End of the Rope

If you knew

That your value lay

In the touch of a hand

the shape of your body

the smile on your face

and how bright you shine

Would you still try?

Try to find a friend

a kindred spirit

someone to walk with you

in light and dark

when you’re covered in dirt

and clawing through mud?

If you knew

that every failure was the last

every confession would be shared

doors would close when your

hand reached out

would you bother?

Or would you hide

behind a flawless face

illusion of perfection

knowing you’ll always be

at the end of the rope.

Tired

I’m tired of living on coffee and dreams
while others breathe
tired of bleeding crimson tears
to free myself
exhausted from lifting legs
weighed by expectations
and filling the cracks with
layers of paint
sick of playing other people’s games
being moved like a chess piece
two forward and one to the side
I’m tired of being taken by force
or guilt
silently crying refusals
instead of screaming
tired of falling apart
while making it look easy to smile
Tired of swallowing stories
never meant to exist
I’m tired of fear
and going along
because I don’t want to go back
worn out from balancing on one foot
on the peak of pressure.
I’m tired of gasping for air
and tired of pushing
the self destruct button
waiting for the explosion while
being tied to a chair

she believed she was mediocre

so she settled for mediocre

her light was always a little pale

but she loved the vibrance

of those whose souls

seemed to swallow her whole

we are.

we are.
the lack of vulnerability 
to compliment 
a hardened shell.
denials and defiance,
intimate and alone.
we are. 
mistakes repeated
or answers found.
symbols of confusion 
at the end of a sentence
where the path away
ends in familiar steps
we are. 
a magnetic pull 
flipped on its head
viruses through veins,
cravings for illness.
we are.
nothing
and everything
pulsing
alone

 

Worm

You are a worm

buried in me

through tiny holes

creeping out in rain

crawling beneath

the surface

I can’t escape you

beneath my skin

but like a worm

you’re oblivious

to my existence

and appear only

when you want

to been seen

but you’re always

there hiding

waiting

for fresh spring days

because you are

my worm

It’s funny how
tiny flakes
of moments
embed themselves
beneath our skin.
They burrow
in whether
they’re invited
or not
Whether desired
or ignored.

It’s funny how
tiny flakes
of moments
won’t let go.
They lock
in time
frozen
in places we
don’t want
to look.

It’s funny how
somewhere in me
there’s a
tiny flake
of you.

5 minutes

In five minutes you

permeated my soul

and in five minutes you

walked away leaving

me longing for sleep

to find you

for five minutes

We, the Unloved

We, the unloved

stand in solidarity

never touched by a hand

in true love

kissed only for ego

and screwed to feed

someone else’s soul.

We, the unloved

raise a hand in recognition

of broken hearts

and unwarranted fantasy that

plays out in dreams

of a non existent better life.

We, the unloved

know the game is played

but fall for her plot,

always the pawn

in someone else’s story.

We, the unloved

get lost in dreams

and pray for sleep

as we disappear

once again in to false comfort.

We, the unloved

wait desperately

to be

anything

but

“un”

I wonder if in moments that pass

you ever drift away,

and lose yourself in quiet thoughts

of asking me to stay

or could it be that what I fear

when insecurities shine through

at the end of the day

there’s an empty hand-

you were only there for you

It Didn’t Hurt

It didn't hurt
when you were near
your touch was comfort
not haunted fear.
It didn't hurt
when you came close
I breathed you in,
my gentle host.
I didn't flinch
when your hand reached out
you'd keep me safe
there was no doubt.
And now, dear friend,
my mistakes I pay
with burdens and dreams
that bleed each day.
Here I yearn
left totally blind
to reality and logic
lost to my mind.
But, there wasn't fear
I know this much
for that brief time
it didn't hurt to be touched.