posts tagged "thoughts"
If you were a mountain range,
I’d find the darkest part of you and stay there. I’d make a home from the overgrown trees and the earthy smell of your soil. I’d hide myself in your deepest cave, and search for the cracks in its walls or the places where nothing but dark creatures live. I’d place my hand against your stone over and over until my hand print slowly formed. I’d find the ugly parts, the cold ones where sun just doesn’t reach, and I’d get comfortable there, in your shady darkness. And then, after feeling your unsteady parts, the parts where your ground just isn’t quite solid, id set fire to your dead trees. I’d start slowly, with those old dried out twigs, and move to your fallen branches until my fire covered your lifeless trees. I’d use every ounce of oxygen in my body just to stoke it. And once it was nothing but cinder, I’d clear the way. I’d use my hands to move the ashes away, and I’d find whatever water I could and I’d watch new life grow. If you were a mountain range, I’m sure I’d get lost trying to find the peaks, but id never give up, because my chest never stops pushing me forward and I’ve never felt such a pull towards something. If you were a mountain range, I’d touch each tree just to feel its bark, and I’d find every hidden lake or massive glacier and I’d sit, patiently, waiting for something to change. If you were a mountain range, I’d be your park ranger and I’d learn you from the tips of your peaks to the darkness of your caves and I’d never forget the way you looked at sunrise. Because I said I’d do that. And because even after all this, I keep trying. I just thought I’d let you know, if you were a mountain range, I’d build my home on you.
Sometimes,
It feels like trying to lift heavy objects with eye lashes, or attempting to drag something huge through thick melted chocolate by a thread. Whatever it actually is, you know it’ll snap easily. I’ve been alone recently. Like actually alone, not the whole cut yourself off from everyone alone because when you do that solitude isn’t actually achieved. My fingers feel weaker, and slippery. I tried holding your heart for longer than I should have. You’d think my lesson would have been learned after a month of silence, but your promise of home weighed down each individual rib in a comforting sort of sadness. I don’t know what happened, where I lost it, but I looked down and what was left in my palms was nothing but old wounds reopened and salted. I feel like those thick green leaves that had started to bud and are now sinking with the weight of that snow. It looked so calm and clean, but what I realized is that frozen water is still water and whether it’s fast or still you can still drown. I tried for a while to just drink it, but my stomach is full and I’m left with a brain freeze that won’t go away.
Maybe its just midnight thoughts.
Maybe you didn’t mean to.
I’m shivering though, and it’d be nice if you could at least state that you were there. I can still feel you, whether you admit to it or not.
I saw you today.
No, like really saw you. You were limping and that timid look you always give turned quickly to desperation. Your damaged leg you held next to your face and your long ears pulled back against your skull like if only you could shrink yourself to the point of disappearing, you’d live that much longer. You made it to the tree but I could tell that those remaining three limbs of yours could only take you so far. I’m sorry I didn’t see you before. Limping on your own, trying to deconstruct your own anatomy for the sake of sanity. I wish that my skeleton was made of jelly so that I could mimic your structure. I’ve seen some before that reminded me of you, but I actually saw you today. In those eyes that were so wide they looked like they were grasping on to any light that they could.
“Come to our show”
You weren’t that beautiful, and your hair hadn’t been washed in god knows how long. That adorable little smile and the way you practically forced us to listen to your little monologue of your band was pretty sweet. If your band hadn’t played at a kegger in someone’s house I didn’t know, or the other people of your little ensemble hadn’t looked so terrifying I would have gone. It was nice to talk to you for a moment though, Brian with an I.
There have been so many moments where my feet haven’t felt fully connected to the ground.
There’s no where to move but forward, but right now, I thought forward would look a lot different. I know that being alone won’t quite be the same as it used to, that some sort of wound will be left and that’s just the nature of lending your heart out, but my rib cage feels sore and the thing it’s protecting no longer seems to skip a beat when someone looks at me. It’s not that I’m hung up on someone, or longing for something I can’t have, it’s that I want to put myself out there. I want to know someone for their uncomfortable shit, for their disgusting desires and their silly pointless fears and the times that they cry and they can’t figure out why. I want to see into someone’s insides, to feel what it’s like to be a passing idea jumping from what part of their brain to another. My goal is not to manipulate or change, but to simply give all that I can give in that time. Where are the people who are okay with being uncomfortable? Who will sacrifice a moment of feeling right for a lifetime of home? I want to get my hands dirty. To dig into your chest and move my fingers through your cartilage. I want to spill myself into the space between your muscles and skin, and feel what you feel. I want to be uncomfortable.
Do you realize how much we love you?
Every time you refuse our want to feed you, it’s like taking tiny shards of glass to the heart. I’ve watched you wither for seven years, from the beautiful young girl who saw dreams of the world, to a wisp of a human being. I’ve seen that thick, full heart of yours empty it’s love into the palms of other people at a continuous rate. Those rib bones of yours are collecting your sorrow, and if you could only take my eyes for a minute and see how much light you radiate, you might actually take that bite of chocolate cake. I know that feeling the pain of your hip bones sticking into your bed at night makes you feel in control and beautiful, but those bruises are spreading like a disease and I feel them more prominently than my own hurt. I wish for a moment that your love for the world could turn inward and feed your starving veins. Who knows what happened, maybe you convinced yourself that because your heart was stuffed your stomach needed to be empty. Or maybe you felt that love only comes from feeling your spine dig into the chair behind you. I want to give you my flesh, to pull it off of myself and warm your shivering body, but I’m starting to realize that this is not our battle. I only want you to know how much I love you, and if I lose you to this because I wasn’t brave enough to tell you that your hollowed cheeks make my stomach twist, I will never forgive myself. I bake. I feed people for a living, and I so desperately want you to eat my love.
Maybe it’s just the day.
I wasn’t going to let you be a major part of my life, you know? I was just going to keep it simple, let things happen, but then you spent twenty minutes mumbling “there’s a chance I…. I might umm…. I think I….” and then you said it and those clean strings that were attaching you and me started to get a little messier. It always does when that word comes into it. I’m here. I’ll keep reminding you until you tell me to leave. It’s messy now, those strings are tangled, but I never did liked things to be neat and tidy all the time, so I guess it’s appropriate.
I would sit in your silence if you let me.
I wouldn’t question the words that couldn’t form, or the thoughts that would slip. I would hold each and every moment with care, making sure you know that your presence is not arbitrary or strange but powerful in a way that cuts me to my core. I am not good with being in the unknown, but if you asked me, I would sit in your chaos with you for however long you needed. If darkness is all you can give, let me hold it for you, I’m good at that.
I don’t drink juice unless it’s heavily watered down,
and when I wash the dishes I sing. I get angry when people ignore me, and instead of graciously walking away and waiting for them to come to me, I consistently try and talk to them. The soles of my feet are sensitive right now, but I don’t want to wait till summer to rough them up. I can’t remember the last time I felt it, but my chart always did say I’d find home in Pisces, which sucks for me because I have no idea how to handle them apparently. I like where I am right now, I just wish I knew if you were going to talk to me again or not. It’d be as simple as a yes or no.
