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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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.

Patience.

She assumed this would be her cocoon.

That from this cave, a beautiful butterfly would bloom.

So she never minded the lack of room.

But May turned to June and still she remained in utter gloom.

Summer’s Sun to Winter’s Moon, and…

She watched the darkness continue.

Can’t say she’s not pleased that her wings need more time… the small black walls with their enclosed design comfort her mind and well….

She’s much too tired to learn fly.

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.

Shhhhhhhh

I’ve cried everyday this week.

I should have been more specific when I prayed for consistency.

Afraid to think because thoughts open vaults that hold spinning records of bruised melodies, buried histories, and harmonies of dark memories, and…

I’m just tired of listening.

The pulled strings of my nerves serve as the acoustics.

I guess even thrillers require theme music.

The dramatics of my anatomy is entirely tiring. So I’ve prayed for silence, and ever since, when I hear those records turning- flooding inside of me with rhythms of catastrophe, naturally my eyes get watery.

Thankfully,

I’ve always cried quietly.