My thirst for men like you drives my attention a direction I am unable to explain.
For you inspire words to spill from my pen.
Finding myself undergoing moments of silence, in which my pen runs out of ink.
But the moment men like you stroke my thirsty soul…
My pen bleeds with anxious words I finally am free to release.
Losing myself in you with every glance.
Its impossible not to love you, impossible not to crave you.
A face engrained in the polaroid collection of my memories.
You run through my veins, a warm bliss keeping me alive.
Such a pure necessity to the livelihood of a free spirit like mine.
Anchoring me into the world’s sanity, and reminding me of own ferocity.
Kisses so profound they reach my soul, fueling the fire within me.
The same fire my tears once drowned out.
You are the lovely moonlight that glistens in my eyes as I stare back you.
A room with sealed windows, a barrier to all cracks revealing sunshine
Boarded up doors to avoid an escape of my soul
Painted walls of words that illustrate my sorrow
Giving up has never felt easier as I sit in the center of this room
Walls enclosing on me, and nothing has ever felt more right
The idea of crumbling with this foundation eases my pain
Falling for glimpses of hope I once had found
Mistakes i now embark upon
These walls speak to me, repeat the lines I eagerly painted myself
A sense of worth so faint, such a beautiful reality of blank expressions.
Writing was an art for me and then I hit a wall years ago. I was unhappy, therefore I never wrote. This meant I never spoke, I never used the voice I was given to scream what I feel, what I see in you, in them, in me.
Funny thing looking into a mirror can do….the prisoner was holding the key to this very cell the whole time, the prisoner was me. I was finally happy. So I wrote again.
I wrote, my veins bled with stories of pain, wonder, and above all heart break. Simultaneously I saw people around me suffocating on the own words they chose to never share. Choking on their emotions. A noose that they wrapped around their neck themselves. And so their pain was my own. It was my own because I became the voice they had permanently placed on mute.
I for one forbid filters for myself, restrict myself from building a wall around my heart anymore. Therefore as I sing melodies of my troubled soul, I in turn paint their own on a canvas. I translated the emotions I saw in their eyes. Eyes that glistened, that yelled for me to interpret.
I write for them, I write for myself. A way that I can feel I am doing a service to others. A way that I can touch them so deep they savor my sunshine even after I finish another chapter.
I was always reluctant to share these secrets of my own, and theirs. But all it took was a little curiosity, and I let my words be alive. Moments like these I am thankful I have my writing to escape the reality of my pain. But these are also moments I wish I never wrote in the first place.
I always wrote to be understood. How naïve of me to think that would always hold true. I forgot about the shitty part of being a writer and being misunderstood. The moment you wish you never wrote in the first place.
Why cant the thought of you leave me alone?
A midnight moon, and all I see is you.
An empty chair and all I see you.
Melodies that scream in my soul, just for you.
I refuse to let this be a good bye.
Because I look up and all I see is you.
I see you, even when I hate the thought of you.
Waiting for my 2 a.m. And for once you’re not there.
How do I erase you when all I see is you?
I continuously push rewind in my memories.
I never thought the vacant whispers of the air could ever haunt me with you voice.
But since you left all I see is you.
An empty song searching for the lyrics you once sang to me.
An empty bed that troubles me more than the dreams I so vividly see
Dwelling on the past searching for a love in dark memories.
People always told me its better to love than not..
If that were true why do I drown myself in alcohol?
How do you fill such a void?
Such a percentage of your heart forever gone…
Sitting at the edge of my bed wondering where it went wrong.
Listening to this empty song repeatedly, searching for you.
How ironic it is that I sit here writing each night like I used to?
Numerous pages saturated with heart break.
I have always been the audience to a man that walks away .
The admirer from afar.
The one who will always be stuck waiting…
Waiting for my false delusion to finally be a reality.
How ironic is it that I let you read the tears of a broken soul?
Only for you to become another sequence in the very same pages.
Her eyes no longer glisten with hope.
Her eyes are glazed with heart break.
A sunshine of hope I used to turn to has become part of the clouds she used to heal.
Her energy no longer pulses with life.
She slowly is becoming everything she preached never to be.
Her heart is heavy, for I can feel the weight from across the room.
She is alone, an epiphany that has finally destroyed her.
If she loves you, know that you have stepped into a firey sense of heaven.
You see, compliments cage her and so rarely phase her.
For any empty mind can tell her the evident marks of her beauty.
Hollow surface level admirers no longer feed her ego.
For her it is not about hearing the magnitude of her beauty, but rather about feeling it.
Feeling it by someone like you…
There is nothing grander.
To make such a powerful woman feel her true sense of beauty.
That is worth more to her than a million compliments that the weak throw to her.
Something about you,
Makes my skin burn…with a fire.
The flavor of danger.
Something about you,
Makes my body tremble with a sensation so damaging.
Something about you makes my heart sink deeper…
Something about you makes my fidelity go out the window.
PolaroidPages 