Poetry

I believe life should be lived in poetry

Uneven stanzas

And misaligned rhymes

The perfect rhythm to carry it all through

Your words and mine

Breed a song

No music could measure up to

And In between the lines

Is the only place

The person I am

And the person I want to be

Can meet

Each comma carries the burden

Only our hearts can bare

But we put it on to paper

With only moments left to spare

As if our souls are running out of ink

And the pages are burning up

Because these words

Hold so much power

But they’re too often left untouched

Thoughts that keep me up at night

I lie awake at night

Tangled between the sheets

With two mistresses

I did not agree to get in bed with.

Partners in crime.

A matching set.

Anxiety and insomnia

Fill the room with noise

Silence can barely compete

Anxiety places a blender behind my eyes

Insomnia presses “Chop” Every time they start to close

Anxiety pours the words

Within my skull

Demanding them to be written

While tying my hands behind my back

Insomnia is the drum

Beating to remind me

That while I may fill the glass

It will never be enough

Anxiety drives my car to work

With a gun to my head

After insomnia handcuffs

A piece of me to my bed

Always leaving a part of me

Not miles away from where I am

But just out of reach

I’m held hostage by this life

Pulled between the person I am

And the person I want to be

Anxiety is the mean girl in high school

But not the blatant bully

The one that disguises herself as my friend

Her eyes are sharp for imperfection

Every glance is a poignant blade

Against each pound I should have never gained

She smiles at my jokes and claims them as her own

Because her delivery is always spot on

She flirts with the boys I like

And winks in my direction

To let me know the world is hers for the taking

Her criticism is posed as constructive

But every poised point of her finger

Is a bulldozer to my self esteem

Insomnia is the cruel whisper behind my back

Reminding me that I didn’t have any self esteem to begin with

I graduated six years ago

But they’re the only friends that stick around

I can’t afford to let them go

I’m think they’ll be holding hands at my funeral

Toasting to the memory of me that they helped destroy

Anxiety and Insomnia

Partners in crime

A matching set

I can’t tell who’s the bigger bitch

Lost thought chronicles

I write poetry in my head

So often

That the words down on paper

No longer make sense

How is it possible

That our foundation is so cracked?

I’m scrambling to fill in

All the holes

But I’m left with terrain

So uneven

I can’t take a step

Without twisting my ankle

I resent you for this house you’ve built

How is it supposed to feel like a home

When I can’t even sleep

Insomnia

Insomnia wraps its arms around me

Like my grandfathers deceit

My disgust is only paramount

Because no one else can hear it

But that’s what I get

For writing words

That take twists and turns

Within my ears

But never escape my lips

How can I escape my heartache?

Is there an exit plan to this life?

See, I have a theory

I have a theory that

The world must hold the same amount of pain at all times

It’s a balancing act

And when I rise on the scale

Someone else falls

So today I feel like a savior

A product of love and loss

Because I’ll hold in all of this chaos

Just to see you smile

My internal conflict

Lies between the sheets of our bed

I am incapable of two things

Writing my words

And sleeping alone

Where does your head rest

Amongst this mess?

My mother is an artist

My mother is an artist

So growing up

Our walls were hand coated

With a million strokes of memories

The paint that spilled from laughing too hard

The quote that was almost misspelled

The flower that was painted over

When my head aged faster than my heart

Now bare walls give me anxiety

I am surrounded by blank canvases

The expansive nothingness

Makes this room feel like a chokehold

Each poster is like a bandaid

When what I need is fresh skin

A new view

A new vision

A new thought

A new breath of life

Painted on with warmth

And even coats of hope

But these walls are forever empty

The brushes meant

For every detailed design

Are just out of reach

Flying home to you

I used to fight sleep on every plane ride

As if closing my eyes for a split second

Meant that I would miss

The most important part

At night

When the building lights flickered

The whole world seemed upside down

But there wasn’t a single star in the sky

That could match the bright lights below

The constellations on the ground

Were made up of so much more

Than a comet’s wish

They pointed to a direction

So close, yet so far

From a thousand feet up

Every town was free of clouded judgement

The price of their utopia

Was my tainted view

But I could afford it

For the glimmer of hope in each home

Help

What could it possibly mean? I took a breath and everything I exhaled was gone. There was not a single ounce of what I had before. Should I chase it? That exhausting pain I left behind? Or should I breathe forward toward reality and what is meant to be?

The very last thought I can have of you

I could write a million words to say goodbye to you and the piece you took would always be a larger hole than anyone could fill. And who’s fault is that? Is it mine? Is it yours? When do I get to let you go and watch you float away to a world I don’t belong to? Or will your world always be a part of mine? If I write you one more letter, will you finally respond?

I choose you

I often get lost in thought trying to describe what we have. Simple is not the answer. Complicated is by far a stretch. You and I are not a fairy tale held on to for years. We are not a romance intertwined with the musings of a childhood dream. We are a million stories before the ones we are told we are meant to be. And in all those books there is no better word to describe our chaos more than “choice.” You are my choice every damn day. I choose to go to bed and wake up next to you. I choose to fall further into your eyes than you have ever allowed. I choose to kiss each inch of your skin, even when you want me to stop. I choose to never stop seeing the sun in your smile and feeling the warmth of your touch. I choose to believe that the real magic is no longer in the fairy tales, romantic novels, and childish dreams. The magic is in your arms when you’re snoring and you reach over and hold me. The magic is in the books I didn’t ask for but you bought anyways. The magic is in the way your hands have grown to look for mine when they used to stick by your side. The magic is in knowing we can both live our lives without each other and be completely okay, but making the choice to love each other anyways.

You are the poem I’ve been searching for

I’ve been searching through the poetry

The milk and honey and all the pillow thoughts

For words to fit how I feel

But their love seems to fall short

With you

I can’t help but fly

So how am I to reference and rely on

Their bare and basic love

When ours is filled with

Words molded into melodies

Touches turned to embrace

And the raw reality

Of us