Detached

Two bodies craving,
Four hands longing for warmth,
We were in love.
That’s what it felt like,
Until the foundation on 
which we stood, began to crumble.

Two bodies repelling,
Four hands scratching at each others scars.
Exposing.
We were lost.
That’s what it felt like,
until we slipped into bed
next to each other, sleeping like we were
lovers.

 

Two bodies pieced together.
Four hands with fingers laced,
But minds and hearts
a    p    a    r    t

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Glass

Sand melts, molten solidifies

But does not crystalize.

It keeps transparent, functioning

as a lens, aiding those who cannot see.

Magnifying, so details are uncovered.

Wrapped up in a frame, enabling those in to escape,

 

Or those out, to peer in.

Discovering things not present on the surface.

Allowing exposure to hidden secrets.

Gaining access to the vulnerable.

 

The brittle see-through substance

Can reveal too much, fracturing.

 

But broken windows do not always shatter,

Cracks can cause crevices,

But the glass can remain together.

Sitting On A Bench

I’m supposed to be writing a poem about a significant person.

But all I see, inside my eyelids, is me—

Sitting on a bench, in front of an ocean.

 

Not the picturesque inviting blue water

And warm soft sand—no.

 

Instead, I sit on a bench, on a steep rocky slope.

Jagged sharp stones, scream danger and fear.

A misty damp fog makes me feel I’m the only one here.

Below, cold and grey crash against the earth’s crumbling crust,

Eroding

 

Though as I stare longer,

Amongst the sharp, I see round, soft edges.

Amongst the fog, I find clarity in each droplet’s image.

Amongst the freezing tide, I feel warm, bubbly foam,

Soothing

 

Before the fifth of February, the ocean is all I would’ve seen.

But with you a part of the water, I find it dangerous yet protecting.

Now, inside my eyelids, all I see is me—

Sitting on a bench, in front of you.

 

I’m supposed to be writing a poem about a significant person,

I believe I just did. 

18 Things Everyone Should Start Making Time For Again

Thought Catalog

1. Writing things by hand. Letters to friends, lists for the store, goals for the week, notes for lovers, thank you cards and memos to coworkers. Digital communication is easy and convenient but ask anybody: there’s a huge difference between texting someone to say that you love them and hope they have a great day and writing it on a note and leaving it next to their bed.

2. Savoring time to do nothing. Taking a cue from pre-industrialized society and cultures that enjoy siestas and long, drawn-out, sit-down teas that serve no other purpose than to spend time enjoying the time you have.

3. Thinking before responding. We’ve become too conditioned to require things immediately. Someone asks a question, and we have to respond that second. Such was not the case before instant messaging and comment threads. A sign of true intelligence and confidence, I think, is someone who…

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Unknown

I understand that not everything will be understood, 
and in that I find peace.
Maybe someday, when my body and mind catch my soul,
then I will eventually be told, those answers to the questions I must leave be.
Until then, I will enjoy being me.
At times I wonder where the soul resides.
In the heart and in the mind, combined?
Their relationship seems so strong.
Undoubtedly it is, science says so,
although, where does the obscure go?
The soul
It makes each of us unique.
And we cannot be so eager to seek.
In time it will be revealed.
In time we will be shown the answers to what, right now, is unknown. 

Alive

Here is a poem I posted on a blog my sister and I started (somethinggoodblog5) but I felt it fit well with my theme here so I wanted to share it, with a couple of edits I made…

I can hear my heart beating through my ear that rests against my pillow.
I can hear my breathing pattern as air passes past my lips
I can feel my chest rise and fall, and my belly move up and down
I can feel my toes, frigid, poking out from under my covers, but my core warm and content
I am alive.
My thoughts do not allow me to sleep,
But I am thinking.
I am restless,
But I am moving.
My nose is stuffed up,
But I am breathing.
I am alive.
I can hear, smell, see and feel all the night.
The silence,
the odorless,
the dark,
the stillness.
The overwhelming depth of thoughts occupy my mind
Time ticks slowly all around,
time is ticking.
My eyes close,
I am still sensing.
My mind shuts off,
But I am still alive.

My heart beats me

My heart thinks it can do it all.
It beats continuously, day in and day out.
It has yet to tire, although some day it will, for now, it is tireless.
Pumping without a break, supplying my body with the nourishment it needs.
Through the atrium, passing the valves, into the ventricles, out the arteries–all to give.
My heart gives, and my heart also takes,
But whether it gives or takes it is always just enough. Balance.
Just the right amount to function properly. To live. To survive. To thrive.
It collaborates, it feels, it communicates, it loves
And never ceases.
My heart thinks it can do it all, so it does.
Why can’t I be just like my heart?
I am just like my heart. 
That is the first step is it not? 
My heart thinks it can do it all,
I think I can do it all.
My heart does,
I will do.

My heart, beats me.
My heart beats me.