in the winding street
i watch people forget
what they hated before
and made them upset
because who can ignore
the trees that grow out of cracks
in the warm cement
see apartments in stacks
warm steam blasts from a vent
the coffee shops you know
you cant resist
go see that musical show
youre not really a pessimist
the smell after the rain and fog
makes you realize
you really didnt mind it at all
here, the longing for freedom dies.
i love you and you know that
but how can we stay together
how can we be real sisters
when we are both helpless and frail
destined to turn out just like them
we cry and cry and cry
but i make a promise to myself
that once i can, i will
i will without fail
because i wont let that happen to you
i wont let that happen to us
walking silently i wonder
just how long it might take
because when they say they love us
it feels like a lie
so they can hurt you but keep you
but i can stay dormant for only so long
i know you trust me because i understand you more
than anyone else ever could.
one pair of shiny silver scissors
mean nothing to some
so use as you may
to open a gift
to void a credit card
to give a new haircut
to slice clean flesh
whos to say what it means to you
but i imagine a pair of scissors
as a damaging healer
because they are the hurt
that they mean when they say
it gets better before it gets worse
so why cheat the process?
the moments i lose myself in feel like warm rain,
drzzling on pink roses to make the world smell sweet and pure.
its so nice to indulge your senses in those things
when the bad turns to worse without cause
why will nobody explain it to me? its all i ever wanted,
a reason. when i understand divine purpose, suddenly
I no longer quarrel with my own curiosity and acceptance blends into ignorance.
something new may arise from the depths of my doubtful conscious
and i will let it, creeping up on me like sharp winter air in my room
seeping through the pained windows of my own being
it embalms me, the new idea of regard for existence
for who is not puzzled by the circumstances they so strangely stand in.
they say art is up for interpretation, whatever the eye of the beholder feels,
so what is it that really ties the feelings together?
to some, art is a beautifully composed oil painted tree. maybe it is lonely
art could be the bricks dutifully laid down on a potentially doomed wall.
it could be the words angrily spat and claimed to later have no meaning.
otherwise hurtful and maybe, a stem of something objectively more beautiful.
i carefully observe the loops i fall into each night, wishing they would lead somewhere.
each night i let warm water seep into my skin
as i harshly scrub a delicate layer of my skin off
to feel smooth and clean.
my face burns with the satisfaction of it.
i walk into my forever dark room and observe
the shadows on each dimple of my face
the shell of my once glowing body destroyed,
revealing my nearly dead complexion
why is it here i feel so naked?
i know this is truly me and yet
i am so embarassed.
but i cannot even bring myself to show myself this way
so do everything i can to evolve past it
im told it doesnt matter but i know it does
it hurt the most when my own friends didnt recognize me.
if i gave up on this fake show i put on
i wouldnt even know how to function.
i will be pretty or die trying
maybe i know myself too well.
to well for my own good
so well that i even forget that i am me
i feel as though i am observing myself
from a birds eye view
seeing as i make mistakes
and yet i jusify them
because im just too young
but im sick of using my voice as a weapon
maybe i dont know myself at all
am i still self aware?
It feels like wind on my face
when im covered in sweat
so refreshing and yet comforting.
being wrapped in a blanket
reminds me of talking to you
and reading over conversations
again and again and again
the cooler the air,
the more peace i feel
may the winters of before
never find me again.
together we know that small thing
that binds us together like twine
and you watch my favorite movies
they become your favorites
which reminds me of just how
happy i am
just to know that you get me.
we dont even have to talk
the silence is perfect for us sometimes
silence makes most people uncomfortable
it almost feels telepathic how we know
the jokes we whisper will never make sense
to anybody else
because we both waited so long
to have someone like this
to know someone was your best friend
and that you were theirs.
i miss you
and i roll my eyes at the fact
because both of us hate being corny
but sometimes i want you to know how much i miss you
you made me forget most things
which was nice
and you said we would still be friends
which is hard for me
i had grown past that a long time ago
i thought about you and
for awhile there was nothing else
months go by after our last vague message
you tell me how much you appreciate me
and that means more than you know
not a care in the world
not a bar room closed
music and dreams fill the air
with an unmistakable pride
rolling hills and lakes
the kind you only wish
to spend your summers on
views that sound like the lyrics of a song
whos to say where you could roam