I Been

Thinkin bout you, and the way your body fit perfectly in front of and behind mine. How I could tilt my head just right and smell your scent and still breathe fresh air. I think about the laughs we shared far more than tears cried. I think about the love we gave and received all of the time.

I wonder what it really was, that made it end that way. The back and forth of trying again, to never feeling stable with my best friend. I wonder if you think about me, or any of the things I do. I wonder if it haunts you at night, the way it haunts my every move.

I question if you loved me, or was I a placeholder for you. I question if you ran because life was moving too fast, and it felt too intense to wade through. I question if you questioned, your capabilities to be my man. I questioned if you’d thought of us ever trying again.

I miss you like you’re sub 2 the hydrogen in my cells. Cause without water, I’m shriveled, a dried up shell. I miss you like circulation in a electric shocked foot. I miss you like the elephant, looking for his roots.

Try Again

Being in love while single is on the list of hard things you never want to overcome. At least it was for me. Still is honestly, except I’m living it so I don’t have a choice but keep going. The last three months have been filled with pain, disappointment, growth, and expansion. More than the whole year.

My heart still sings the same song though. It took two months for me to stop my mind from following the tune, but my siren is still blaring. Hoping her voice reaches her missing piece. It was one thing when it was months apart. When it was about growing as individuals. Now. It’s different.

I don’t know what’s possible. If anything is. But if I could throw my coins, all of them, into a wishing well, it would be for one more try when we’re actually ready to live that love.

Breeze

Filling to the brim, the overflow spilling

back into the cup, as there are no bounds, no grounds to catch it on, to feel the sun it reaches.

Stretches to thin twines, dew droplets sigh.

Sounds steps through time, seeking homes to build a frame of mind, of mine, shelters downed washes through, anything for refuge.

An outstretched hand, a grip on the forearm, pulled into the shell, encased with all its longing. Finally, the sounds enter you.

Bringing the dew and sun, filling out the spaces voided from the darkness, unmade to made, joining as one.

Honesty, honestly.

I ask for what I give, a necessary requirement, to obtain what you require, fill that place of power. Ordained and framed with love, trust, transparency. Yet when heaven is in your hands, you would throw it away. Fear and shame. Lies on your tongue, what have you to gain. Did it reflect back to you, truth or mirage, the words you spoke to me, or the hopes you let die.

Was compassion removed at the end of the song, no longer feeling it’s embrace, already moved to the next line. Does the cycle repeat, for me the foster of another wilds divine. Yet here, in the clarity where dreams moisture seeps into the soil, to be undone, for fear won. Lust unwavering, not to be denied, took my hands and led me outside. Slowly packed my insides, while whispering sweet things me floating on the tides.

I believed. Yet before me is the pixels of the truth, you belied.

It feels like every time I have to detach, the same things I did the previous time don’t work. I wonder if it is the same for everyone else. That each time someone slowly distances themselves from you, creates space, or even abruptly ghosts you. Do they all hurt the same or does it get worse each time? Does it change based on how much you care about the person or how much you invested. How do we really calculate how much something is going to hurt; can we?

If there was a way to figure it out. A calculated way to tell if the path with someone would equate to a certain level of pain with the knowledge of how long it would last, would you take it? They have a Black Mirror episode about this. I’m such a romantic, and while there is nothing romantic about knowing if your relationship will survive and thrive, I would still rather know. It’s not like I’m not a fight-for-love type of gal. I put my all into it, and maybe that’s my downfall; the curse as it were.

The romantic in me has a hard time with leaving until I’ve really given it the best I have. I think it may have been within the last 3 years that I learned to have boundaries. I learned what I’m willing to fight for and when I’m willing to walk away and in that time, it saved me from some false starts. But then I fell in love. I’ve spent the last few weeks my heart breaking because of the current space I’m in.

I feel abandoned, not worth fighting for, not worth growing with, and it’s painful. Every day is painful. I make a genuine effort not to ruminate or revert, but when a part of you is missing, there is no distraction big enough. The fighter in me has never understood how it’s so easy for them to discard me. To walk away, talk less, dissolve thousands of nerves while the weight of the loss leaves me crawling toward salvation.

It’s not that I don’t want this process to be successful, fulfilling, and overall amazing. It just feels crazy the way it’s happening. Watching it from afar, seeing all these people have the joy, happiness, and connection I’ve lost. Seeing vices take control and the numbness take over when I had faith and hoped so hard for the opposite. And it’s not just about what I feel I’ve already lost, and what it feels like I lose more and more by the second. It’s seeing how the path is heading in a scary place and I’m not there, or wanted anymore so there is no helping or supporting.

You can’t fight that.

Lifetime

I wish I was stronger. But I’ve been strong since I’ve had conscious memory. At some point, there must be a reprieve. I have reached limits before, and in typical me fashion I have pushed past. Plus ultra. And I’ve grown.

I’ve blossomed into such a beautiful person. Not perfect. Not by any means. I’ve hurt others. I’ve caused such pain. Will cause. And I take accountability for that. I learn from it. I desired to be better. I desired balance. But. I have not found it.

I have found that in shedding the steel doors my soul is bare. Raw. Nerves screaming to the heavens from every whisper. It is too much. It is too much.

The nights are longer. The pain doesn’t end. I seek the moments of stillness and when I find them, I revel in it like it’s sin. Forbidden. Something to find in the shadows on the off chance you can partake in the bliss.

Such a beautiful smile

I’ve fought hard. Not just for myself but for anyone I can. I see the value in loving each other, in supporting the fellow man. But the iron strikes. It beats down into my shape.

And I heave. I grieve.

I squeeze all of the pieces of self to me. Attempting to keep it all together because what are the pieces worth if not the whole.

The debt, to be unpaid. What else must I give, as my hands and feet are meeting the grave. What will be left. What dignity is there in pieces when there was the whole.

When everything eats me alive and I have nothing I can grow. When my hands stop working. And my feet can’t feel the ground. Will the love still matter. Will I be enough to stick around.

There is power in the choice. Of the timing of your choosing. There is a peace to knowing when and how life was worth losing.

Pressure

Squeeze harder, I see the glee in your eyes, when you feel the muscles

resisting. You feel the tenderness, thick and heavy as you pull further

away from my chest. Head flung back, I see only the emptiness I’ve

grown to feel in place of the fear. I don’t fight it, you take what they

all took, bits and pieces, as if I hadn’t given all of me.

Feed

We all know I deal with depressive episodes. I’m not new to this. I used to have systems, but it got hard to remember them during the seizure/migraine phase. Now I have to start over.

Sometimes it seems like I make so much progress, then there’s these pits of regression. It disappoints me. Makes me feel like I do all this work for little to no reason.

He was in my dream last night. It didn’t make me miss him, but it made me miss the way used it be. That’s not entirely true either. It was never always good. It was constantly up and down. I miss the up. Those were so high I’d forget how low the valleys could get. How course the edges of heartbreak could feel. I don’t miss that.

Musing

Ruminating, running on a

Treadmill of how you gently bring me

Out into this world more as myself. Less of

The molding, painted plastic pieces fitted

Attempting to find perfect placement. I am

Whole now. Water bearer, air flowing in its

Stream between and around all spaces.

I don’t need to fit. Everything else needs.

You.

Those hands, lips, eyes. Feel me? Fill me. I

Don’t grasp at straws. Gasp for air. I am

Grounded. Not confused. Never wondering.

Always sure where we are and what it is. You.

The gift of my sign. Our sign. The things we

share. The things we don’t. How can you be

so gentle yet so sturdy, I

ruminate.