Wildflowers

In the chasm of her heart wildflowers grew,

radiant shades of green and blue.

She would water them and give them sun,

for she knew not what she had done.

Sprung up from seeds she herself did not sow,

a garden of joy began to grow.

But soon she noticed, much to her surprise,

that wildflowers didn’t grow in the hearts of the wise.

The wildflowers, she began to see,

took root in her like poisonous weeds.

Though planted by hands that were not her own,

she tightly grasped what in her had grown.

So she began to pull the wildflowers out,

and she tried to bury the voice of doubt.

But once they were gone, within her a hole,

and she realized now, they weren’t weeds, but soul.

[alc]

On Growing Old

I can still hear the tonality

of your voice, the sky was clear,

it was not yet afternoon.

In the distance stood mountains,

a small child, laughter.

This was the last time I remember light.

Happiness stolen over time.

I feel I’m missing some.

Press on.

You’re young enough, still,

have you resolved

To start again? There is

magic in farewells,

a life returned to dust

when your time is done.

Holy wholly we are dumb.

Traded youth in too soon,

watched as autumn leaves

fall, we too fall and cease to be.

And you see life in them

as you stumble on your steps

so you choose to close the doors,

locked within your heart.

[alc]

A One Way Lover

It’s always fun

being the one

who’d do anything for

people that don’t

do anything for

you in return.

[alc]

I Miss My Mom

I miss my mom.

I’m 20 fucking years old and I miss my mom.

But maybe that’s the only way of coping with the pangs of pain that come with living somewhere you feel you don’t fit.

So even though people always tell me it’s not the place but my attitude about the place, I’d beg to differ.

I have loved it here, and now I do not. I have seen love for a place fade as quickly as a storm blows in from the east.

And I know what sadness feels like, what loneliness really is, and what it means to feel like an outsider.

So I sit here missing my mom, perpetually, angrily.

Even though I’m 20 years old.

[alc]

2am

I’m a firm believer that the best conversations take place at 2am. When the morning dwellers are long since nestled beneath their sheets, eye lids closed and feet curling in from the cold. Because it is only the brave who dare face the clock as it tolls into tomorrow. And it’s at 2am that hearts are raw and fleshy, leaking out secret cries that daylight shames. And it’s only locked within the safety of the night sky that unspoken cries become real. The stars are guardians on the lookout, protecting the weak and the miserable and the madly in love. So while sunrises are nice to see, the true beauty of humanity is revealed at 2am, because then there is no line between being proper and being vulnerable and damn it you’re fucking blessed if you’ve the heart to make it to 2am.

[alc]

(Non) Reciprocal

I love the way the things I’d do for others they’d never fathom do for me.

I love the feeling that seeps in through the cracks in my skin on a Saturday night spent writing crappy poetry and watching shitty shows and reading self-help books.

As the hours grow on, an urgent impatience boils inside my head and my feet begin to tap the rug and callouses on my feet that “get gross quickly” soften with abrasion.

My “a lot to get used to” hoop in my nose and my “wow it’s so blond now” hair.

Rather my “you’re too extraverted” and “we just need alone time because we’re introverts”

These x’s on my hands stains from that one night I thought things were looking up.

Cancelled plans is all my life has ever amounted to

Restless. Longing. Aching. And they’ll never know it.

Because I still call, and I still come, and I still love.

And you can save those “I just don’t have those feelings for you anymore” and the “I mean, I understand why he’d move on from you” ‘s.

Along with your “you’re just not his priority” ‘s and the “you’re too obsessed” ‘s and the “you’re idolizing him over God so that’s why” ‘s

Because how could you possibly think I don’t already know these things for myself.

And I’ll always see myself as too immature to fit, my broken piece a distortion in their puzzles.

But I still love with all I’ve got, my whole heart beating not for me, but for you. If my heart was pumping to keep these bones alive—it’d have stopped a long long time ago.

But for you it beats.

Because I still see beauty in those around me. Their words can never hurt enough, their actions can never be too stinging that I don’t find myself missing them the moment their gone.

And yet they always go.

So now, for the 127^th Saturday I’m sitting alone, staring deep into the screen, searching for a you or a me.

And I’m still here, I’ll still love you, I’ll never grow tired of you.

Because living in a body so unlovable, I’m left with an abundance of love to give.

So if I seem to be too much for you, then that’s okay, too. At least I’ll always know that I gave all the love I was born to give.

[alc]