Tired

Of being tired
Of feeling like I’m not

good enough

alive happy

loved.

Of loneliness
emptiness

unexplainable sadness.

Of living in fear of the parts of
myself I can’t control.
Of feeling,
of living;
of it all.

Trudy

With cupped hands I show you
the parts of my soul nobody else has
touched.

I am prepared for your eyes
to widen in disgust,
for you to take them
and crush them and
throw them away.

But you hold them,
you know them,
you love them.

And gently, carefully,
you place my darkness back
in my shaking hands.

You have seen all of me and yet
there is only love in your eyes.

Shield of Cloth

Protect yourself, his warm words tickle my ear.
But to protect myself from
you only makes me vulnerable
to the rest of the world.

Unconditional

Unconditional love is loving someone even though you know they will never love you back in the same way. It is continuing to spend time with that person even though being with them sometimes hurts; because your love for them is more than the pain. It is remembering how they’ve hurt you, knowing it might happen again, and still choosing to spend time with them. Because no matter how much it might hurt to be around them, it hurts a lot more to be without them.

Rock-a-Bye, Baby

Nobody warned you
that once I left
the warm walls of your womb,
I would be your sacrifice
to this world;
that I was no longer yours to control.
I was destined to move
with the mountains, to walk
barefoot on the soil and let the soles
of my feet close all gaps between me
and the universe.

And yet you fight—loudly, violently, teeth bared—
to tell the cosmos I am yours.
My first unsteady steps, the first utterances
to tumble from my mouth, my every
achievement and failure
belong to you.
If you cannot have them, no one can,
not even me.

And so you destroy
me
slowly; blindly tearing me apart,
consuming me until
I am once again
completely, undoubtedly, a part
of you.

As They Gather Dust

I’ve watched them wither.
I’ve watched as the universe has drawn lines
on their faces.
I’ve watched as their hopes were crushed into cynicism,
their beliefs laughed at by others, and eventually
by themselves.

Their once perfumed breath now
reeks of accusations.
Their once strong backs now hunched as they crouch
in the corner.
Their life is no longer lived for themselves, they say:
We live for you, it’s all for you.

I’ve watched them, and I am scared.
Scared to be like them,
scared that I have done this to them.

Broken Glass

You laid it all out on the table:
a feast for a ravenous heart.
But you wanted
to be a magician, so
you pulled
the tablecloth out from underneath.
I crossed my fingers and watched
it all come crashing down.

Living

is there a right way to do it?
These days,
I have lost myself:
not in the highs, the news telecasts,
or her eyes.
In a moment.
I am
somewhere in the universe.
I am
every episode of Friends, yesterday’s breakfast burrito,
every 3 a.m. conversation.
I am.
I have shattered myself
into a million tiny pieces,
and it is scary but
liberating.