Awake.
Exhausted.
Pondering why.
Why am I awake?
Why am I...
Wondering ?
Aching to rest my weary eyes.
And soothe my tired soul.
This simulation is overrated.
My depression is muted.
Clawing from the inside of my soul,
Begging and hoping to dance and smile without those serotonin producing pills.
But for now,
I shall bask in this manufactured happiness.
Her eyes were adorned with dark circles...
She stared at them with disgust for years- but this morning was different.
This morning her grimace softened as she examined these dark circles that encased her sea foam green eyes.
Today, she saw beauty...
She saw strength.
She swore that her eyes were turning more blue with each passing day.
Today she witnessed her grit.
The fight to be, and to stay alive...
And that, was fucking beautiful.
Though tired, she was a warrior.
Her face softened into a smile, and her heart softened with understanding.
Her hand traced the imperfections on her face... then to her lips.
Oh, how those lips were drenched with unspoken words and secrets alike.
Her lips remembered the taste of travel, the taste of tears, and the taste of lovers.
There was something about her soul that ignited a magic within her... a fiery storm.
It was so easy for her to get lost in the nuances and idiosyncrasies of the exhilarating uncertainty.
Yet she loved every minute of it....
And though drenched in dark circles... her eyes whispered how they couldn't wait for their next glimpse of passion , adventure, lust, and love.
For their next glimpse of the experience we call "Life."
Pulling me in,
Pushing me out,
And when the times comes,
Yanking me back.
A yo-yo.
A tango.
One that has made me dizzy.
One that I'm willing to cut the string.
Intuition is the most beautifully dangerous thing.
Couple that with honesty,
And experience distaste.
Distaste is natural,
And respectable.
But so is brutal honesty.
Even when unprompted.
If honesty was only sung,
When prompted.
So much truth would yet to be uncovered.
Truth is not always painted in gold.
Sometimes it is slathered in pain.
Maybe that means all truth mustn't be spoken.
She said there was a mystery about me,
That I was alluring,
Like I should know...
Maybe I did.
Maybe I do.
Maybe that is what feeds my soul.
I feel the hunger for attention creeping it.
Keep telling me what I know deep down.
Keep feeding the sickness.
An anomaly.
February,
Laying on my living room floor.
Bare faced, no bra, and hair tangled from the whipping desert wind.
Windows open.
The trees violently dancing...
Their favorite thing to do.
They don't do it enough.
In the distance I hear sirens,
It reminds me of the city at 2am after a late night of whiskey, drag queens, and lesbians in flannel... probably in the fall.
Parts of my bare skin exposed.
Toes, shoulders, neck, and face.
Chilled in a beautiful way.
Eyes sore from the realization of seemingly my only fear, after a silent, gut wrenching cry.
My sister in the other room, asleep on my bed. My former lover, and best friend holding me as I hyperventilate and shake. Honestly "best friend" doesn't even describe what either of these two women are to me. They are my family. They are my home. They are my heart and soul.
I try to not wake the one, while the other holds me through my pain.
I cannot fathom losing anybody else this close to me. After the loss of my mom, I just... can't. And THAT is my biggest fear. Losing these two other women... losing my baby brother, losing my dad... I literally just can't.
To ever have to endure this pain again is unfathomable. So I cry, for the first time in my life, afraid of something...
And I simply let the night sky hold me, while the violent winter monsoon winds whip through my window and kiss me passionately. My tears fall like the heavy, dangerous rain.
It probably isn't even considered a monsoon anyway...
Insomnia again,
My demise- stripping me from dream land...
A land of wildly beautiful freedom and peace.
I wish to drift,
Deeply,
Inhibitions stripped.
