If it were up to me, I wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t smile. I wouldn’t talk much. I’d be sitting by the beach all day, writing, quenching thirst with juice in the other hand. Bare skinned and in a swimsuit, lounging and dipping into the smelting hot golden sand. Letting my skin bake into the brownest that it could possibly get. If it were up to me, I’d have coconut oil in my hair soaking into each strand hungrily. Squinting my eyes and looking up, I’d watch the movement of the sun all day as it glides across the sky from east to west, or up and down… whatever it is that it does. Time would go as slow as it possibly could go. I’d stare into the face of the distant horizon, thoughtless and unafraid. If it were up to me, I’d have an ardent romance and risk it all. I’d just twirl in trance to the staccato echoes of the sea, ’till who knows when, aimlessly.
Is a wish to be free
There’s a lot of pain, and you slowly die in the process
It’s as if you no longer have control over yourself
And all your molecules; all the pieces of love that make you
diffuse into the ground, as you sink in
I can’t gather you, wrap my arms around you, save you
I myself don’t know who I am
I can only fall apart
And let pieces of my self diffuse apart
Hold your hand
And disappear with you
It’s another season, and the planets have run down that same old circle. You’ve packed your bags and moved up to another mess, and me, it’s come down to me kneeling on the ground gasping for air, unable to breathe, dying. This is me. The one who’s supposed to get it. But what do I know? Squat. I’m afraid I’m nothing but worse than you. Fearful, insecure, irrational, crazy, and troubled. The sun’s going down and the darkness is closing in. The walls are coming together to contain me in this jail. I’ll still be here. My hair matted and in knots, my clothes ripped. Crying and drooling saliva. A being without a shell. A bundle of nerves. I’ll be rolling on the floor here, tasting dirt while tears burn my eyes. I can raise my arms out in a prayer. I can rip my clothes away and try to feel as human as I can; try to feel the air on my skin, the way the sweat drips down the side of my stomach. But I’m afraid no one wants to listen to the ultimate loser. I’ve failed. All these years of building myself up, only to go toppling fucking down. I’m afraid the only place to fall into is the absolute rock bottom. But I’ve fallen way too hard, too many times. And no one ever did it to me. Who’re you trying to prove yourself to sweetheart? You are the queen, the one who catches the sun between her fingers. The one who holds her head up high and stands on the mountain top looking at the big picture. You hurt her.
I wouldn’t mind if every day I had to get up to do work;
which would be to rehearse some type of classical instrument with others in a sort of musical ensemble.