For Someone Who Couldn't Sleep In The Confines Of Four Walls, Her Presence Seemed Much Like Home,a Warmth

I am pacing back and forth in my apartment, trying to keep from calling you with a fistful of matches. Any friction, and I will start a fire. 

The thought of the pain I may cause stops me nearly every time. Nearly. Deep down, I don’t want to hurt you.  In times like these, I forget that I can plant instead of burn. 

I am restless and cold and in need of a blaze. It has all grown so grey. I don’t care if I burn myself or you, as long as I can be rid of the fog.

Fire is is vibrant and warm and it flickers and flutters like the universe being born– like I am in control of my life for once–

until it dies down.  Then the grey returns with a vengeance, smoke and ash grey and icy and me truly alone in their midst, with nothing under control. 

I am no god. Fire in my hands  only destroys. It only burns. 

I know we have not talked in a while, but please, let me keep my distance until the sun returns and chases away the grey.  Leave me alone until I remember my love for what grows.

how beautiful is it to be lonely

whenever the air you breathe has only been touched by your lungs

the emptiness in the echo behind your screams

thoughts to be sorted in the cavern of your cranium

how beautiful is it to be by yourself

as the liquor crawls down your throat the phrase I love you is drunkenly forced out

fatherly compassion that only surfaces when the alcohol has engulfed your body

submerged so deeply in a drink that love is just another meaningless word

a silly phrase that slips off of your tongue with the sharp taste of whiskey

too intoxicated to hear the crack in my voice

when i tell you that I love you more

more than your addiction

more than myself

but my words are tossed into the trash

clinking with empty bottles

colliding with conversations you don’t recall

memories of an absent father that loosely maneuver through my conscience

I have to compete with a $58 bottle of bourbon

but you seem to love being numb more than raising your daughter

it’s alright dad

i’ll carry the both of us out of this mess

maybe one day when you wake up you’ll thank me for it

but for now, I love you and I can spare enough love for the both of us

and I try to ease my loneliness by weaving all of the love I have to give into every corner of every notebook I can find; but nothing can ever ease the ache that fills me when I realize I have a thousand notebooks with a million stories of love and hope and beauty and not a single person to share them with. -The Awkward Poet

i used to rub my eyes as a child sitting in bed. when i did so, certain figures would appear, almost pixelizations in a way. It was certainly beautiful. The pressure formed intricate landscapes that I got the perfect view of. It felt like flying.

it could’ve been my strong will or maybe it was my secret city that allowed me to survive my childhood. Id like to think it was my city. When the world got too loud, i would escape to my home. Turning corners with a simple tilt of my head, it was the only place i felt at peace, souring over the city.

i don’t know what changed to cause me to stop visiting. my best guess is the stress of growing up amidst chaos made my adolescent hands to heavy to bring to my eyes. I still mourn my little city. I miss being able to fly.

something about falling snow is unsettling

peaceful to the eye

silencing the havoc throughout homes with a foot of soundproof encasing

sure the purity of the winter is breathtaking

but my lawn has been walked over time and time again

and the chaos is seeping out through the gaps of my snow boots

my screams echo with snow flakes hitting the ground

this chill in my bones is not serene

he finally told me he was proud of me yesterday

after i had given all of myself

searching in other people what he didn’t give me

selling parts of my soul for short lived validation

but you’re proud of me dad?

all that is left of me is my heart in your hands

what i’ve become is great he says

but i look in the mirror

and i see a few strands of hair falling from a broken down body

morsels to appreciate

but finally, he is satisfied

-sundayafternoonsedentary

i spend hours upon hours lying sedentary within my porcelain throne

filled to the brim with the tears of my past lovers

soaking in the glory of being alone again

~sundayafternoonsedentary

I want to be small

 to be able to fold my body into itself

To hug my own essence within gangly limbs

I want to embody my own soul and display its fragile state

I have spent much time knowing I am too much for this life

I want the bone chilling matter of being insignificant 

It’d be nice to feel small for a change

“I don’t want you to love me because I’m good for you, because I say and do all the right things. Because I am everything you have been looking for. I want to be the one you didn’t see coming. The one who gets under your skin. Who makes you unsteady. Who makes you question everything you have ever believed about love. I want to be the one who makes you feel reckless and out of control; the one you are infuriatingly and inexplicably drawn to. I don’t want to be the one who tucks you into bed; I want to be the reason why you can’t sleep at night.” - Lang Leav