when my heart is hurting

My heart is hurting today. 

It hurt yesterday too.

but it hurts for a person

whose no longer you.

the person I loved,

the heart that I had,

aren’t the same anymore

they’re just things of the past.

// Not Lost // 

 


 

she told me to write it on paper

so I could maybe find the words

to say what I was thinking and feeling at that moment in time

 

but the thing was,

whether those words were said or written,

it didn’t matter.

I’d told you once,

I’d told you before, once too.

my words meant absolutely nothing to you.

 

you didn’t care the day I told you,

and you won’t care tomorrow.

your time is something

that can never be borrowed

 

then,

now,

there is no difference.

you hit me where it hurt,

you really let me go

you showed me you never loved me

how couldn’t I have known?

 

I don’t know what I did

or what you think I did

to make you do that

 

but now that you did,

there’s no turning back.

 

//my mistake// 


her?

of all people.

“her?”

I ask.

 

“it isn’t serious,”

you say.

“it’s nothing.”

Then why is it that we’re talking about something?

 

it seems that we talk about nothing a lot,

it seems that you forgot what nothing is not.

 

of all the nothings there are,

why her?

why now?

 

losing your something,

made you go back to “nothing”

; that in reality was never nothing at all,

just a something you called nothing

to keep in your pocket.

 

it’s too bad that the one who stood holding your alternate hand,

never knew the secret you held in the other;

that, that something she is,

is just one of the others.

 

I hope you learn to distinguish nothing from not,

because I sure as hell

am not something to be forgot.

 

“something” I am

in fact,

I am “something” you lost.

 

now your pockets are empty

there really is nothing

I hope it was worth it,

you won.

you lost your something.

 

// something or nothing //


 

when people used to say that their heart hurt,

I never believed it was literal.

it was until mine broke inside of me,

but kept beating

that I could see that living

was now much different

 

in every literal sense,

a heart can hurt

like a disease

it isn’t like a broken bone,

there’s no timeline of when it’ll heal

it’s all dependent on how you make yourself feel

 

I wonder how many times a heart can break until it becomes broken

how many pieces are there to break

and why did no one find out the number?

 

Maybe if someone would’ve told me,

I would’ve protected mine a little bit longer.

Given it a break every time or two;

like some time off,

instead of more with you.

 

maybe if I would’ve known how many more times my heart could break

I would’ve considered how much was at stake.

 

it takes 364 licks to get to the center of a tootsie pop,

how many breaks can my heart take

until its had enough?

 

1?

2?

10?

12?

 

Hell, what happens when I’ve had more than enough?

I wish someone would have told me

how many times my heart could break

but I guess it wouldn’t even matter

when all that’s left is faith

 

so really the question is how much faith can be lost

until I throw in the towel,

and love is the cost?

 

// what faith? // 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

part II: stories untold

he asked me what was wrong,

he said he was my friend.

but i sat there wondering,

what kind of friend

would do this to a friend?

// Lies People Tell //


 

saying goodbye is hard for me

because I watched the ones I loved,

leave,

without saying a word.

// wordless //


 

we’re talking

and fighting

and screaming

and crying

; pretending that we’re listening to each other’s hearts,

when we’re only really interested in our own

// we aren’t listening //


 

everyones laughing drunkenly outside the window at the memories they won’t be able to remember tomorrow

I wonder what is so appealing about the idea of forgettable nights and engaging with strangers who won’t exist by tomorrow morning

then I remember,

that forgetting those moments

allows us to re-live them over and over again

sometimes not remembering tells us

those moments were worth forgetting

because if we did remember what happened,

we may just decide to not live,

or at least live the way we did,

that night,

and on all the other nights we chose to forget

// Is this living? // 


you looked at my bones like gold,

and pushed my skin down

to imagine a finer distinction

pointier,

rougher,

and thinner

than my own

silently,

you showed me what you wanted

and what I was at that moment,

was not enough.

// Bones like Gold // 


80… 90….100 

miles per hour we go

you sped down the road

hands smashing onto the dashboard

with my screams turning into tears

as I gripped the side of my seat

accepting the fact that this car ride may never end,

and this seatbelt may never come off

unless I jump out the door

// Safety First // 


 

“pretty, pretty please Nan,

can I come back really, really soon?”

she said to me.

with tears in my eyes,

I couldn’t find the words to respond.

it had been a decade since I wished to stay somewhere

so strongly that I begged

I realized at that moment,

that I would never experience that longing again

childhood was the only time that a feeling like that existed

// Longing //


 

I look at her and wonder where the world went wrong

if everyone were to have the soul of a 3-year-old girl,

things may go differently

as I ponder,

she turns to me out of the blue and asks,

“Are you okay?”

 

I want to scream no and tell her that she’ll only be able to wonder how others feel for so long until she learns the truth,

that no one’s okay.

everyone’s pretending.

and that someday she’ll stop asking

because she’ll know the answer is a lie,

or at least not the full truth

 

the people who embrace her kindness and shield her youth today

are bound to be overpowered tomorrow

by the corruption

and anger

and guilt

and pain

that could overflow oceans

and hearts

and minds

 

during this,

all I want to do is look at her and say

“are you okay?”

because I know there will only be so many more times that

she will say yes

and really mean it without hesitation

 

but instead I tell her that I’m okay

because I need her to believe this half-truth

she has yet to unmask

 

and secretly I hope that someday

she may grow older

and still believe it

without hesitation

as I used to

before.

I think that if we all chose

to protect the hearts of 3-year-old girls,

and allowed them to bask in oblivion for just a bit longer

without exposing them to what our modern-day truth looks like

that maybe someday,

somewhere,

a little girl will create her own

 

and although she may have never known our version,

we gave her the chance

we hadn’t been given:

to form her own truth

without it being decided for her.

 

// you decide // 


 

 

 

 

 

 

part I: someone loves me

I kissed his neck and said stop talking.

thinking my mouths touch could express

every word he wished I would say

I woke up the next morning

unknowing to the damage I’d done

to his body and heart. 

/empty expressions/ 


hands that were once so loving became cold,

words that were once so kind became cruel.

is all of you a lie?

/uncertainty/ 


I looked at you and lied,

knowing that any truth I spoke

would only do you harm.

but for my own selfish reasons,

I couldn’t let you go.

/Sorry/ 


I wanted to call you and tell you about all the things that have changed,

then I remembered you were just another one of them.

/oblivion-unmasked/


imagining me & you was easy

it was as if we never fell apart.

/we did/


you made me see love

and in the process,

realize I’d never been in it.

//until now//


while a part of me wishes to kiss you,

another screams to run away.

knowing that I,

am not the only one,

to feel your abundance of love.

/always running/ 


“It makes me mad because I know I could make you so freaking happy.”

It makes me mad too.

/path-to-destruction/ 


He asked me what was wrong with me when I acted like myself.

I didn’t know how to reply.

/unwanted?/ 


I regret letting you pressure me into believing

that love was expressed through touch.

there are different forms of affection

that don’t require taking my clothes off.

/impure/


Do you love me?

Are you in love with me?

At all?

Or do you only desire the idea of me?

I’m starting to feel like a project

/a work in progress/ 

an open apology to myself 

DEAR MIND,

I am sorry for the times I doubted and ignored you. I’m sorry for damaging you for what I thought was eternal. I’m sorry for allowing others to, too. I’m sorry for overworking you until you felt empty. I’m sorry for not letting you make me happy, I know you tried. I’m sorry for redirecting your thoughts and changing your views. I’m sorry for not listening and not acting upon every instruction you rightfully gave me. I’m sorry for losing you when I needed you the most.

DEAR HEART,

I’m sorry for making you feel weak when all you wanted to be was strong. I’m sorry for letting others tug on your strings whenever they pleased. I’m sorry for not guarding you with my entire being. I should’ve. I’m sorry for letting you go, only to call back for you, again and again. I’m sorry for letting you break. I’m sorry for not realizing how much love you held until I took it all away.

DEAR EYES,

I’m sorry for letting you become weary and dry. I’m sorry for the rivers you’ve cried and the sorrow, only you, have seen. I’m sorry for the things you saw; the things you shouldn’t have. I’m sorry for not turning away. I’m sorry that you couldn’t speak the emotions your pupils conveyed. I’m sorry you had to sit there, watching, defenseless. I, at times, feel the same.

DEAR MOUTH,

I’m sorry for the things I did and didn’t put inside of you. I’m sorry for neglecting you on the days you watered pining for nourishment and love. I’m sorry for letting mouths of those who mean nothing to me force themselves upon you. I’m sorry for their brittle touch and for the way it made you quiver. I’m sorry for the times you wished to scream, but said nothing at all. I couldn’t bare your sound. I’m sorry for the times you spoke too loudly and abruptly, creating no influence at all. I know you thought it would help. I’m sorry for not loving you the way you should be loved, I’m sorry for not letting others.

DEAR BODY, 

I’m sorry for the way your ribs peak out when you breathe. I’m sorry for not providing adequate warmth. I’m sorry for trying to make you looking like something that’s photoshopped onto billboards; I’m sorry for only loving you when I felt that you did. I’m sorry for letting others look at you like something that’s already theirs. I’m sorry for letting you feel like instantly acquired property rather than a hidden buried treasure. I’m sorry for the hands that touched you in your coldest moments. I’m sorry that I believed that they could provide you warmth.

I’m sorry for the times that I couldn’t avoid others’ grasps. I’m sorry for the way they gripped you; ways you shouldn’t ever be gripped. I’m sorry for not pushing back hard enough, for not defending you enough. I’m sorry that people feel entitled to your embrace. I’m sorry that they think you’re an open invitation. I wish that no meant no. Some tend to believe that no means yes, or at least that’s what they said. They thought you wanted their touch. Maybe they knew you didn’t, but didn’t care at all. I’m sorry for not loving you for what you precisely are. I wish I never expected more of you. I’m sorry for letting society conform you into a mold of something other than yourself. You are perfect, I hope it isn’t too late for you to see it.

DEAR ME,

I’m sorry for not allowing you to be your true self. I’m sorry for seeing you worst qualities rather than your best. I’m sorry for thinking that critiquing  was the only path to bettering yourself. I’m sorry for truly believing that you weren’t ever enough for yourself, or much less the world. I’m sorry for not telling you your own worth, every morning and evening, of every day. I’m sorry for not cherishing you the way you should be cherished. I’m sorry for thinking that others could fulfill your needs. I’m sorry for seeing you as one human of the billions, rather than one of a kind.

You are perfect and you are mine.“”

city streets & quiet bedrooms

 

Hearts fluttering in the winds of city streets and quiet bedrooms

Eyes glowing seeing the beauty in another’s eyes

Glasses cheering on the ends of nearby bar tables

Couples exiting, leaving doors clanging behind them

laughing while turning down icy street corners

voices shaking when reaching their destination

Faces blushing in the cold of her front door

One body leans as the other freezes

Moving closer, eyes meet once more

lips locking slowly, but surely

coming together as one.

Seeing that love does…

Really,

Exist.

 

One year later,

The two meet at the bar,

Not far from the icy corner of Barrows Street.

Sitting at the same stool,

Clanking a different glass.

Reminiscing the same day,

One year ago,

where they first met.

Laughing at life,

And the stories they began with,

before creating one of their own.

Leaving the door clanging,

they walk out the door.

Walking the same streets,

they did once before.

Seeing that love does…

Really,

Exist.

Sad Eyes

She walks around with sad eyes

Every where she goes.

People think she’s happy,

But no one really knows.

 

She walks around with sad eyes

Every where she goes.

She wants someone to ask her,

But no one ever goes.

 

Her eyes sometimes get brighter,

But the sunshine goes away.

At 10:pm in her bedroom,

Memories start to fade.

 

She tries her best to recall them,

But always tries too much.

Her head starts to hurt,

Her face starts to flush.

 

Her smile starts to fade,

Her eyes begin to flutter.

 

The tears that are falling drown her underwater.

 

The next time you see a girl with sad eyes,

Go and ask her why.

Let her tell you how she’s feeling,

Sit and let her cry.

Don’t tell her to feel better,

It doesn’t work that way.

Hug her till she smiles,

Help it go away.

 

The next time you see a girl with sad eyes,

Don’t you let her down.

Put her on a pedestal,

Give her a crown.

Make her feel pretty,

Make her feel smart.

Tell her she’s worth it,

Don’t let her fall apart.

you weren’t the answer

What I didn’t know was, you weren’t the answer. You never were.

And when I met someone else, I realized it; no one else is, or ever would be the answer to my problems.

The hollowness of my heart was my own problem, and no one else’s.

When I learned that, everything became fuller. More lively. More happy.

A relationship isn’t meant to fulfill you, it’s meant to be the cherry on top of it all.

Once your flaws and perfections are learned to be embraced rather than withheld, that’s when you’re ready.

You’re ready to be more. Not just yours, but someone else’s.

And when you do this, and it’s the right relationship, you shouldn’t feel like you’re someone else. You should feel exactly yourself, and maybe even learn a little more about yourself in the process.

A relationship isn’t meant to tear you down. A relationship isn’t meant to make you second guess your decisions. It should give you a level of certainty and comfort you may’ve never attained once before.

A relationship shouldn’t consume you, it should be just a little extra to you. It’s a tie, but it shouldn’t take over your entire life. It should just be another single part of it.

A relationship should push you to be better and feel better about all aspects of life. If your relationship isn’t doing that, it isn’t a relationship.

words 

He told her to not think so much as he traced his fingers down her cringing back. Her mind spun with the words she couldn’t say, and the things she so badly wanted to. They sat in the backseat of the old pick up truck in the darkness of a summer night.

The car was parked in the furthest parking lot of the soccer and softball fields; the spot that he said he only took her. She felt an eerie sense of anticipation. But for what?  She wasn’t sure.

They’d been sitting for quite awhile, and all she wondered was how to find the words to say it. But she couldn’t. Her mouth was shut with a clasp so tight her eyes began to water.

He noticed her silence but interpreted it the wrong way. He moved his hand from one section to another believing that was what she wanted. He believed that it was the anticipation masking her words, not her thoughts themselves.

He thought it was a sexual satisfaction she desired, when really it wasn’t that at all. She wanted the words to come out of his mouth. The words she had waited for, for months and months.

The words that originally made her drop her world and act irrationally. The words that made her abandon all that was good. The words that introduced her to a world so different than her own.

She wanted to hear them. She wanted to feel them, and she wanted to understand them. She wanted to believe that all the decisions she made were right, she wanted to believe the hurt she caused had a purpose.

But as long as she waited, and as much as she acted, the words she longed for would never be repeated.

The words held such an immense power over her that she would’ve done anything… and she almost did to hear their return.

But at the end of the day, all she could see was his hands; the hands that desired nothing but a body to touch. She saw a mouth that spoke useless words that would change her perspective of them all.

She heard nothing and felt nothing. Words turned into empty promises, and her mind held too many their her own.

/Words/

unfinished short story

He found himself sitting in the corner in the back of the little worn down café. Facing the window, rain droplets fell down one by one. He traced them with his finger as he stared into the glass, watching the cars go by. Dèjá vu crossed his mind of the day he met her. This same table, once before.

He suddenly missed the conversation from the other side of the table. He missed the sound of her laughter at his not so funny jokes.

For once in his life, he realized he made a mistake. The girl of his dreams was on a plane back to where she called home, and he no longer had an idea of where his was.

She was home.

 

 

 

ohh there’s something about the way…

There’s something about the way you look at her. A way that’s so apparent to everyone around you, even me. But she doesn’t look back at you the same. She never has.

Despite that, you still keep looking with this impeccable glimmer in your eyes. Your dream, you think, standing right in front of you. Almost a fingertip away.

But I stand next to you and watch as your eyes slowly deceive you. You follow her as she drifts further and further away. All that’s left: an eerie trace of what used to be.

But you hold on, onto those little memories that seem so big now. I see them fading. But you stand gripping to them with all of your might, afraid.

Afraid  of looking beyond the closed spaces.

Afraid of walking outside your comfort zone.

Afraid of seeing what’s outside that door.

Deep down, you know. You know she walked out of that door before you even opened it, you just didn’t know it then.

I hope you see it now.

I hope you walk away.

You deserve to walk away.