Familiar.

She was okay when I couldn’t quite speak.

Couldn’t get my words and my thoughts to part. So she’d lay her head against my chest to hear the beat and read it like a chart. I guess you can say…

She knew me by heart.

And she was okay when the ice set in.

When I let my emotions be replaced with depression. When my need to sleep became an obsession. Everything I once loved, I viewed as less then. When I looked at what was gone instead of what I was left with…

She was okay. I guess, in a way..

it did not feel like she was leaving me. She didn’t know this version of me.. She could not read this loveless being. Didn’t know the darkness, the anger, or the sadness she was seeing…

Seeing a stranger made it easy for her to part. The space in my chest was now empty, and…

She only knew me by heart.

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Decorate.

She showed me her true colors.

Showed how wrong we were for each other.

So I pulled out my brush set

and water colors worked well with tears wept.

Filled in her empty parts with blood from my own heart.

Swept her black and white tones with my grey sweat.

Glossed her harsh shadows with my pink tongue.

Gave her transparency with air from my very lungs.

Did not attempt to make a masterpiece,

Just… something that matched me… what I thought she could be.

She saw me out of context.

I saw her as a project.

Fantasy airbrushed my logic…

Could be the curse of being an artist.

Closing Act.

Back here again.

The most familiar place I’ve ever been.

This is the part where I’m forgotten… again.

Where I fold into the shadows of memories that blend in with empty spaces and cold wind.

The part where I am let go of.

Where I come crashing down from above. Where I’m reminded that the embarrassing fall out of love often comes with a beastly shove.

The part where the end is near. Closer than it appears.

Where my eyes build up with tears- blinding me, so I won’t have to face my fears.

The part where I become another “was”.

Because my “ends and odds” are finally realized as flaws.

So before my scene gets paused and the curtain draws…

Let me give my best.

If it has to end,

let it be to the sound of a grand applause.

The Negotiate.Her. (free write)

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I used to only want the best for me.

Held my head up so high, even the sky seemed limiting. Like butter, my self-esteem spread over everything… how I used to be, who I was, and what I will be.

Now here I am… still standing.

Legs shaking, as I desperately try not to fall to my knees… See, life’s endless testing made me too weak to carry my self-esteem. So completely unworthy… I resort to bargaining.

I will take your half-heartedness, but… well maybe you can at least give me the right half of it…

I will make-do with your eye wondering. It.. has to land on me eventually…

I can stand being forgotten occasionally… besides, I was born being lonely.

I will make do with your day-late wishes, forced smiles, weak hugs and cold love…….. Yes, I think this… this is good enough.

Selling my heart at a discounted rate… In exchange for… this thing……. should be ashamed to beg for something I can’t even give a proper name…

Just. Please. Give me what you can and I will work with what I get.

I will forgive what you forget.

I will learn to live with being the next best thing after the last thing, if that means I’ll have reason to be. I have no right to demand anything, but please,

Just…

Leave me this thing.

Influenc.Her.

He bleeds honesty. So.

She keeps a knife in his chest.

Penetrates his flesh.

He cries integrity, so she keeps his tears fresh.

She’d mention she has good intentions.

Encouraging him to be his best.

Connected to him through his weakness and pain.

She knew it was possible to make someone change.

Somewhere between the hurt of her last broken heart and gathering the will to restart, she picked up a piece of knowledge to which she held firm:

They will only learn if it burns.

Break.

I know I need to leave you,

But how does one split the moon?

How can you separate the dirt from the wind in a monsoon?

You were me and I was you. Always one. Never two.

The time will come soon,

The great divide of one of a kind.

A masterpiece awoken and burned alive.

Inside, it evokes a feeling much like peeling apart the bones of my spine.

Inevitably interrupting the design of my mind.

Disrupting the rhyme on the two and four.

Won’t cry, just gaze in my eyes- puffy and sore, one last time, before the pieces of the moon hit the floor.

Effort.

Someone told me to just let go. If it comes back to you, it was always yours. So I picked myself up from the bathroom floor, and held onto him.

Locked the front door.

Never was a fan of unnecessary steps… Just skip the complex and get to what’s next.

Stuffed my fingers in between the jealousy. Plugged my ears when he’d disagree.

Meticulously,

refused to believe

that if my hand suddenly released,

I’d just have to….wait and see?

Relinquish control of my own destiny?

No…. That didn’t seem productive to me.

Way more inclined to watch my knuckles bleed, then dig my nails in his chest, and force his head against my breast. Said he needed a break, so I’d break every bone he tried to rest with a grip resembling death. Fist compressed. Muffled, squashed, and squeezed him into faithfulness, and I guess…

Trying not to let go of him,

I lost myself.

So I let go of me and… just held my breath…