I was reminded today that I will forever be a mess, in life, love & every other aspect of everything I reach for. I’ve come to terms with this today because this is who I am, a writer, a dreamer , an old soul who falls in love every god damn day with paper & ink. My heart always has something to say & yes I chose to walk away a thousand times trying to heal myself, but the only way I know how to do that is to write every last god damn word down & purge my soul until I feel a little lighter of the weight I carry.
I am not ashamed to say I shut down & quiet the world to listen to my own heartbeats, this is the only way I know how to breathe. When the rest of the world fades to black & I am one on one with my thoughts. Maybe its destructive to push everyone out, or possibly I am just reinforcing my heart for another go. Whatever the reason, I am fucking trying like hell. That has to count for something.
I’m just going to continue to lay my heartbeats down & hope someone along the way will stop to listen. I won’t apologize for being a mess, this is the way I love & live my every day. At least I know where everything is beneath all this rubble.
What my heart wouldn’t do
to love you back to life.
Strip you of your nightmares
& smother you in ever after.
All those aches of three a.m
offerings to twisted white sheets
& unearthly flesh consumed.
Beneath tin roofs & the sound
of heartbeats & writhing rain.
The way your pulse would feel
against my skin as no other has been.
To lick your wounds, tracing scars
with soft breaths & feral instincts.
Biting down on your collarbone
to calm the need to taste anything sweet.
Drenching my tongue among the salt
of you whimper, while you remember
what it feels like to scream out my name.
The truth is this, we are survivalist. We endure countless acts of struggle on a daily basis. Some are dealing with pain, loss, grief, fitting in, desires we cannot reach, life in general. We build these walls, safe houses within ourselves trying to protect what little pieces of fragility that still exist. We close doors, afraid to open up to what if’s because we can’t bare to fail again. Some of swing those doors wide open & jump face first into whatever is that is waiting, falling flat on our asses & skinning our knees, but we learn to get back up again, wiser & stronger or within these lies we tell ourselves. We live safely, within our own comfort zones, never to allow ourselves to fully breathe. Yet we wake up every damn day & live that same day over & over, calling it Life!
What the hell are we so afraid of? Falling? Well fuck we weren’t born with wings but damn do we rely on the sky when we need something or someone to listen. So what if we screw it up, if we fall flat on our face & skin our hearts on the way down, at least we can say we fucking lived. I rather make a million mistakes along the way, I love my battle scars & the journey .These accidental moments of living with my walls down, well damn they define me. I want to be remembered for all the crazy shit I did & all the people I touched while discovering myself. I want people to say, she never just lived among the everyday, she lived like it was her last day, every god damn day of her life. For it’s the only way I know how to be me, raw & uncensored.
Live every damn day like no one is watching, love with every breath in your lungs & my god, hold onto the things that make you happy, you only get one chance to live outside the walls of your comfort zone.
Hold on my love, a little longer than forever. I miss the days where our hearts met halfway between someday & oblivion. The way I felt safe beneath your sonnets & fragile against your words. In all the ways my heart slipped effortlessly into your chest & the only lullaby I needed was the echo of your voice. I ache for those hands that once gripped my flesh & pulled my soul beneath every way I wanted to feel, adored. I never want to know the absence of your pulse against my life, or feel the time slip through our fingers like my curls once held your fingertips. I can still feel your heart heavy in the air. Still opening my lungs, trying to breathe you in. Exhaling is the only way I know to let you go but it’s not as if my chest had a choice. If I did, you would still be here, writing next to me, the story of us & how we made it through it.