Tag: Love

Journey

June 7th 2019

Not a precipice, not a fork in the road.
I know where I am going is just the bridge and I think it is safe to cross
but the water under it brings fear
Will the bridge give way?
Will I fall forever?
Have my casual swim lessons prepared me to save my own life?

What if I am not supposed to do this alone?
What if this was never the plan of humanity…

What if I am able to feel safe and secure with the people I know?
What if I am allowed to be my true self regardless of rules?
What if “the plan” was for me to become fully me?
What is the journey I am on now leads me to something more beautiful than what others have planned for me?

:||

Thoughts on repeat.
But if patterns prove the same
It’s all just on me. :|
Depression and hope intertwined
As I try to define
Are these fireflies? :|
An unrelated voice triggers a thousand memories. :|
That name pops up and it’s a punch to my gut.:|
But then I’m wrapped up in the arms of what ifs and maybe nows :|
So long ago (it felt) that I wrote you were “the only one”
Then I read it, “ah.” I laughed, “youth” I thought. :|
My mind is now drawn back looking for something it never really found.
But I found myself. :|
Will I lose her if I go back to finding you? :|
If I go back to this unrequited love for you? :|
Will I lose myself if I go back to loving you? :|

|: Fuck. I never stopped loving you. :||


Written August 2018

Training Wheels

I watch as the tires spin.
I watch your face as you grin.
You ride away from me so fast.
Your new ideas seem rash.
But here I am left on the ground
Here I’m left. Not even a sound
Do I make
While you pedal and brake.
 
I choke on the dust
as I try to choke back the tears.
You left me back
I’m no longer of use after all of these years.
You found your freedom.
What’s left of me is gone.
I coalesce my feelings
Into a box called “healing.”
 
 
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Originally written 1-24-17
 
If you are interested in a musical version of the poem…

Trust Wall

I built this wall.
Brick by brick.
“Yes, yes” I say. “Yes, I trust you.”
Another brick.
Pain, hurt.
Trust is good, “Yes, I trust you”
Here is a brick.
Again? Why should I trust you!?
After what you did? After what you said?
See?! Here. Fine. Here is a brick of trust!
It becomes habit.
The wall grows higher.
The pain cuts deeper.
Then. It’s numb.
What is pain? Trust is pain. Pain is trust.
Trust is this stupid wall.
The wall that blocks me from the real you.
I say it’s trust, but now it’s self defense.
What should be a beautiful building?
A stupid wall.
“Walk around it!” you say.
“No” I reply. “I am trying to trust.”
But real trust is safety. Real trust is two sided.
Real trust builds a beautiful house.
Not an ugly wall.

So here I sit.
On my wall.
I want to see over it.
I want to see through it.
I want to see what you’ve become past my dusty wall.
But this “trust” built of bricks

blocks me from you
Under the pretense of helping.
Under the idea of giving you independence.
Under the thought you have a better plan.
But trust.
Trust is two.
Trust is an invitation not a fear of rejection.
Trust is where you see the beautiful.
Trust is a hope for the morning.
Trust is a beautiful house. A beautiful home.
Trust is not sorrowful or lonely.
Trust is meant to be beautiful.

I can’t take down these bricks, but you can help me.
I can’t undo the words, but we can undo the wall.
Bricks can be used a second time.
So won’t you build with me?

____________________________________________________________________________________________
Originally written June 12, 2016

Beautifully Terrible Paradox

Love is a beautiful paradox.
Love is pure joy.
Love is a deeper understanding.
Love is a peaceful sigh.
Love is a feeling.
Love is an action.
Love is full of pain.
Love is millions of tears.
Love is fighting for the best.
Love is knowing the worst.
Love is believing beyond doubt.
Love is a terrible paradox.
As it hurts it gives something beyond joy.

 

Originally Written February 16, 2016

Autumn. Or Fall.

A plastic bag sits in the freshly harvested field

The wind slowly rustling it, but it’s stuck in the stocks.

The leaves are still on the trees

The wind slowly rustling them, but soon they will fall.

 

The grass green.

The flowers fading.

The sky ever changing.

 

Sunsets earlier and sunrises later.

The light lessens and the darkness increases.

Blankets. Tea. A good book.

Snuggles with pets and Netflix for cold, rainy days.

 

Heat turning on AC seldom used.

Final bonfires and fireplaces regularly being lit.

Extra layers, cardigans, flannels, jackets, hoodies.

Sandals away and wool socks rediscovered.

 

The smell of things fading, decaying.

A season turning slowly then all at once.

Lingering taste of summer on our lips.

Then forgetting it ever existed.

 

A deep breath in.

A deep breath out.

Now it’s autumn.

Or fall.

Ends and Begins

The script for my life

ABC’s 123’s

Counting and reading

Writing and learning

Checking the boxes of an ordinary life

 
First steps, always happening.

Old beginnings, new endings.

A cyclical pattern, unknown was the start.

If I could find it would I understand?

If I could map it out would I better plan?

Could I understand the way my mind works?

Could I grasp something solid with the trio contained plus liquid and gas?

 
Trinity of self. Mind, body, spirit.

Only now I begin to truly hear it.

My body.

A breath in. A breath out.

each one ends. each one begins.

a cyclical pattern.

Of course there was a start to this… There will be an end.

But unknown.

 
I know the start of many happenings.

I know the end of many.

But why do I concern myself with this darkeness of the unknown?

Is the unknown always dark?

Is there such a thing as known?

Perhaps light comes from being unknown.
Perhaps light is defined by something other than known or unknown-ness.

 
Perhaps trying to define this in some form of poetical prose will not help.

Perhaps. A cup of tea.

The breeze outside my window.

Hearing children laugh in the distance.

Smelling a candle and seeing its dim light fade.

 
Perhaps a realignment with my true self.

The one I have hidden back in a forgotten room.

Waiting until it is safe to surface.

For the lights to be off so that I cannot be seen.

But cannot my true self be this one I have created?

Is the true self only the best self?

 
It’s probable that this is another unknown.

Maybe myself, being what it is, needs growth.

Maybe there is not a good or bad or best or anything at all.

I wonder if there is such a thing as just.

just being.

just resting.

Believing that I don’t mark off every check box

I don’t type out all of my thoughts

I don’t finish every book or watch every episode

I just am. I exist. I am safe. I am loved.

To be. Alive. Fearing death more than fearing life.

Or to lack fears at all.

 
The softest blanket taking over the place of a usual lightning cloud

The silent room taking over the screaming mind

a calmness.

a peace.

the start.

the end.

Lately

Lately, I love the little things
Lately, I can’t ignore them
Lately, I also attempt to scorn them

The smile of friendship starting
The smile of a joke continued
The smile perhaps of misunderstanding?

Misunderstood in the past. Now notwithstanding?
Misunderstood, the fear of it, taking over my planning
Misunderstood because of fear of misunderstanding

Living too far into the future
Living with my fears of bringing my past along
Living cannot happen if I drag this on

Subdued thoughts
Subdued actions
Subdued for too long brings compression

Compression, holding back my heart
Compression, keeping myself from ever giving my heart
Compression, lurking in the corner to explode, implode

Hopes that I have once had, moved on
Hopes that moving on is no longer my forever journey
Hopes that I may rest, that I myself am who I really am

The longing mixed with patience
Patience mixed with fear
Fear mixed with longing

Spinning. Around. Stopping.
The words of my heart
The beats of my heart with

One glance
A tone of voice

My name

_____________________________________
Originally written October 9th, 2017

Time. Life. Breathe.

Nothing in my life slows down.

People always want me to keep moving.

I want it to stop.

 

Responsibility.
Friends.
Family.
Life.
It.
The World.
Can I find some little world to visit outside of this Americanized time?
This version of linear, strict time which sucks the life out of you?
I just want to sit back and breathe.
Not breathe so I can be alive for tomorrow.
Not breathe remembering the past.
I want to breathe in this moment.
I want.. to breathe.
In… Out.
As the cars rush past my window.
Their tires splashing the rain around in a great, never-ending, melodic symphony.
In… Out.
The smell of my bed sheets. Shampoo. Mint lip balm.
In… Out.
Expanding and collapsing. My body moving to keep me.
In… Out.
Smooth as my pencil sings these individual notes across this page.
In… Out.
My roommates reading, page turning, typing, sighing, breathing.
We are all in this state the world likes to call “alive”.
And not to be cliché or morbid, but I am no longer living.
I’m dead.
And I don’t see me being revived anytime in the near future.
I’m screaming out in my silence and only a few hear my whispers.
My heart’s secret whispers.
Sharing secret whispers. Giving them away even though you want to keep them tightly wrapped up inside.
Giving them is not for others to know. Giving them is not for others to find new meaning in discovering who you are.
Giving this secret part of you away is for you to know they have a secret whisper too.
You share a part of yourself, but you find and replace it with someone else’s part. It connects you…Almost a distraction, but somehow more holy than that.
Through conversations, touch, emotion… we realize we are not as separate as we use to think. We realize we need each other to truly live. We realize we are not alone.
But we forget that. We forget that and we hurt others.
If only people could see pain the same way they see things to critique!
Every action is caused by something.
Joy. Pain. Fear. Guilt. Peace. Love. Sadness. Anger.
Take a step back
and
breathe.
Remember the whole world is breathing.
The whole world has secret whispers in their hearts.
Here we are all just remembering how to breathe.
Pause your mental timeline. Destroy your clocks.
And breathe.
By Winter Burnett
Originally written November 17, 2015
Revised August 30, 2018