It's funny

How something familiar,

Something you love

Can ruin your day;

How the crinkle of paper and parchment

Makes your throat close up,

Like a fish out of water 

And your eyes well up with unwanted tears;

How a song you know by heart

Breaks it every time it comes on in the background

And wraps cold, dark fingers around your brain

Just so it can project images of the past into your eyes;

How a certain smell, something ordinary

Can rip your mind away from the here and now

And send you spiralling wildly out of control

Getting lost in the endless labyrinth of the past; 

It's funny how those things happen

And it's hard to know what to do when they do,

Should you cut yourself off from everything that matters to you?

Will that solve anything? Or just hurt so much more for no reason? 

Everything feels different when you're dancing,

The whole world really does fade away, 

Out of focus, even if it is cliché;

It feels like magic when your muscles flex,

As if on their own, invisible momentum carrying them on;

I imagine it's what flying feels like,

Except you wouldn't have to worry about the ground.

You see, I

tried to do it right, but

all my thoughts want to go 

the wrong way

and

how did you manage to remember

to do every little detail

so right?

Maybe your brain's just wired

different then mine,

because I do it

all wrong

but you do it

all right

something I thought was impossible

before you.

You with the cool smile

and the kind face and

you with the pretty clothes

and the flowing words and

me with the clunky actions

you seem to find hilarious and

me with the hurt and the

shark edges

you haven't dug deep enough to 

find, yet.

It was supposed to be

something good

for both if us,

something that would loosen my screws

and make you smile and laugh

for me

- I love your laugh -

but then you had to go and

be you,

doing everything right

and I'd already messed up

too many times, so I

screwed up again

for the fun of it,

for the hurt that

settled over your face,

for the squeal of your chair as you

got up to leave

because

that ugly, ugly sound

describes my heart in

too many ways.

And then my heart broke again,

leaving another

jagged edge

to cut someone else I love on. 

Have you ever been paralyzed by the things that steal the breath from your lungs choke you mercilessly filling every space you try to keep closed with sound horribly silent but deadly noise echoing through every place no one can see taking over everything you thought you had control over poisoning every fiber with shattering anxiety burning it all to the ground until ashes ashes and that horrible noise are all that’s left?

“Stop being dramatic.”

~  

Hmm...

Is it my fault

That I hold my breath

When you guys are playing a game

Where you take a yearbook

Flip through all the pages, blind

Then randomly choose a picture, eyes still closed?

You all say

This is the person you will end up with.

It's your soul mate or something. 

Is it fine that I laugh

When the first two girls get themselves?

It is okay that I poke

At the girl who peeked because she wanted to pick her crush? 

Is it wrong I grin

When the fourth gets our friend who couldn't come this time?

And aren't I horrible for the breath 

That catches in my throat,

The butterflies that explode into my stomach,

The heart that throbs oh-so-painfully

Because it knows I should stopped before it got this bad;

All that in the split-second I realise it's your turn. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Haha, she was the only one who got a group picture so, whew. Close one. 

I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding

On exactly where and how I'm standing

It makes sense, I get a little "too into" character

And it's really confusing, that's for sure

'Cause acting feels fine

'Til you can't tell the line

Between real and not anymore

But'cha can't just say "No more"

Like that-- It's over,

It's through--

It just ain't true,

It's already part of you!

At least, for me

And you can't just sever it

Without breaking something deep inside

Even if it's hurting

Even if it's rotten

Even if you know you're living inside

Nothing but an illusion. 

A fantastic delusion,

Maybe it's because it feels real?

Maybe it's because I wish it were real?

But as it stands

There's so much you misunderstand,

K? 

Just don't blame me later,

K?

So yeah, bye!

And thanks~

~~~~~~~~~~~

This was written to the tune of a wandering musical in my head... I just don't remember which one.

Two poems. I wrote them last night. I really like the second one, but the first one's cool too, I guess? I don't know. Give me feedback if you want to.

so many

so many

so many deaths.

what are the odds that

I'll be the next one?

probably not likely but

someone has to be the

1% or less, so

why not me?

and

after all

I've had my fair share of happiness

in life, so

will I be a statistic soon?

one in a number too large to

fathom?

a statistic isn't very meaningful for

a life lost.

maybe when other people see

over a thousand dead or

depending on what it is,

tens or hundreds of

thousands,

they just see fear, but

I see

dead dreams

hopes 

words

stories 

songs.

and like,

I'm glad everyone alive is

alive, but

just because we survived

another day

doesn't mean everybody has.

you're thirsty for words

poetry

images

brown and white and grey bark and

green lives and

purple-tinged skies and

broken wings that

somehow

manage to lift off the ground and

stars and

moons and

seas and

land and

anger and

tears and

a little bit of joy,

but you keep drinking too long, and soon

you're choking on the words, 

eyes skimming letters

that should form magical

stories, but

they're overflowing,

and a deep purple tear slides down your cheek and

you catch it, inspect it,

keep reading, and

you want to stop

but you can't,

words that deserve to be read but

you're just skimming

too fast slow down

and you can't swallow fast enough and

a bluebird chirps on a birch tree,

calling for freedom and relief,

and everything is gone.