I don't want to only know her by the sound of her footsteps

I don't want this leash to be so tight

I want to find my own and not relive someone else's lost dream

I want to be me

This path has footsteps that never made it to the end

Am I supposed to continue

in search of what was

and in hopes of becoming something that's not for me

It pains me with each step that I take

It leads me

farther than where I need to be

The pains different these days

Its null and lost it's vibrance

It doesn't feel the same

It still exist

But It makes the rain different

And my rage distant

But the pills make it fine

so I can eat

and I can fall asleep

it fine

fine

fine'

with the prescription medication

I forgot how to cry again

will I feel alive again?

when will the end not look like the middle

the days are shorter

its a subtle change

my life

my dreams

they now have no means

just waking up

day after day

with no say

These expectations

they're running me dry

no tears left

and no time to cry

I can't keep blaming the weather

Cause stick season is almost over

running out of room on my skin

where the art is thin

but it means something

holding on to somethin'

just to find out it was nothin'

its a tiring spindle

I was once a work of art

full and strong

once made with love

and filled with the brightness of the sun

and now rail thin

meals skipped on days end

downwards spiral

my dreams

my needs

where have they gone

and I'm running out of things that are keeping me tethered here

my folks are leaving

and I find no care anymore

cause the birds will still sing

and my folks will still fight

the boards will still creak

and the leaves will still die

everything will keep on moving with or without

and that's the hardest part

trying to move on

but still wondering where it all went wrong

I can't keep blaming it on the weather

It needs to get better

I'm scared that

you'll read my mind

and see how I'm imagining you

and you will see-

see how it is to be loved by me

I know I would turn around

damning you to be dragged back underground

But just for a second

I would know you chose me

Imagine being loved by me

And I would beg for your forgiveness

and hopeful need

That you would be spared

immediately

Eurydice

Please love me

I want to remember how it is to be loved by you

It hurt so bad

that I became a poet

for the words of loss and longing

I could not say out loud

so I chose to write them on paper

with harsh slashes and scars

marring the clean lines

of a thin heart

hoping to relieve some of this burdening pressure

so that I can breathe

It hurt so bad

I became a poet

so that I could spew out the words

that haunt me

that swirl around begging to be released

It hurts so bad

I don't want to be a poet

I don't want to be fluent in the language of sorrow

to be able to twist and turn and churn hieroglyphics into something meaningful

to give one shivers and goosebumps

I don't/want to be a poet

Tell me about winter Father,

Tell me about the cold kisses,

and the longing touches of the wind

The pinches on my cheeks and

the tickling on my nose

Tell me about winter Father

For there is more I want to know

How it comes and it goes

and how it snows

Tell me more!

Tell me more!

Tell me why such a cold season is such a cheery time

And why the snow swallows me up

Oh look how high!

Tell me about winter Father

I want to know more

About Mrs. Winter

And how she goes.

“I’m here"

But you're never just here

You're a million miles away through time and space

Never in the moment

But always claiming to be 'present'

You’re never just here

You're there

You’re everywhere you’re not supposed to be

You're not in arms reach

You're never here

Where I need you to be

You’re stuck in the past

Holding onto the tied together what ifs

And 'if only'

And I’m tired

Of being here

by myself

It gets lonely

Waiting on you to realize

that I'm not in the past

That nobody is in the past

but I'll stay here

waiting on you,

To wander and search

for something that

I know

and you know

truly

doesn't

exist.

My life is a poorly written book

with 'I love you's' scattered across the pages

and you are determined to stay

written in ink

while I keep trying to escape

erasing myself from the pages

but you keep tracing over me

finding ways to keep me here

Everything is a kind of dying

even me

I'm kind of dying

like a flower who has been picked

and discarded

to slowly wither away

Everything

even me

is

dying

seasons of new beginnings

tried and true

trusty year to start anew

but its cold

always cold

time to persevere

until the warmth of the spring

kisses my fingertips and I am no longer questioning who I am

the basics

we grow

from a seed

to a person

rising up from the ground

in search of that one thing that we need

the rain guiding us

in our growth

until the sun is the only embrace I need

only for the coldness

to creep back in

making me long for the winter's kisses instead of the spring's

a hopeful love indeed

a helpless cycle

that I'd do over and over again

I've felt like a stranger

Wherever I went

Every step I took I was unknown

And I've come to terms with it.

The ghost.

Who just lingers around

close enough to hear every word

But far enough that my presence is forgotten

That I'm forgotten.

I'm used to it though.

Learned to keep my hopes real low.

And my words to myself.

For they will not be heard

Over the millions of voices that work their hardest to smother mine.

But It's ok.

I've learned how to trail along

Close

but not too close

in fear that I'll be remembered

for a split second

and pulled into a joke that goes over my head

because its a joke about me.

I don't mind it much anymore

Sometimes I think it's better to be in the shadows

To be out of the loop

To just exist in a time that I only know of

Sometimes its just better to be a ghost