I’ve pushed so many boundaries and I’ve yelled louder than I thought I would. I know that I’m insane but I had to know the truth.
Tag: poem
it was love
I am finally forgiving myself for what I have done. I remember how much I loved you. I remember how it wasn’t enough. I remember that you cried and I knew you would cry again. I moved me, but those were just tiny chunks. They were nothing compared to the black lava flows who held my heart. They were exactly what I was looking for. Those cracks and half-loose chucks of everything I used to be. Moving them were dangerous and beautiful. I was madly in love and reckless. I wanted to know how far I could push. How much more tensions and power could I give before it would break? You didn’t give in. You held the black lava stones as if they were gifts and you collected them in you shirt pocket. You never seemed to matter that the rivers were becoming empty and that the sky hadn’t been blue for weeks. You never seemed to matter that the mornings were just stretches of the blurry nights before. You never seemed to notice that I was seeking for more, for such greater goods. You took everything you had for granted because it was love. But even though it was love it wasn’t enough. I am forgiving myself for what I have done. Because I knew that they were the right thing to do back then. Even though it didn’t look like it. Because it was love.
I remember that you tried to make it better. You stumbled upon your own efforts. You fell and all of the black lava stones slid from you shirt pocket. They were shattered across the floor. You didn’t stood up, you watched me walk away. It wasn’t love.
#59
Life begins at night and just rarely it evolves into the following morning, in which we doubt our mediocre existence, which is more then it seems
Myself
I learned that there is nothing wrong with living for yourself. I learned that there is nothing wrong with being alone. I learned that time taught me to be strong, solid as rocks. I wake up every morning without flashbacks of my old heartbroken dreams. I dress up to feel good, and to look good in the mirror. I walk out the door without heading to past lovers or friends who got lost in the fight. I keep my head high and my vision clear. Dear god I knew we went through a lot. I know that days we’re so bad we didn’t live them. But I recovered and found my grip on life again, I formed missteps into chords and emotions into art. I know that my mind still remembers how dark the black was, and how beaten my body was. But I also know how to keep it going. How to let it flow like scraping rivers and robust red blood. How to defend my rights and how to barricade the voices. Oh those voices in my head. But I learned to be fluent and blazing brilliant. I tell myself to live for myself.
your shout was so deafening
*soft piano music*
I don’t have your number anymore. I lost it along the way. I really did love you. I found everything I wanted, at that point in my life at least. But the summer turned into autumn. Months passed. And everything faded like the print of old piano sheets. Your voice turned into silent mumbling and your photo’s got lost from day to day. Your hands weren’t so soft and your touch so gently. But I wanted to tell you that.. I wanted to tell you that you meant so much to me. And I do not longer care and it hurts. It hurts to see times changes and looks are faced the other way. But it doesn’t even bother me. Not anymore
Weight
Sadness rules us. Whether it is a lost lover or a bad rainy day. It was never an emotional state, but a feeling which infiltrates our minds. We wake up in the morning and get right back into reality. My bed still smells like you. 7 AM. We drag ourselves out of bed into the dark and cold world of judgement. We choose clothing that will never fit well or feel right and our hair will never work the way we want to. The coffee you like suddenly tastes bitter. Strangers look grumpy and the wind has turned to the wrong direction. Every bit of human contact annoys you. Staring at walls, book and windows makes it all so empty. Even eating becomes a task and walking up the stairs make you tired. Everything you have to do becomes impossible, and anything you have done becomes ‘not good enough.’ And we look up, we breath and we walk. We continue, that is all we can to. When the world starts weighing you down, you bend, you never break. But you wake up the next morning and do it all over again. Lift it up. Lift yourself up.
Number 200
I was overthinking
I couldn’t find a way to express my feelings,
There were exiting incidents and terrible tragedies,
And I started writing, line by line
Expressing my thoughts, one by one
Growing with clarity, step by step
I was writing about time past
and time future, within a world of speculation
But within thousands of words
we never found time present
Sentences full of doubt and abstraction
Writing the words on time present
had never been the barrier
It was realizing, that we had never known
It was scratchings in the table
and phonenumbers on the wall
It was photos ripped in half
and memo’s gone missing
It was dirty footsteps
and a screaming mind
It was holding hands
and always letting go
It was never sparkling and pretty
and still it was so intriguing
It was love and pain
and battle-scars on the field
It was empty cold beds
and broken bones
It was finally finding home
and leaving everything behind
It was never that easy
and we never were prepared
We will find our way,
Until then,
I am overthinking
I speak for what I am,
I am the overthinking
The overthinking 