throwing caution to the wind

I told myself I would write today. I told myself I would write but I'm distracted, so here I am, writing but not where I need to be, writing to untangle my emotional threads. Don't read this.
there's a lot I want to say to you, all the time,
a lot I have in my brain that swims around (and not aimlessly, mind you, it's careening towards you at an alarming rate), but I usually let the thoughts just swim until they capsize and drown, never quite reaching you.
I'm always afraid of everything--I'm always doubting myself, doubting you, doubting the situation, when at the same time I feel so sure when I'm looking at you that there's something important you have to tell me. Of course, maybe you already told me, you took care of it, but I never really told you the truth. I'm good at that, lying. When I want to be, at least. Sometimes I pretend to be bad at it, pretend to be bad at hiding my emotions because I simply want people to know how I'm feeling, if I'm angry, or frustrated, or painfully infatuated.
Maybe infatuated is the wrong word.
I don't know, what I'm trying to say is that I find everything about you interesting. No matter what it is you're telling me, no matter how tedious the topic, or however unrelatable, I think whatever you think is important is important. I love the way you take in information you think is useful, and then reverberate it all onto me or whoever just to remind yourself that you've learned something. I love that you like to solve problems. I love that you laugh whenever you want, and I love when you laugh at me, your eyes shining like they've found treasure. You're ambitious, passionate, sometimes kind of lazy.
Anyway, I guess I'm still jumping around because I don't want to say what I want, because I guess I don't know. Maybe I haven't told you because I already know the answer, but maybe I feel like I should just tell you anyway. You already know. This is word vomit. None of this is pretty, none of this is important, it's all just the space between my heart and my mind on the page trying to make sense of everything that's happened. Nothing has happened. Nothing will happen unless I make some grand gesture or unless you're not thinking what I know you're thinking.
It's pretty gutsy of me to post this, anyway. Nobody reads this but I mean, it's on a public page. If you were to get curious about me (heaven forbid) and actually look for me on any social media forum, this would be pretty accessible. I'm sure it's nothing you don't know.
I mean, what I want to say I guess is that something in me feels like I need you. And maybe it's just the idea of you, but I can't shake it and it confuses me that you don't feel it too. I don't know what I need you for, I'm pretty O.K. by myself. Take that how you will. It's late.

flutters

pop rocks stinging my tongue, I ask you, “have you ever..?” “don’t you think?” “when will you?”

snap, click, zing,

my stomach feels the same,

knotting and bubbling out my mouth,

searching for extra space it doesn’t have,

asking for permission to implode on some elastic whim,

overextending itself in excitement and confusion.

my breath swims in my chest like breezes shooting over ocean waves,

forcing itself out in hefty gusts that sound like laughter.

always laughing, tickled and prodded from the inside out,

something’s pulling me closer to you and it’s bothering me.

I keep asking it to stop, cut it out, knock it off,

but they’ve never been disciplined, my insides,

and my brain watches like a parent whose child has spiraled out of control

after consuming an entire bag of sugary snacks,

sighing because “she should know better,” and “what are we going to do about her.”

it’s not my fault, I tell myself, but the pressure between my eyes is telling me that it is,

and perhaps it’s me that creates this magnetism between souls,

pressing mine against another until he’s stuck like

the velcro bands on my shoe,

ripping off with a loud sound and then pressing back on again.

my fingernails scratch my face in some sort of strange reaction,

it’s itching me whenever I look at my phone,

am I psycho? I wonder

no, not that, but instead controlled by the gentle flapping of

millions of wings living inside me,

lifting me off the ground and begging me to escape,

to let them cover my skin in soft ethereal colors and flashing light,

to set me next to him in a haze of pollen and powder that covers us both,

-------------stop!------------------

I yell, sending them careening back into my diaphragm,

stop,

or else I’ll have to tell them about you.

this isn't about life

this isn’t about life,
this is about love
and living
and loving
loving until your heart breaks so many times the cracks hurt when you move,
living until everywhere feels like home and everything tastes like passion
this is about the tiny palms that hold your fingers,
wrapping around them and holding on as if to whisper,
“I’m here, I’m alive,” the blood pumping under her skin, tinting it pink like her new jumper.
this is about laughing so hard your insides shake,
tears stinging your eyes and your brain scattered in ecstatic sparks,
this is about the time when she cried in the closet until her ears rang and her legs fell asleep,
closing her eyes to keep it all in, the tears and the pain
they never wanted her to feel this,
but she did anyway.

this isn’t about life,
this is about the boy who threw the bracelet at her and pedaled away,
the boy who prank called her 28 times,
the one who loved her eyelashes,
the one who ran off the doorstep,
the one who couldn’t claim her,
the boy who couldn’t choose.
this is about her heart beating at night, praying for a hug,
praying for the love she felt could keep her safe, holding herself between her sheets.

this is about waking up in the morning and smiling back at the sun,
filling herself with love until she loved more than she knew
walked the length of the city more times than she could count
hugged and helped and served and sang
this is about moments
moments that define, moments that sting, moments that dance
not just living because your lungs are moving and your heart is pumping
but because you’re surrounded by the poignant reminder of lives and purpose and after

after, when everything will be different,
transitions and change beating down on you like a mallet on a wooden post,
shifting perspective,
challenging yourself to keep the doors open even though it hurts
maybe that’s how it is
after living,
after loving,
after hurting

this isn’t about life.
it’s about two weeks ago, it’s about today,
how at once she’s beside him and the next she can’t be
where you can reach and not touch,
speak and not be heard
where the foundation is hope and some twisted notion of faith
faith in something you can’t see but faith that keeps us together,
keeps her from tearing herself to pieces and
keeps her from the foggy pollution she breathes in
this is about her eyes when they close at night
and the reality of the dreams that dance in her head
the reflection of the emotions she can never express
the fight between her body and soul
how long will it be
before they can work together?

this isn’t about life.
this is about love,
this is about living and loving,
reaching and trying harder than you have before,
squinting until your head hurts,
wishing until you feel,
feeling so that you’re living,
living so that you can love.

breezes

the door slams behind me,
feet tripping over each other to get outside
cold air fingers through my hair,
wrapping me in its open arms
my breath releases into it,
fluid, haphazardly, weaving itself into the outside
reckless thing.
my sigh is taken painlessly from me,
and I feel icy fingers reaching down my throat,
prying open my fear,
eating at my sorrow,
peeling me open to reveal only the softest parts,
I close my eyes.

its never really dark,
my veins dancing behind my eyes,
movement threatening me even behind eyelids,
colors bubbling underneath and kissing my pupils
my chest rises with the wind, organs pressing
against my ribs, asking to be freed,
pleading for liberation,
a purpose,
anything.

my eyes blink open as shards of grass prick my skin,
the breath slipping out of my stomach and back,
into the world where it came from but
somehow different,
transformed but invisible,
escaping constraints that once held it down
joining the musical strands that make up the atmosphere.

“take me with you,” I cry,
but its taken my voice with it
and left nothing but emotion,
raw, manipulative feelings that
constrict my heart and pump my blood
faster, faster,
hotter,
until all I can feel is love,
disappointment,
sadness,
longing,
and I dissolve into it as my hair falls to my shoulders
and I trap my breath in my throat.