You

Yes, I see you
peeking through your lashes
Yes, I hear you
your lips move and I can
feel you
quiet laughter like
fingers on my spine
I watch you and I think:
I know you
The curve of your cheek
color of your hair
so much like mine
You have a look in your eye
that is hard to define
It says:
Yes, I see you
and
Yes, I hear you
and
I wish I did not know you

Yearning

I will call for you, but you will not hear me.
You will see my smile, but you will believe it to be a frown.
I have reached for you at night, but shadows have this
nagging way of warping things, don't you think?
And our shadows have grown so long over the years that they
are almost all that there is to what we see of each other
most days -- half-formed apologies
and already-forgotten pleas.
Have you ever wished that things were different?
Prayed to every god you could think of?
I've wished that I were a different person, one that you
could look at and believe to be beautiful.
Because I'd rather you be blinded by beauty
than be turned away by my ugliness.
But this is not a dream, and my life is
not another one of my fantasies.
Reality is crushing.
The things we hope for may never come to pass.
Are you content with our current standing?
Will you stand there, passive, as the years turn our desires
to dust and our wants become the air that we breathe,
until all that we are is simply
old yearnings, slowly dying needs?

Burn It Down

The days blend into one another, dissolving like paper on the concrete after so much rain.
The burning echos of your words fade, and the dull bruises in all those dark places barely ache anymore. Who were we back then, that we fought so viciously? We sought purchase on one another's weaknesses like desperate people going to war, trying to gain ground when there was nothing of value to win. Did you see how cramped I felt, inside of my own skin? I was clawing, scratching my way out -- you were only in my way. It wasn't you I wanted to hurt; it was myself and my own foolishness that I was trying to destroy. I wanted to smash the mirror that reflected the sorry soul that avoided my eyes, day after day, but you stood in the way of my fist! You loved the crumpled being that I was, and I perversely, unconsciously, needed to prove to you that I was as despicable and undesirable as I knew myself to be. So I lit a match and I threw it upon us, deliberately destroyed something I knew could save me because I needed to burn a part of myself to the ground before I could begin again.

Beauty

Beauty is something completely intangible to me at this point in my life, something like a concept that has barely been sketched out. How can I attain it? From what branch does it hang?

I feel ugly and marred deep down in my heart. I have this constant sensation, this paranoia, that it leaks through my pores and that the whole world can see this inner ugliness: my inability to grow. 

Phoenix Falling

Human fires: burning, consuming, killing. Everything we touch is slowly sucked clean of life, yet somehow, new things still manage to push through all the soot and cinders. Do people really believe that we, having only the power to destroy, are what coaxes that pale, fragile creature that we call life to go on? All we ever manage to do is unravel the beautiful ribbons of hope and love that hold us together. Always, we are responsible for all those little things inside of us that fall apart. Always we let go; we give up; we choose to die.