Bleeding Words

I write and write and write,
And my wounds only bleed onto the pages laid out before me,
I pour my heart onto to these pages,
Ink filling the lines of my confessions,
But who’s left to read them?
For I refuse to let anyone bare witness to my soul,
Too vulnerable, to worried about the heartbreak that can unfold from seeing someone’s
worth broken down into words.

Because confessing all this to you would be…
So much, too much for me to handle,
Because I can’t let you see me that way,
Not when the vulnerable parts of me need work,
So, so much work,
So I hide behind these words and the power they sometimes hold over me,
I write and write and write, are you sure you want to read?

that hazy kind of love

I know it’s true,
When all my heart can think of is you,
That my heart finally made the right choice,
And what a beautiful truth it forms.

Laced with toxins,
The sweet poison running through my veins,
And still, all I want is you,
To talk about you, to express anything I feel in the words that pour out,
Simply to hold you and know the safety of your arms,
That’s how I know its true.

There you are, in the space between the chaos and numbing silence,
This hazy kind of love keeps me stumbling,
Scared to fall, but the comfort of your arms keep me from running,
No rules to follow, I’ve never let this go on,
So I guess I’ll make it up as I go,
Swaying to the rhythm of my own making,
Fumbling and making mistakes I didn’t know would be wrong,
But together we correct the love we created.
Pulling and swaying and dancing though each other,
Landing in what I know to be true.

 

cross my heart

Sometimes the truth is so simple it hurts,
Because your mind wants to believe anything but,
Fabric the ways it could be happening,
The ways you let yourself conjure and create,
Sometimes wishing it we true just so you could breathe ‘I was right’,
Then knowing you’d never want that wish to come true.
Sometime the truth is simple,
Laid out before us in reason and logic,

Leaving no room for your mind to intervene,
But it’s not you mind you’re worried about,
It’s your emotional heart and the nasty things anxiety makes up,
Sometimes the truth is laid before you with nothing to intervene,
Yet you still manage to find ways to match it to your own truth.

Sometimes the truth is simply the truth,
And what you make of it,
Take your truth and make it your own
Stick to it so no other may shake your core,

Because sometimes the truth is so simple it hurts

Writers Probelms

Sometimes it feels like all I do is write how I feel,
Over and over again,
The same thoughts and emotions dripping from my pen to paper,
All the same metaphors and lines,

So unoriginal and yet uniquely their own,
But I guess that should be a testament of you,
My constant, the one my words seem to spill for,
Though apparently only on paper,
As I can never say the right thing when your eyes are locked on mine.
Sometimes I feel like I can’t express myself the way you need,
The words you need to hear are locked into my pen,
My hand seems to be the only to know how to articulate,
Falling short, just shy of my lips…

Sometimes, sometimes I think you know what I’m saying without having to
open my mouth,
That my words don’t even need to be spoken,
Nor do they need to be heard aloud,
Because I look into your eyes and I know all that was never said,
They eyes tell such a vivid story,
And I know I’m home.

Miracle (what you are to me)

I prayed for a love like this to find me,
Because I search and searched,
But never imagined anything like this,
Like what ended up crashing into me with such force,
It knocked out everything I thought I knew.
I had never been the one for prayers,
Empty wishes and false hopes that fell on deaf ears,
Or worse,
Ignored and brushed aside by whatever fate deemed unnecessary,
So forgive me for my skepticism,
And the numerous times I’ll push you away,
Because I’m not used to miracles,
But, I’m starting to think that’s just what you are to me.

the center of it all

I had another dream last night,
And there you were, at the center once again,
And I wondered if I was trying to tell myself something.
Because I know my reality, know my fantasies,

But my subconscious seems to want me to find something new entirely,
And I don’t know how to feel about that, about you,
Because I long for the day I’ll call you mine,
But I know, I have to see that you aren’t mine to have,
To hold and have, to become my very world…

Cause those realities are meant for those who can achieve them,
And you were never mine.
But I had another ream again last night,
And there you were, at the center of it all…