Relationships don't matter in zero gravity

Someone turn the gravity off so
when I stop caring and
let go I
don't have to hit the ground.

Free-fall is easy and
peaceful to a point, almost
like nothing matters anymore and
I can just exist without trying.

Cause right now I'm
trying so fucking hard every
day and still you're smoke
and I am hands trying to catch you.

I am still a
million things at once that
are part of a puzzle, "Which
one of these does not belong?"

allofthem.

I don't know who to be
with you or what is
okay with you and
it's too hard to keep up.

So to get to my
point, I'm done
trying so fucking hard
for your attention.

Go ahead and break it, it's just my heart.

I'm getting a little sick of putting my best face forward only to get slapped.
Like a masochistic puppy waiting to be kicked I
reach out to you again and again.
Talking to you is reliving my greatest fear
over and over
Loving someone- actually CARING-
more than they do.
You don't notice. Even though with every word I try to convey how much you mean to me
you laugh and joke
and hurt me.
And you don't notice.

Revolution isn't that complicated

Let's start a revolution of smiles, a movement so unexpected and extraordinarily mundane that it will turn the world on its head.
Let's have a day where we smile at every single person we see, watch them stare back at us in awe because they can't remember the last time they saw a stranger smile.
Let's live a life where we forget the bad things, where no one needs to ask forgiveness because it's given unconsciously.
Let's have a friendship that makes people do a double take because it's real and uncorrupted by hidden agendas.
Let's reach out a thousand hands to a thousand of the needy in unison, so we can lean on the combined strength of all of us to pull them out of need.
Let's make a pact to do things for ourselves, not to prove something to someone else or to try and beat someone else.
Let's exist in a way that reflects our brotherhood of humans.

Dream Within a Dream

A chariot awaited
the girl with curly hair.
She placed her golden self upon the seat.
The world flashed-
color-
gray-
color-
until the third sky broke.

Distant laughter and forgotten happiness
plunged through the sunlight into her
memory.
She remembered,
she remembered!
There was a family,
not perfect, but potentially.
She remembered,
she remembered!
It was her fault they broke.

The break is too complete to heal-


And then I woke up.

I woke up crying and I told you about my nightmare disguised as a wonderland and your sad eyes made me believe you understood because that's what best friends do.

But it was a dream
within a dream,
because I woke up-
for real-
alone.

Carpe Diem [?]

My heart is beating as fast as I'm driving and the air is alive- how, I don't know. I scream and laugh and choke on the freedom but it's gone in a flash of lightening. The rain erased who I was and with my arms figuratively spread wide I embraced what might be.

It might be that I don't stop driving until I'm far enough away to never hear my name again. It might be that I spin off the rainslick road and give my body back to the dirt.

But what is is me, turning onto my dark street and turning the music down so I don't wake the neighbors.

Self-Portrait

I am a hodge-podge of odds and ends, a swirl of phrases from decades past and debris from the hurricane in my head. There is a father-me, a mother-me, and the objective me that philosophically ponders herself and the rest of the world from a cloud that I imagined.

I am a firm believer in the trustworthy until proven untrustworthy school of thought. Some call me naive, others an optimist. I, however, am a realist. My heart is so big it controls my brain and my eyes, unfortunately, are of the sad puppy dog persuasion. I enjoy walking in the heat but hate humidity. I am consistently inconsistent but somehow love routine. I am an oxymoron in the extreme, which might come from there being three people that are all me.

I will never stop believing I can help people in need and I frequently pick up trash, but don't go calling me a saint because more often than not I have something nasty to say or think.

I don't believe in small talk because I'd rather say words that mean something. I hate McDonald's and all it stands for and I am always wishing that I was not a middle-class white American, the ultimate in cliches.

I can read for hours and I sleep when I'm angry. It doesn't take much for me to absolutely love you and my guilty pleasure is boys who barely talk to me. Maybe I get a kick out of futility?

Here I sit, hoping I've painted you a moderately accurate self-portrait.

Feelings that turn galaxies

Staring at beauty with you by my side, you say, "How do you feel?" What a question. I open my mouth, but no sound escapes as my brain is still scrambling to locate my heart and squeeze out an answer. Now ask me that question again in reference to you and I could spin the world around with all the words I would say. Your patient eyes search for mine and it takes everything in me not to press my face into you and breathe. Instead I return my gaze to beauty and say, "Tell me what I should feel." My heart breaks as you sigh, "I can't."