8.07.2017

i-v


i.
the air is heavy between us,
electricity forming in the darkness,
a storm building in the shadows of tomorrow, 
light reaching for us in our uncertainty -
dragging us relentlessly into
something we wish we could forget -
for the future hours only hold the
same restless wanderings of yesterday
and yesterday and yesterday and
tomorrow is but a repeat of harsh reality,
our world lost in a broken record;
a soul that has forgotten how to let go. 

ii.
silence wraps us up in coats of oblivion,
of memory, of brokenness, of fragmented realism,
gentle fingers pulling at wounds we have
long forgotten, numb acceptance - rather than
healing - blinding our receptors to the
pain that has become a part of us,
bound to our very souls, wrapped around
our fingers like a tether that refuses to be
brushed aside with the passing of time.

iii. 
there are milliseconds between each
breath we drag in, our words as temporary
as the smoke in our lungs, unspoken 
and misunderstood and just as damaging
as the haze in the air that we swallow,
mindless; oblivious to the fact that
we are killing ourselves under a guise
of what we've been told is living.

iv.
the world is turning, shifting, changing,
but we are lost in the stillness,
frozen in the exhale of summer;
hanging on the edge of a someday
as we wait for the season to 
catch up with the ever restless 
whisperings of our hearts that tell us
that where we should be is
anywhere but where we are. 

v. 
we are pulled into the daylight
kicking and screaming, forgotten 
dreams clinging to our consciousness
with stubborn desperation; tenacious hope;
and we are told that we are brave and strong
for simply refusing to be told what and who 
we should be by the world we have been
forced to live in -- but we know our own
fragmented souls and timid hearts,
and we still search for something to 
save us and make us feel alive again. 

//

personal / fictional chaotic ramblings at 2 a.m. // august 7th, 2017

3.17.2017

--


i wish
i could find a way
to stop time;
to hold onto
moments that were
never mine to grasp;
to keep myself from
unravelling in a world
that i will
never be a part of.

march 16, 2017
10:48 p.m. 

11.15.2016

summer girl // poetry


the sky was gray the day i met you,
the world, cold and bleak;
your eyes asked a thousand questions
that you never managed to speak.

the leaves fell golden on our shoulders
as we spun round and round,
your face was full of laughter,
but you never made a sound.

the days stretched into months
and still, you never really said -
if this was what you truly wanted - 
or simply a dream inside your head. 

you saw the world through colors,
a thousand shades of red and blue;
i saw the world through moments -
ones of them, and us, and you.

i felt your restless spirit wander
every time the sky turned gray,
but my heart held onto summer -
and you swore you wanted to stay. 

i saw the shade of the grass below,
and the leaves upon the trees;
you saw the space between the branches,
and tasted autumn on the breeze.

you felt the winter in the wind,
i saw the eternal blue sky,
and still you never said a word,
despite the time that passed us by.

you didn't say goodbye, you know,
that day you walked away -
but i could see, that in your eyes,
summer had turned your world gray.

they say you became a painter;
that your colors hang on the wall,
but i am still your summer girl --
and you are still lost in fall.

m.a.l. // 11:04 p.m. // November 14th, 2016

(just a few snapshots taken in October and November (from Arizona and Ohio and in between), along with some hastily written words that jumped out at me. xo)

10.11.2016

coming home //


"you know, it's true. i think we all like to believe that, someday, we'll simply stumble onto the place we can attach the word "home" to... that we'll find a place to belong; to stay. but maybe "home" isn't always discovered; perhaps it isn't the end of a journey - a destination, a building, a point on a map. maybe it cannot be found, no matter how much we search. to some, perhaps, it is - and has always been - within us, rooted in our memories, wrapped around the ones we know, remembered in the ones we've lost. maybe home isn't a place at all, but rather, is found in the life -- and the people -- we (have) love(d)."

(speaking of home... i've been back in Ohio for the past week and a half, and everytime i come back, it is harder and harder to say goodbye. leaving this place has torn my heart in two too many times to count; maybe home cannot always be found on a map, but sometimes, i think, it claims your heart without asking for permission. xx)