thirtieth

i used to feel like i was treading in sea, slightly drowning inside. i used to feel my pulse beat like thunder in my own head. through, and through, and thoroughly against. like vastness of waves crashing to the shores of reckless walls-
that i built like a cage around my chest, out of hurt in disguise.

and cemented by bucketfuls of resent-filled ego
                               in refusal to make home in the hearts of man

and here i lie, as if all of me feels stained
staring blankly as words pour out of me -
the melted wax harden by the winds blowing
through my balcony.
making curtains dance
with gracefulness i lack....

i want to be able to believe again,
and i want to be able to give all of me.

not in cowardly fragments as i have done...
and without wearing my tongue and heart in my sleeves
i have been tiptoeing myself on fields of landmines.
faking apathy - but fully knowing otherwise

                                                      i want to be able to feel something again.

twenty-ninth of five

dignity in the shreds,
write you letters, i will never deliver.
i am distrustful of my feelings anyway

unwrinkled

trace letters and lines
on my skin

mapping distances
& charting feelings

unlearn of love

         to love again.

warmth

for once, he said

       i feel less like an illusion

       when you smile at me

lit

we talked all night

about life 

and weather
under stars -
               like chandelier 

as if everything is

& on the road where cars move at a speed as fast as time I watch my life pass by on the window seat of this Greyhound window.

It is a lonely realization that every person I truly love, and those who love me in return are distances (up to thousands of miles) away from me.

It is not displacement but a distorted yearning for home I have found in both sides of the world I know I can never have.

I will never be completely at ease with my dillusions and understandings of what a home is. Or where it is. No matter how many words I rationalize to comfort myself with.

Adaptation is a wonderful thing,
Missing is a feeling I am terrible at handling.

I do not like feeling like I swallowed my own heart.

Everything feels so raw right now.

where is home?

I used to think that places steal souls where people leave footprints. But people steal hearts in places once called home. Especially when places have changed.