Comfortable.

You took up residence in my heart, got comfortable, and let your cup rest on the table without a coaster. Then you left and took your things with you, cleaned up, but the rings from your cup remained. 

I let you get comfortable

and you left your mark. 

Glass

I must remember that my heart is one of glass. A tiny, fragile, being that will easily sit in the hand of any idle man that happens to find me in the gutter. It is tired, showing cracks and breaks around the outside. Scars of where it has been so carelessly dropped onto tiles and aged wooden floors of antique houses. I must remember not to be so quick to give it away, as I must trust the keeper very much. They must wrap it up in many layers of colorful tissue paper as to present it, to perfect it. It must be safe in layers of secrets and worn out letters from the past and the future and it must be warm most importantly. I do not want it to freeze. I must remember to keep it safe and to keep myself happy and I must remember that I am no longer a fool nor a child. That soon I shall be an adult. Maybe I shall keep my heart to myself for a while, locked away for no one to harm; maybe.

Reason.

Reason so rules my life that emotional matters send me spinning into madness.

Music.

Ringing bass, slowly melting

                 melding particles;

          every beat connecting

                      or collapsing within

     the ear drum.

Holding back.

To let my fears get the worst of me is something I regret every day, every time. I over think, overreact, and over exaggerate. I make circles of irony and stupidity, revolved around my fears, worries, doubts, paranoia. And then, I just think. I’m always thinking, it’s nonstop; it’s constant. Most of it is about nothing, which is all built up in my head. This is why I remain quiet, because it is literally nothing to worry about. 

I’m not first to say what is wrong. I wait. I am always waiting. Either for the feeling to pass or for you to ask. And I know this is not fair, but this is just how I am. I can’t allow myself to say there is something wrong because what if what’s wrong is me? The concoctions created by my own mind. 

I’m afraid. I don’t know where to go from here. I want to trust, you have no idea, but I am restricted from doing so. I’m held back from myself. I am insecure. I don’t believe in myself. I’m endowed by my insecurities and stupidity.

Cloudless Heart.

Blue sky,
closed doors,
unforgivable openness
that seems forever locked.

An eyelash flickers in the forest,

swift
    and
        sure

every time I smile,
can you smile too?

Bon Iver.

Fighting.

I sat in the corner of your room one night and wondered what dream had a hold on you. Your eyes were shifting violently, searching for something behind your eyelids. I could tell you were waging war in some epic battle within your subconscious. Every so often your lips would part as if to speak but a furrowed brow took the place of the words that never came. I sat there as long as my eyes would allow me and watched you silently, a caring smile sitting appropriately beneath my nose. I drifted off and dreamt of the battles you fought, only in mine I was by your side…fighting with you and fighting for you.

It is perpetually cold where your hands once laid.

The silhouettes of the naked trees against the dark, slow moving clouds are both haunting and beautiful. There is a slight breeze that gently tousles my hair, on and off, on and off. The arms of the trees are waving and dancing like small children. It is deathly quiet except for distant voices and my own breathing. I am taking deep breaths that almost sound like a series of sighs. It is the perfect time of night where the sun is gone but everything is clearly illuminated. The clouds are crawling across the sky at an inch-worm pace. The lighter patches in the clouds remind me of my consciousness, but am I really alive? The hair on my arms erect; the breeze has gotten chilly. Leaves and branches from my surrounding companions bump together and whisper among themselves as if they are caught inside a claustrophobic room. I close my eyes and shh them all. Simultaneously, softly, they obey my request.