sometimes the truth is so simple it hurts


Sometimes the truth is so simple it hurts,
Because your mind wants to believe anything but,
Fabric the ways it could be happening,
The ways you let yourself conjure and create,
Sometimes wishing it we true just so you could breathe ‘I was right’,
Then knowing you’d never want that wish to come true.

Sometime the truth is simple,
Laid out before us in reason and logic,
Leaving no room for your mind to intervene,
But it’s not you mind you’re worried about,
It’s your emotional heart and the nasty things anxiety makes up,
Sometimes the truth is laid before you with nothing to intervene,
Yet you still manage to find ways to match it to your own truth.

Sometimes the truth is simply the truth,
And what you make of it,
Take your truth and make it your own
Stick to it so no other may shake your core,
Because sometimes the truth is so simple it hurts.

Picture by Daniil Kuzelev (Unsplash)

Dreaming with Deaf Stars


How many sunsets have gone by without you?
How many nights have gone by without the moon to guide my dreams to yours?
To may if you ask me, but the only ones who care are the stars,
Lingering in the black sky, casting a glow in the dead of night,
And they’ve been too busy granting wishes for fallen hearts to hear a broken soul like mine,
But I keep waiting up for you to come home, for that side of the bed to be warm…
Keep praying, even on a starless night,
In hopes that my prayers will be heard,
And you’ll come home to be once more.
But I know that’s an empty promise,
My heart doesn’t have the strength to accept the truth,
Can’t fathom the reality I have to face each time my eyes open again.
That the reality without you is the one I must accept, every morning when my tired eyes open to the blinding sun,
In that still, solace of a moment when my mind and heart haven’t truly woken
And I can forget that you aren’t lying next to me.
Maybe that’s why I keep dreaming, keep wishing on those stars that don’t answer my prayer,
Because that’s all I have left of you,
The memory that falls onto the deaf stars and a heart that wishes for a change that will never come.
Sure as the sun rises, I’ll keep counting the sunsets without you until I can’t remember why you aren’t lying next to me.

Picture by Federico Beccari

Under the Dreaming Tree


Under the Dreaming Tree I discover you,
As though you’d been waiting for a lifetime.
You reach your hand out, patiently waiting for me to realize,

The fragments of dreams that make up the memory of you.
So I sleep and sleep, as you take me under
To a place of distorted reality, that knows neither beginning nor end,
Forever stuck in the middle of a reverie.
You watch over me like the catcher of dreams,
Eager to replace my nightmares with delusions and hallucinations.
They come shrouded in the mist of a forgotten fantasy.
They come as figures in gold, sweet as the passion I find,
Buried in the daydreams of a distant time.

But you wait for me to come to you.
Drunk on the wine and high on the feeling,
Too content to notice the needle in my arm, the bags under my eyes.
But you wait for me to come to you because we’re still young.
Knowing young dreamers are filled with an innocence you can no longer find,
Their dreams pure as they filter through the web of the dream catcher.
I’ve spent nights running from the sun, and always seem to get away,
Until dawn breaks, reflected off the prism of my shattered mind.
(A dream of my own reflected off it’s broken shards.)
I rub the sand from my eyes to remind myself of who I am,
Thoughts clouded by visions of who I was once.
Finding familiarity in the reflection I see, I look up,
For inspiration in the morning light, as the moon begins to fade,
And the boy on the edge of the crescent throws his line down to me.
I wonder if he was tired of seeing how broken Earth had become.
How Her dreams have slowly died, becoming the broken stars we see
Seemingly eager to fall from their place in the sky.

Under the Dreaming Tree, I found you,
But I no longer am distracted by visions if my ill bent desires,
Of nightmares filled with demons of my own creation.
There is no longer innocence in me, and you seethe to know I am not pure.
But I know there is nothing wrong with what I’ve become,
Broken dreams can mend; find salvation in minds of those willing to believe.
Fantasies and nightmares blend to create a force so powerful,
It can sway the darkest of minds, and create the most beautiful tragedies.
My mind a blank slate, as the words dance on my tongue.
So slowly the terrors of the night fade, and I wake with the sunshine.
And I think back to the stars, fascinated by their beauty and grace,
As they fall to the Earth, with new found faith,
So eager to tell the stories of the sky and her stars.

Picture by Aaron Burden (Unsplash)

Love: What we can never name


A look into the mind of a person who has lost touch with herself. Jaded and torn from her experiences in life, she looks to others guidance for  answers, a concern or even to blame.

#1

When did the art of words lose their deeper meanings?
When did I learn to read for popularity rather than content?
The stars always tell the truth of the stories we try to vanish,
The ones that have the been told many times before,
Those tales that carry lessons, those refused to be learned.

But…when did the stars lose all their beauty and awe?
What happened to the magic I used to see in them?
When I gazed up with wider eyes and a cleaner conscious,
I thought I could change the fates aligned,
But I shot for the moon and landed ungracefully in the blackness,
Surrounded by the very same stars I once admired.

So here’s to the dreams and wishful thoughts that never made it to the surface,
And to those wanders and cloud dancers that fell through the cracks,
Because those are the people we need to find among the lost songs,
Cast aside in favor for bright stars,
But know that I see you, up there in the blackness and smoke,
Waiting for your chance to eclipse and make your presence known.

#2

Oh sweetie, it must be nice to feel so deeply,
And not worry of their consequences
To speak so clearly and openly, I wouldn’t know,
For I speak in riddles and tongues foreign to even my chaotic mind,
I’d be lying, saying your attention was enough to change my ways,
But these habits are as hard to break as the stone surrounding my heart,
The fire and defenses that spit from my mouth, as natural as the breath in my lungs,
And I do love your attention,
But it will never be enough to keep my wondering eyes, or my indifferent heart.
So lie to me, and maybe you’ll catch a grain of truth,
But know that I am constructed of guards with false integrity
And born from promises built on the very lies they’ve shunned.

Oh, darling, it must be nice to be so innocent in all the ways that count,
Yet you continue to play these childish games of envy,
My heart cannot be confined in the four walls you mean to keep me in.
But I find myself in love with people and everything they are,
So in love that I can’t be kept from the strangers I find in my bed, in my mind,
Nor can I be kept from the lovers that make their way back,
Wanting more and more of what I pretended to give them.

I know you think you know me, my quirks, my soul, my very being,
But you know the me I let the rest of the world see,
The one that can make it in the crowd of serpents and saints,
You have yet to meet the girl behind this closed door,
Or the girl that writes these simple words onto the pages,
It’s not your fault; few have actually seen her,
For she is as lovely and fragile as the ghosts that haunted timeless tales,
But you will never meet her, she only shows herself to the trusted
Who have seduced the guards and destroyed the stone surrounding her walls,

Oh, my would be lover, you have picked a hard game to beat,
But know you have lasted longer than many who came before,
And know that if I had been a simpler, better woman
I could have loved you in the way both of us might have wanted.
But for now, our story reminds me of a Grimm fairytale,
Beautiful and fatale in their lessons
Of feeling too deeply and wanting more than a heart is allowed.

#3

My skin is made of ink and bone,
Covered in ivory, laced in a poison of steel and grace,
Ready to feel and yell, to know what it means to be alive.
Let me tell my story, as I bleed it onto the pages,
Scattered and torn but still legible to the right pair of eyes.
Let me know that it’s okay to feel things like rage and sorrow and pity,
Let my skin be torn and sown, ripped apart and mended all at the touch of another.

After everything, emotions drawn and torn from me in a silent cry
Let me rest easy in the darkness I’ve created.
No smothering, no chaos, just the thoughts I’ve tried to run from, and me.
Let me face them head on,
Give me the strength to change them and the voices that scream at me from inside.
Only then will I split and change, forming a new version better than I am now,
Buried in the ashes of the fallen monsters and shrapnel
Pray you find me among the rubble.

My skin is made of ink and bone,
Sharp and permanent, forever haunting,
Mixed with the chaos of beauty and the saving grace of Lucifer.
Let me show you what it means to be alive,
For I have felt it all within my emotions and the pages I’ve bled into.
Powerful words stolen from a hollow prayer,
Your lips lingering, kissing the scars you’ve left deep in my skin.
Know that you created a beautiful tragedy,
And she will forever be in your debt,
My skin is made of ink and bone,
Covered in ivory, laced in a poison of steel and grace,
She has been through hell and back with me, clinging to all the damage and magnificence life has already offered.

 

Fire is Fire


Fire is fire,
So let’s say we burn this down;
Light the match and watch it turn to ash.
You and I were too much,
Clashed and raged;
Each trying to water the others ember,
Hoping, in spite, that their flame would flicker and die.
What does that make us?
Perhaps our fires were too strong because we used them as weapons;
Perhaps, our compatibility went up in smoke the minute we ignited;
Or maybe, just maybe we never got the right kick,
The wind blew us out too soon,
Our kindling damp,
I can’t say anymore.
But fire is fire,
So let’s burn darling,
And hope we can rise from the ashes we create.

Picture by Paul Bulai (Unsplash)

Why do you try and save him?


Why do you try to save him?
Change him when he can’t.
Like a butterfly
Fluttering in a storm,
You wish to capture and cradle,
But, the storm has claimed him.
There’s nothing you can do to protect him,
He chose this path,
And he can’t see it through if he’s blinded by your hands
In front of his eyes.
You’ll try, God you’ll try to fight it,
Knowing that you can be his sanctuary;
Knowing only you can be the love he needs to be saved,
But that’s not how this works,
Because that’s never the way love is supposed to work
Love has to be able to grow without you pushing it down,
Without you clawing and scrapping until it bleeds openly.
So let him fly into the storm,
And pray your love is what keeps him from being crushed.

Picture by Daria Rudyk (Unsplash)

I fell in love with Colors


I feel in love with colors once,

They’re bright, attractive allure,
Drew me in time and time again,
Fingers dancing on the edge of my heart,
Caressing and sighing, teasing laughter echoed in my head,
Colors drew me close, whispered beautiful things,
I saw stars in so many different perspectives,
Saw the sunset every day and each time gasped with the portrait that bleeds into the sky,
I fell in love with all the colors,
Never questioning why,
And they all broke my heart.

The day I saw things in black and white was when I met you,
When the colors had drained me dry,
Taking whatever they could,
I still hear the haunting laughter and my heart lurches.
(And it’s shameful that I miss seeing the sunset,
How the stars shone, the way the night sky bled)
The black and white, though,
It was so dull, simple and so transparent I wondered what caught my eye,
It wasn’t the vivid imagery it drew in my mind,
Couldn’t have been the thrill or excitement,
But…something still made me stay.
(Maybe I was trying to heal the mess colors left smeared across my heart)

Black showed me there was so much more to my darkness,
How shades of grey told a story,
How the midnight hue told an endless story across that same night sky,
How the white bright stars shone in a new, different way,
Colors had bled me,
But the comfort of black and white,
Of you,
Made me learn to create my own colors,
Shining bright and bold,
Mixed with a touch of your own color pallet.

Picture By Ian Dooley (Unsplash)