Broken shelves need fixing

I am the shelf that holds you
Collecting dust with time,
Lean and neglected against the wall
I carried your books that shared pages-
After pages of stories;
Of memories....
But even torn, chapters remain.

30/10/13

I arrived Ottawa at 2 am and the cab driver complimented me for my smile and for my positive attitude. Little did he know what I was I feeling. He made me laugh throughout my ride home, and it felt wonderful to actually laugh. Without forcefully making my cheeks turn, pretentiously trying to fool myself.

I woke up 4 hours later, dreading to get ready for work. But I made it up somehow, even though it was dark out. A fragile old lady sat at the bus stop smiling at me as it snowed out. I was too distracted by the sound of my own thoughts to realize it. But how beautiful and soothing it was, I almost teared up....

I had a cookie dough ice-cream from Laura Secord with some coworkers...I was afraid it would only leave my insides colder than it already is. But I was surprised to find it warmed the childishness inside of me a little. To be receiving a text from an old friend, halfway across the world made me realize how real this all is to me. To forget myself, and be reminded of who I am came like an aftershock. I didn't think I'd make the bus ride home without breaking. But I did, and I let it all out the moment I got off, and I am not ashamed.

I'm still cold, but the numbness is wearing off a little. But what I really need is clarity. I need direction. Re-reading text messages only make me feel horrible...I didn't think I'd be capable of so much hurt.

conflicted

Guess I can still feel after all.
Being in a stalemate sucks,
Especially when matters pertain to the heart.

Don't break, you did this to yourself.

Warmth

I am bent. Something inside of me curves in ways I cannot comprehend. So much heat from bitter frustration probably made it bent. The fires have simmered, cooled off. Now all I feel is coldness. Dead leaves crumpled underneath my boots. Decomposing and desperate for more time. I can't feel a thing, I need to feel something again.

If writing is a means of coping,
I am terrified I'd be out of words.

Loneliness sings

Windows opened
I let the curtains breathe and swirl,
into a dance so graceful
while late autumn chills blow
and coldness seep across my skin

Curled up into a fetal position
Emptiness parade with familiarity
Loneliness sing to me in company
Myself, is my own stranger to me

For you can live many years planning life
Living like you own all,
Only to realize you know nothing
And you can take years trying to understand someone
Only to find you know little to none about them

So I let the windows open,
And just watch the curtains dance so graceful-
they swirl, while my cavity mind spins empty
With loneliness singing in company.

No more.

I don't know why I've become so cold. That I have to convince myself- by swallowing cups after cups after cups of coffee, or anything. Just to force myself to feel warmth. Heat can be felt transferring itself from the paper cup to my fingertips. But it is not even winter, and my insides are frozen-

So is time.
The traffic in my mind is perfectly still.
I think what was left of perseverance and hope has been vacuum. Crumpled in the corner of my parts somewhere, distilled.

& maybe this indifference is a mechanism.

I don't want to break anymore. I don't understand this anymore.

I don't know what love is anymore.