Paper

It is the act of listening that seems to fail

all of us.

Everyday.

It isn’t how you talk to one,

it is how you listen.

What you take away

after patient collecting.

We should communicate to others

how we ourselves wish to be communicated with.

We should say what we would want to hear,

we should trust our inner voices distinctly with our intuition.

And if it shall falter,

you shall learn;

because it is never quite as dramatic as we make it out to be

right then

and there.

One should remember there’s always

more than two sides

to each story.

And one of them contains the truth,

collectively.

All others are mere versions

based on perspectives.

One should always take into account

that one's emotions,

past and present,

cause filtration of accurate memories,

of sorts.

There's always a choice

You ignore me until you need me to smile and agree to aid you in one way or another.

The silence lasts

for weeks.

Burning into my over-analyzing head as I attempt to bounce a rarely admitted original idea off of you.

You don’t seem to realize you are

the last

attempt

I am willing to

proactively

participate in solely through

my own actions.

The ideas bounce off of empty air, and act more like a bird struck by death in mid-flight

than a wall’s reply to the sphere

that contains my mental roots.

You rush to me out of anger,

out of fear,

out of helplessness.

Because whilst you hint at suspicions that they judge you silently,

I listen quietly, pushing my own opinions to the back,

and the encouraging affirmations to the forefront.

Your passion erupts into caps-lock confessions and misspelled drunk letters revolving in a perpetual cyclone.

But when I break the silence,

in the instances so few

and far between,

you insist on quieting my clues.

But I still leave them.

You insist on quieting my fears, and my plea for your ears,

brilliantly framed by your hair.

But I continue to try to fight away yours.

And you say you can’t handle it,

and you say it’s too much,

too much.

Just like how I find myself,

in every aspect,

at every angle.

Just

too

much.

And that is when I realize why you,

my last attempts,

want so much not to listen.

Maybe I was wrong

I don't make you handmade cards because I'm cheap.

I make them because I think you'd like them better.

I make them because they're a piece of me you can keep.

You throw them away, and tell me to "put them somewhere".

You tell me, "I didn't do anything this year, I was going to but I didn't wanna go out."

I just say it's fine.

But you don't hear me, you're already lost in the television.

I don't say just one sunflower would have made me cry.

Out of happiness that you remembered, for once, something about me and didn't use it against me.

I can feel the filth in my bones.

Oh

"Sometimes I feel like you're going to let yourself die before you ever ask for help," he avoided eye contact as I focused on his mouth.
I didn't want to hurt him and tell him he was right.
I didn't want to put more damning evidence on the table
of what an awful person I really am;
how I will never tell any of you when I really need help.
When I really need you to stay,
I will never beg you,
even though I want to.

Behind the Trees

I could see your legs pushing you faster, farther away from me as I dug my heels into the soft dirt trying to not loose my footing on the slope overlooking the cove's wall that you skillfully sprinted across. I could feel the air as I moved through it, thick, and warm with the waters muted smell of mud and greenery. Your white shirt flashed in a spot of un-shaded sunlight before disappearing into the side entrance of a cement building, with stairs leading to and from the docks.

I let myself slide the rest of the way down with the loose dirt underneath me, down to the wall, the only thing keeping me out of the water, as a few rocks continued rolling past me, only stopping with a hollow plop into the murky green depths. As I moved up the stairs I could see through a wall of glass windows, into a dim and tiled room with a large, empty pool. I stepped through the over grown door frame and worked my way around the inner edge of the pool, adjacent to the wall consisting of only panes of transparent glass. I caught myself glancing at the plants at the bottom of the pool breaking through tiles, and a lonely shallow foot of water, sitting dirty and still. I  saw you on the outside, back on the continuing stone wall, and I was catching up, jumping over more inside-weeds and sprinting out the door. I rushed across the top of the wall, following your lead, under the empty eyed-windows of the darkened and quiet houses looming on the top of the hill, engrossed by the forest. As I looked back towards where you were, I could only make out your outlined figure, farther than I was expecting, turning a corner past trees that hid your intended direction. And I lost my footing, and caught myself with my hands and knees, tilting to the left as to not dive into the water on the right as I simultaneously launched my heel off the wall, directing my body up and forward, back towards you.

But I lost you yet again, as I turned the corner. And I ended up staring at more wall, blocking the soft waves of a lilly-pad plagued cove, quietly holding up the mountain and it's empty houses, absentmindedly eyeing any passer-bys. There was an old rusty bike laying on the grassy hillside, but no you. I chewed my bottom lip as I tilted my head to the right, and squinted into the bright sky. I could hear soft voices, but I could never find their bodies. 

Let Go

Your name plays like orchestral symphonies in my head. 

Sweeping symbols crash as your smile crescendos in my memory.

Your long missed laughter sinking into my mind, recalling late night phone talks.

I can hear the piano keys mashing out sentences you've spelled out for me many a time.

You flow beautifully across my thoughts, only faltering within your own confidence.

You apologize for things that are purely my fault, and promise a non-wavering appreciation. 

I want to rescue you from myself, but sometimes I'm not quite sure who myself even would be. 

So this is love..

The way your large hands produce charcoal lines sweeping into human forms entices me. The way you laugh at my suggestions of infinite loneliness, and ask, are we not already married? It makes me stare into clouds for far too long while others talk to me about things that really do not matter. The same way I would say yes if you asked me in person. The same way I'm scared to be with you because I'm not good enough, but you say "I found you attractive years ago." and ask why, in truths name, will I not move into that city with you? I wonder if you really do, or you just feel bad because I let you lean on me. I tell you every few months I tried forgetting you. But it gets worse, I guess I shouldn't try anymore, as my mind will never let you go. You appear in my dreams every night, and I wake up disappointed because I can not see your face, and hear your voice, and see that dark messy hair bunched between your long fingers in deep thought.

You get mad when I forget things, but I could never, in a thousand lifetimes, forget you, my dear.

It Still Feels Like Yesterday

We wouldn't pour these words from our fingers if we did not expect, one day, perhaps after our bodies have left the Earth, that someone, somewhere, will read all these sentences. But I still write letters to no one, and I still say things to the pages of my sketchbooks that I wish so badly I could speak to you, my dear, out loud. I put them in brilliant colours, in between charcoal butterfly wings, and disproportionate skeletons. I drown out these sounds of reality with soft guitar strumming and deep voices, climaxing into heartfelt and shrill cries. Songs about tree lines, and endless horizons on the sea. I once read somewhere that we enjoy music as a species, and dance when we are happy, but understand the lyrics when we are sad. But when ever I start paying attention to song lyrics, I tend to become slightly sad in an existentially nostalgic sense no matter what my mood. 

I once asked you why it is so hard to speak the truth, and you replied with a pause, and then an offering of an explanation along the lines of us not wanting to hurt our loved ones. But that's one of dying people's biggest regrets, putting others, if not all of their loved ones, before themselves. All because of love.

I want to talk to you so bad. But it's not the same anymore. You're not the same anymore, and neither am I. You always say I've changed, but I don't understand why that would upset you. Is a relationship between two humans nothing but the changing of seasons and selves, whilst growing in life with another being? 

Please.

"Hey, how you doing" he repeated to himself.

"Please don't judge me, I already feel fucking retarded." he sighed heavily whilst he looked at time then turned away asking, "How you doing?"

Seeds always turn into flowers.

It's more like a seed of love, you said.

It's in me, you continued, but due to the slight separation, you can't plant it and let it grow within me.

I wish I could tell you it is already a flower though. 

I've been watering it daily with memories of your smile, and those little things you say that take my breath away.

We're cold, we say.

But the universe only opens up so many doors, and shuts them much too quickly.

I'd rather be cold with my favourite person, than warm with the wrong one.

I can't stand this. 

I'm overflowing into thousands of pools of emotion. My head and heart argue over you constantly, and I just sit back and watch in amazement. 

I can hold your gaze for much longer than any other.

Your smile manifests itself in the most beautiful ways, the crooked lines spreading widely across your face.

Those brilliant eyes focused in my direction, meeting mine in the parallel static, saying much more than I dare to with my own words.

I would do anything.

I want to tell you these things. I want to push my words into the dead air, and warm your thoughts with the truth.

It's such a risk.

I've lost the count on how many times I've told you I'm scared, I've lost count with how many times you said you love me as steadfast as an anchor on the ocean floor. 

I keep asking, and you keep answering, insisting you'll wait, and it's all depending on what I want.

Feeling this comfortable is surreal, and not being able to spread my webs of deception with you is frustrating.

I just want to feel our perfectly fitting bodies together again. I want to touch your fingers and draw the way your eyes get lost in the distance, setting your mouth into a straight line.

Stealing Stars

It's funny how impossibly hard it is to gauge the amount of emotions that seem to continuously flood my head. 

My heart.

My soul.

I want to ask you to reveal yourself in the most physical form.

I want to run fingers through the hair, that I'm sure glistens like gold in sunlight.

I want to replicate your jeweled eyes on thick paper, sucking the ink in itself, absorbing your colours.

Close enough to touch, far enough to break a heart.

I can't help but spit out truthful bits as you observe, laying out facts as if they bear no repercussions.

No consequences.

Wrong, yes.

Right, undoubtedly.

Exciting, very much so.

I'm sure you understand the things I still hold inside.

They're bursting out, in tears, in shudders, and sighs.

In infinitely rising suns, and disappearing moons, the thoughts of you always surround me.

As the thunder grumbles, and the whole world sleeps, I slip into a physical unconsciousness. 

I watch the lightning flash across my skin, stretched over joints awkwardly placed together. 

I imagine how those green eyes would light up in purple electrical flashes of ubiquitous roars. 

I'm reaching for shooting stars.

I thought I made you up inside my head...

You were in my dreams before I even realized it.
It all makes sense now.
What to do.

We could do it, you know.

Off into the woods, never to be heard of again.
You make it sound so tempting, so easy, so free from these people who seem to ignore me either way.
You're so persistant.
I don't understand why, I keep trying to deconstruct your words and intentions.
I don't understand why all of a sudden I caught your eye.
It's better to be invisible. I hate letting people down.

The Sky Calls to Us.

I walked over the endless stones and sand on the edge of the water barefoot.
My shoes in my bag resting at the back of my right hip, my camera slinged hastily over my shoulder, bouncing against my ribs.
I stared out at the large expanse that seemed completely unending.
You jumped onto the stone wall and looked off into the waves breaking.
"It's so smooth." You offered into the air.
My eyes find a palm sized, perfectly rounded stone underneath the fallen tree trunk, bending over, closing my fingers around it. I turned offering it to you. 
"Like a stone." I replied, because it somehow connected.
You nodded accepting it, turning it over in your hand, rubbing it slowly with your thumb. 
I lost your eyes in the waves again. 
I traced your sight to a glowing object underneath the formations of waves. 
"It's like a double sun." I heard your detached voice announce. 
Startled, I turned around, "What?"
"Shining, around each other like the double sun." You continue, as if it was common knowledge.
I stare back at the glowing orbs. 
The waves carry in seaweed arms to hide the soft glowing from sight.
There's a large ship on the face of the body of water growing closer.
I glance at you but you're on your feet before I can register a question.
I follow you swiftly down the shore to the edge near some sort of pipe.
There's some muttering concerning shutting something off, the pipe, I assume.
Your hands work quickly pulling the knob, shutting it, faster and faster.
There was yelling, from the boat that seemed too close for the distance we put between it and ourselves not too long ago.
That's when it happened, when you lost your footing and something spurted in a clang of metal and black, thick, dirt tasting liquid. Oil.
All over my face, my skin, but my bag and camera were safe near the wall. 
I dived in without thinking, hearing your protest before water filled my ear with a thunderous roar.
Somehow I got it off. 
Somehow we were pounding the sand under our feet, sweeping up my bag and camera, turning up a grass covered path and onto hard concrete, suddenly.
I falter to a stop and shove my camera around my neck, securing it to not fall off.
Pushing my toes off from the hard road and speeding up to your back, watching it flex with every stride you make.
I can't tell if I'm breathing, I must be, because my voice falls out my throat slamming words into the air, glancing over my shoulder as our wet footsteps trail our path and the boat is barely visible through the thick trees.
It startles me, making me inhale too sharply. 
Eventually it disappears amongst the green shaded leaves, and a house rises on a green hill. 
A plump woman sits on the outside watching us speed up the hill onto the porch, she brings us inside, sitting us at a kitchen counter.
I drop my bag under the seat, resting my camera on the counter after unhooking it from my neck.
I catch my breath and she goes on like we were there all along.
It's unknown but completely familiar.
She asks me something and you answer quickly, watching me put my head in my hand.
Then I hear you saying you thought I would have drowned when we saw that boat.
She laughs, loudly, filling the room with warmth.
She leaves, after putting a pie on the cooling rack with the other food. She's calling to the younger ones, and someone else.
I shoot you a look and comment on who lost their footing first, really.
You say something as I watch your eyes flicker.
You pick at a sandwich, swallowing bites without missing a beat.
You stop, aiming a smile at me. "Well, what would you know of water?"
I can feel my blood boiling with pride.
I am the sea.
I sit up staring straight at you, "I was born in the ocean." I say, smirking.
That smile spreads over your face.
I watch it fondly.
"Of course."

Something's Gone Terribly Wrong..

There's a soft hum of regret.
I crawl into the back of mind, curling under thoughts of that us.
It hasn't left me yet.
I can still hear your voice asking me that question.
Snow reflects that first I love you.
The cold makes me whisper your name.
I wake up in a twisted bundle of sweat and screams while the moon spills over my memories.
I hope you'll remember.
It's so hard to go forward when I want nothing but to recede into the sea.
I can't shake this fog that clouds everything.
It's so much clearer when I sleep.


I thought I had you figured out.

Look this way.

I can't escape these haunting dreams.
You ignoring me abruptly and my fidgeting is relentless as I pretend I don't notice.
I'm so busy, there are so many other people.
I hear your name daily, I held back so many things..
You stopped hearing me too soon...
It was beautiful...
I know I can't ask anything of you because I let you down..
But it was so lovely to know you...
when you pretended I mattered.

The Longest Shadows Ever Cast

I could see the outline of the sun behind the green of the leaves spotting shade on my face.
I could see you focusing on something in your hands, sitting on a makeshift seat, squinting your eyes as you tried to understand.
There was a warmth in the air that swallowed me whole, and a sweet smell of earth.
People bustled about, paying no mind to me as if I was merely a ghost. I began to move my feet steadily and found myself deep within the trees until I came to the top of a leaf covered cliff. 
I remember running past the blurs of coloured branches. There was a rush of blood and a zig-zagging of trees.
I remember your hands pulsing through the air with momentum, and light trodden footsteps following my own. 
Leading you on a never ending chase. I remember your intense dark eyes and furrowing brows.
Your thick silence that made me reach for something inside of myself that seemed to be missing.
An odd silence that held my attention, as strongly as you seemed to neglect my own, in an overly nonchalant kind of way.
Where is this leading to? I hear myself ask in my head. I feel my body only from above and see the way it pushes up an incline, sitting at the very top, under shadows of shrubbery. 
So where did you go?
I watch myself sit alone and realize your circling ever so slowly. 
I think of how I should have said those words, but what words were those again?
The ones I don't understand how to translate into spoken language.
But if you had forgotten why would you still watch me like that?
If you had forgotten why do you keep silently slipping into my unconscious, leaving cryptic messages only to acknowledge me absentmindedly later?

Just because you have ammo doesn't mean you should shoot the gun.

"You're the most annoying person I've ever met.
I can't stand you anymore, no one I know would put up with your bullshit and everything."


I can't stand me anymore.
My dreams haunt me through out the day and I can't shake them.
They're the only time I feel real. 
Not too much of a girl, overflowing onto an over critical world where no matter what she does it's still not good enough for you.
Because pursuing my career seems a bit ironic to me when I'm disappearing too slow as it is.
It's so hard to stay warm when the cold is coming from within.
Meeting outside forces and crushing my very existence into a huge doubt.

Paint the black hole blacker..

I wonder if I enter your dreams still.
The way you haunt mine.
The way we're always in the forest, how we're always running towards something greater, and unknown. 
The way those dark eyes are analyzing my facial expressions. 
Those large hands that scrawl out sketches, quick and thick.
I wonder if you absolutely despise me, I wonder if you're focusing on the wrong points as I am.
As we do so often to each other.
My gap rips open more daily, you're name repeats it self slowly, quietly, in my head, forever on repeat.
So quietly, as if I say it too loudly you'll never come back.
Maybe you won't anyway. Maybe I finally did what I really didn't want to do with you, of all people.
Maybe you're laughing, drunk with some pretty thing that is rich enough, well enough, to be with you.
I wonder if I just showed at your door what you would do.
But I'd need an address for that.
Silence produces no dates, or times, or places; it produces haunting images of you, saying things that I never answered the right way - infuriating you.
I wish I had someone to babble endless metaphors to, I wish you were still here.
Love ruins everything.
So I'll sit here, scrawling silently in my numerous journals, chalk full of stories, and poems, and letters to no one. Illustrations of inhibitions and plant life.
I'll breath in this cold, with no hope of warm words.
I'll numb my brain and my body because if you're gone, I've got nothing to lose.
I don't understand what I was holding on to, maybe the thought if I saved you from her you'd still stay, but we're the same & you can't see the difference.
What's stopping you?
The only question you proposed that swims into every waking moment of my day.
The fact that this is all too complicated and you deserve better & I did the good thing by you.
But I want to be selfish.
I want to have you.
I want to lose myself in those woods with you.
Drink out tea.
Slip into the sea and get lost between the horizon and the stars.


I've got nothing to lose....

Holding on for dear life.

'Are you?' He asks.
I can't imagine what the words were that he just sent towards me. Excuse me?
'You holding on for dear life over there?' Trailing off as I held both my wrists with both my hands. 
Making sure I wasn't floating away. 
Solid.
Secure.
Anchored down, if only physically to these bones.
There was some discussion and laughter interchanged in the warm salty air.
My tongue tastes like blood. 
Previous drunk and long nights full of talking too much leads to the biting of lips and the tongue nervously, without noticing until the blood is seeping in. 
Spreading the taste of old dirty pennies between my minuscule taste buds.
I forget what my voice was saying.
So I forget what he's referring to once again. 
I'd be a better ghost if only I was invisible.
I drowned my vessel in tea and water.
He keeps shooting me odd looks.
I keep listening to the wrong voices.


The silver diet sprite can, sits bluntly on the table, bubbling away, hissing softly. Blue dotted snowflake designs sprinkled on the background.
Winter time; time for Holiday[s] cheer. 
More beer.
More fights.
More too many close calls on his part.
This winter won't be proper.
I hear questions of my return to Eastern sea-lands.
I don't have answers.
I wish I did.
I wish I had infinite dates of anything and everything, all through out the pine encrusted mountains.
I'm slipping between here and floating just out of reach.
I keep forgetting my cues and people think I'm an airhead, if they don't know me, or a stuck up bitch.
But I just don't want to say the wrong thing.
The crazy thing.
The thing about staring into the black abyss of the ceiling every night and praying that shadow that keeps flickering in the side of your eye will go away.
The white light that is too low to be a window light leak.
Because when you look again it's gone. 
But they're there, slinking in the day light, too.
You're really just thinking too much, too fast.
S l i p p i n g.


Hazy days with black spotted wings covering my eyes.
Oh, these iridescent lies.