Misconstrued.

They speak of love like a force,
An entity of its own,
Enveloping mere mortals.
Possessing them,
Taking over in ways that failed to appeal to me,
And I believed.
But this,
This is nothing like I envisioned.
This is soothing,
Like cool breeze on a warm summer’s night.
Calming,
Like a drag of Mary J’s finest rolls.
Comforting,
Like your arms around me on my worst days.
This is simple,
Like nothing I have known before.
I don’t want to jump or scream or shout,
There is no urge to go crazy or lose my mind,
Not in anger, not it dismay.
Thoughts of you occupy my mind but not in a forceful way,
It’s beautiful, it’s easy
It’s the best thing I’ve experienced thus far.

Where has this been all my life?
Where have you been all my life?

A.

You Write Because You Can’t Speak.

Have you ever had so much to say,
You settle for silence?
Because your hearts is too full,
And your thoughts too complex,
To relay on to the simple minded.
And so, the weight of your words,
Rest heavy on your tongue.
It’s impossible to lift.
Impossible to speak.
You are hushed by your own mind,
Verbally crippled by your own thoughts.
Afraid of how much dept you may go into.
How many tables could be shook?
How many elders brought down to their weak knees?
How much tears would be shed?
Because even though words are just words,
They cut deep.
Into a realm that only exists in some people’s reality,
So only they comprehend,
And only they are consumed by emotions,
The type you feel when surpressed memories resurface.
You know this because you felt it.
So rather than speak, you write.
Convincing yourself that it carries less weight.
But those are lies that you would some day cry about.

A.

Lost And Not Found.

I had lost my innocence trying to persevere,
Misplaced my happiness by choosing to stay,
Given up my voice listening to yours.
Most of all,
I lost my compassion trying to guard my heart.

I’m not the same person.

A.

I Hate This.

I hate tears
Hate to feel
Hate to be knees deep
In emotions all so overwhelming
And words from acquaintances
All so endearing
I hate the weakness
The helplessness
The sense of worthlessness
I hate having to depend
On friends and family
This false sense of familiarity
Also having to defend
My reason to enjoy
This false sense of hope and peace
And comfort and solitude
I hate this.

A.