missing you

it’s always the warm embrace that I miss first.
your lips, and you in between my arms.
it’s likely I’m fighting the urge to consume you;
I’m eager to have all of you. yes, all of you.

because you have piqued my interest and my heart,
and now you’ve become my thoughts at night.
the feeling on my lips whenever my mind drifts
to a place better than where I am.

and it always involves someone else,
but this time it involves you…
and it’s so much better than I ever could have imagined;
this time of night is just so perfect when I’m beside you.

simply asleep, nothing but my scent
and your fragrance and lips that curl into a smile.

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Enter a captionPhoto by Jessica Felicio on Unsplash

doors

stand clear of the doors
because they are closing
the way my heart does:
quickly and without warning.

shutting out any and everybody
still out on the other side while
holding hostage every and anyone
still trapped inside of my chest.

I think it’d be best
if you made the decision.
knowing me, you would be
split by my indecision.

because my decisions are final.
until they’re not, in which case,
I don’t know what to tell you,
except for the fact that I’ve already told you

this is how I am.

Just Write – Catharsis

I can’t believe the me that’s been living and the me I feel right now are the same person. I’ve heard too much praise. Too many accomplishments that I feel just can’t be me. I hear other people talk about him, and I envision this amazing guy that has his entire life ahead of him already mapped out. The guy who works so hard it seems effortless. The guy who everyone can count on; the one who everyone expects the world of. I want to meet that guy because he sure as hell isn’t here right now.

The guy I’m talking to can barely get his ass out of bed in the morning. I’ve asked him about his goals, and he is confused. I doubt that he’s ever had an idea of what he was doing in his life. He just went with it, figuring that something was better than the nothing he was promised. Figuring that making someone else smile was the best he could do. Keeping himself as the role model for others to look up to…even if he felt like shit…even if he felt like I do today… because he knows that life isn’t easy. He knows that we struggle, and he understands better than anyone else what it is like to not be okay and still not ask for help. Better to keep the bad parts to himself, and showcase only the things that inspire…right.

I…I don’t know how I forgot that. Maybe my up has just been too high, but I’ve always been like this: terribly depressed on another date with despair. I just never wanted anyone to see that. I wanted them to see someone who lived his life freely, carrying out task effortlessly, as if he didn’t have a care in a world because he doesn’t. Because I don’t. Because all I really want is to sit back and enjoy the good times. People smiling and children laughing; cute little animals that roam the park as the sun kisses the cheeks of everyone. Because we are temporary, and I’ll be damned if I don’t enjoy it while I can. Because I spend too many of my days locked inside of the prison in my mind to not find a day or even three to enjoy what is out there.

So I guess it makes sense, the things they say. That guy does exist. He just needed some time to rest, and he needed to remember who he was and what his purpose was. It was never about telling stories. It was always about inspiring them, becoming the catalyst for someone to do better. And whenever that wasn’t enough? Becoming a supporting character who helped people learn to smile. It’s just like he said…it’s just like I said:

The world is beautiful, even when it’s not. So wallow, but not for too long. There’s another good time waiting for you at the end of your misery…

Catharsis…

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Photo by Eric Nopanen on Unsplash

 

smiles like that

I think I
maybe smiled once.
not like the
image painted onto
my face the day we met,
but more like
the six-year-old
who just met
santa clause
while waiting for a
train in Chicago
during the
middle of
november.
the way he smiled
reminded me of
moments more
carefree,
and of a face that
maybe had a
smile behind it
when I stared at
books of poetry
at six years old
the way;
a six-year-old
today smiles
at
Santa Clause.

 

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Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

floating

self-sabotage solely so something
will happen. setting up mistakes
to escape since the souls I sew
with ink need stories worth telling.

what a better story than a tragedy
based on a true story; it’s just that
reality lacks all the tragedy needed
to drive a story toward a good climax.

better to leave the actual mistakes
up to the imagination. things are
usually much worst inside of our minds,
so I’ll share with you the fears in mine:

clandestine hobbies that wreak havoc
on unexpected versions of my future self
in the most inopportune of moments,
simply since that’s just the way life works.

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Photo by Jamakassi on Unsplash

trance

there were never really any regrets
just this meticulous success that begets
a set of notions he sometimes suppressed.

and I am sorry for not understanding why
since I suppose I should certainly know,
of all people. possibly. it’s also probable

that perhaps it doesn’t matter much
because maybe most things don’t
matter much, meaning mondays

will almost always definitely suck.
because come time for monday, a lot
of us, quite frankly, don’t give a fuck.

and then there are those of us that do.
those that yearn; those that learn that
we have to earn the attention of the likes of you.

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Photo by Micki Spollen on Unsplash