wordplayground

the words got stuck
on their way out, yes somewhere
somewhere between the lips and the voice
they never stopped, only jumbled
into meaninglessness and apathy
unable to force cohesion, these words
were not even mine, only remnants
of a language by default
if you rearrange this, 
could you make it your own?
could you filter me out? could you
even evoke happiness from these words?
then you would have to know me,
but remember, remember
i still don't even know myself

inhale
like a first breath
after holding in
holding on
to stale air
for years

and this
this fresh air,
at once
you realize 
it's equally 
refreshing
and dangerously
addicting.

it sucks the life out of me to go on like this,
still being your best friend, your girlfriend
soon enough i will be just a shadow of you,
and you are dust and ash, artifacts and impressions
they run deep, but there is no place for me among them
i will have to make my own life, where you are just a shadow.
happy birthday girl.

...i have these moments, and
in the midst of them
i live

i remember so much happiness
in you, with you
and it haunts me
curses me
now 
to live
in a void
lacking the presence of our laughter
so vivid, so light
so happy
in these memories
we live
and how will anyone
ever compare.

what is this point
where i am reaching across miles
for places i've already been

you disappeared too quickly and
there is a sea of unspoken words
stretched over these miles, and
this time it is your distance,
not mine.

i step forward and back, afraid
i might cross a line without knowing
where it lies, yet knowing it exists.
have i said too much? or maybe not
enough.

i'm learning to
say 'nothing'
be uncomfortable
step back
hold my tongue
nod my head
realizing
it's not about me

...gradually the reliving 
is less severe, you
learn not to respond, like
forcing acceptance of events
unacceptable.

you fight this letting go, 
equated with some form of
arrant acceptance and
you have no way of wrapping 
your mind around [this]
as something we accept. until
eventually, you have no
fight to give and you carry
this deadweight of a wound
irreparable, which must 
join a collection of unrelieved
inert and festering masses, 
creating a personal
history and presentation
shadowed in sorrow.

you tire of those who
mistake the wound for yourself,
so you cover them where possible
and learn to speak a language
of healing and closure,
and with every trigger
you relive the moment alone.
let go let go let go
you're told but no one
tells you how...

...you forgot your lesson
in letting go and 
asked how, so
write this down
for the next time around:
live your life, 
collect the pieces along the way,
in time, the pieces make a picture 
elucidated.

in all your obsessive forcing
you never compelled katharsis.
wait for the pieces,
ex nihilo nihil fit.

every part of me
wants to make this right
except one,
and this time around
i'm listening.

six years ago
i saw myself in these birds
scavenging
whining
moving on.

today i am this broken bird
damaged
silent
alone,
dragging a broken wing,
watching in disbelief
confusion
as the other birds move on.

you saw that broken wing
and i...
i never saw it coming.

i made my peace
with these breaks
i must carry,
and i will not be broken by you.

i drag my wing across the sand
moving on.

disconnected
can't stop moving and shaking
can't sleep or can't
stay awake,
carrying around dead weight
on the back of my legs
and inside my spine
wishing i could scrape it
off and out, and i can feel
a feeling of discomforting
painful nothingness
inside my spine,
which might be
disconnected