breathing.

the times when i couldn’t think of a single thing i didn’t like about myself. we sat and caressed the moon until we thought we understood it. believing in every lock of love, the limbs we skipped upon, they surely should have broke. we didn’t strive for creativity, we were the essence of. paper cuts and lacking love, none of it hurt, because none of it was. when ‘no’ was okay because we forgot about it moments later, our minds running and dancing with no rules to follow. the words we said were harsh and so innocent, speaking like gypsies, every which way. the lies we told spoke of truth, so brilliant, we lived the right way. our knees were always scraped but our bodies were untouched. the gelatin surrounding us, as we tapped our way onto the clouds, into the divine. interruptions so sound because they were a pleasant change, surprise. i prepare for whatever you say, you say whatever i do. the older i get the less i remember. childhood becoming a blur and the future staying that way, too. spiraling into an adult, whichever way that is, whatever you define that as. chasing me through the woods because it was a dare to kiss me, goodbye, that was the joke. my torso twisting, soaking in the sky, believing you couldn’t do wrong. when i realized my father wasn’t perfect and that, in fact, my mother was as close as i would ever know to such. the day i realized i couldn’t start over and that i had to live with what i had done. breaking it off with my own mind, closing myself off from me. boundaries. when grass was a cigarette and cigarettes were nasty. the way my grandfather smelled and how fragile my nenny was when she went into surgery the last time i ever laid eyes on her. living life without knowing it, my childhood, being out of control. the more estranged my previous years get the less i feel safe. crying on your shoulder but not from sadness. my kid brother being birthed, as my sister actually showed a pinch of emotion, because she did, she felt. when i lost my best friend because my mom made me wear pink, and i made her feel bad. clifford, the idea that a dog can be six feet tall, and never questioning it. what do i have to write about? feeling talented and never being made to feel that way. my self confidence is asleep and my prince has yet to come. the pressure of caring about someone and the lack of feelings i had for all of you. being dishonest not because i wanted to be but because i didn’t know the difference. learning to read myself and making my mind work extra hard not to explode. eloquence, and learning that it doesn’t exist. coherence, and realizing that no cares about it. fashion week not meaning a thing to me, and i hate shopping. music making me feel better and worse. my friends don’t understand me, it’s a curse. kissing me goodnight and kissing me whenever you wanted to. giving up myself to all the wrong people and previewing what my life was going to be like. a blur. a blur of birds and sand, ice cream, jelly beans, down the road being everywhere. read my eyes. i feel like i’m still waiting my turn.