This inspiration comes in waves
I wash away with violence
And kiss the shore again and again
Redemption, or playing pretend
What is your darkest secret?
Our eyes collide like a coastline
Or a car crash
Like you’re the serpent
What are you hiding?
You’re a skyscraper
And suddenly I’m obsessed with architecture
You rush through me like adrenaline
These words are caught in my throat
I - knew - you - were - trouble
What do you have to lose?
I am an assembly line
Enable, Terminate, Repent, Repeat
Do Not Ask Questions
I’m addicted to the most unorthodox things
Like depth, and intimacy, and coexistence
Entrap me in a castle of ignorance
Make me the princess of innocence
If beauty is pain, I am a monster
One moment I am indestructible
One moment I am a force of nature
And the next, I fade away
Just keep your arms around me and I won’t let your body touch…
I won’t let it touch the ground.
Just keep your eyes on me, and let me be your gravity.
This is where I get all dark and twisty.
I wonder if I’ll ever be able to sleep.
I wonder if I got the guitar because I wanted it or because I wanted to fill the space.
I wonder if I will ever forgive, or if I will just forget.
I wonder if I will learn my lessons, or if I will continue to repeat the same mistakes over and over.
I wonder if I will learn to prioritize with my brain instead of with my heart, or my gut.
I wonder if I will ever find something real again.
I wonder if I deserve to.
I know who I am and what I want. I know what I’ve been through and what I have to offer. I know what I bring to the table. I know what my destination is (not where or who, only what). I know what I want from you (general you).
I want so badly to be able to elaborate on this, to write myself out in words so clear that everyone who reads this will KNOW me. I also know that this is not possible, and I accept it for what it is.
I live a very quiet existence, one where I feel all of these feelings that make perfect sense, but the feelings don’t speak, they don’t explain themselves, and I can’t write them down. I sometimes envy those who can put it all on paper or canvas, while I struggle to answer a simple, “How are you?”
Although I lack eloquence and clarity, one thing is as solid and real as it’s ever going to be: I know me.
And the God’s honest truth (truth that is as honest as I can let myself be, truth that lets you into my soul) is that I believe that there is someone out there (someone that exists, with a family and friends and history and scars and stories) who wants to know me. I believe that, when it’s real, I won’t have to define myself in clear and easy-to-understand words. I believe that person will want to learn and want to understand.
I believe that things shouldn’t be so complicated. At the same time, I believe that things that are worth it are worth fighting for.
Here’s to wishful thinking.