it is,
To feel and to be part of,
To put my heart on a slab and pray it doesn't get smashed,
That I'll be dissected slowly and tenderly.
Because I think I'd rather risk being butchered alive than pretending this island is enough.
So hold my hands,
Send me flowers,
Show me the sting of living.
Because even if this is fleeting,
I want this.

Not meant to be

And this, this is why I think we won't work.

It's not the religion or anything petty like our differences in lifestyle or love for sport. It is not the people who flock to you and the people I choose to keep.

It is the ceiling of your life that crumbles onto your shoulders that you insist on carrying alone.

It is the flaws and creaks in the floorboard of your surroundings that make it impossible to approach without destroying.

It is the worry that grows with your thoughts and how you live your life.

It is the idea that your world is so chaotic I can't bear to have you know mine.

Because how can I love you when your heart beats for another? How can I love you if I must be the stable foundation all the time. How can I love you when you don't see anything past yourself? How can I?

Space and now

When we were young,
We were told that the stars are hot compressions of gas.
We learned to believe if we hold onto something hard enough and long enough,
We'd see something spectacular.

We become dreamers,
Star chasers.
Obsessed with the ideas that we can make stars from our own 2 ignorant hands.
And when we can't reach the heavens,
We reach into the hearts of others,
Like a hole we fill to fulfill our destiny.

I knew a dreamer,
An earth astronaut.
So desperate to build a cosmos of his own he made ghosts of those who left.
He grasps onto his apparitions so tight,
It's like it's the only thing keeping him from drowning.

And as he kneels before her,
Guiding her hands to his throat,
Wrapping her slender fingers over his lifeline
And slowly curled their fingers like a string on a harp.
He forgets that he is not stardust and hydrogen,
He forgets he is just a man,
That there will be no explosion of colours,
No awe inspiring burst of light,
Just blood.
And my god,
Blood and air.
Until there is nothing left.

Cello

Today I saw a boy, maybe 8 or 9. Carrying on his back a black bag more than twice his size. Walking down a flight of stairs with the utmost caution. Wobbling and almost stumbling at times. Worried, I approached and asked if he was alright. He flashes a smile so wide and bright, the kind that most children have. He says, "This is my cello". I stop, amazed. The pride, the clarity, the certainty of his words threw me off guard. I move aside to let him continue his way down, and though each step he took shook and wavered, he persisted calmly, with a determination that made the moment unbearably sweet. I leave, I do not watch him make it down the stairs. I know, he'll be fine.

Sometimes life's kinda like that,
We thrust our hands out to help those we think need it,
How ignorant to assume that they can't shoulder the burdens they've chosen.
And though what they carry engulfs them,
They know it is their responsibility to make it down the stairs,
One shaky step at a time.
What comfort a child's words can give.
To know in a moment that not all hands need to be held,
To watch things take their course and find peace without worrying about the end.
How serene.
How magical.
Life.