Some nights, I wake up with my hands around my own throat. Squeeze until the insides are breaking. Wind pipe, crushed. Under-eye skin cells, bursting. Oxygen deprivation. I wait until I feel my heart slow to a pause. Wait until my lungs ache as empty as me. I am lack of will. My motivation clots somewhere in between want and need and never quite flows through to raison d’être. I don’t really know how to explain to you what it’s like. It’s maybe like the way that my eyes can’t focus through early morning haze. It’s kind of like trying to reach something just past your fingertips. It’s like loving the ocean but only knowing how to sink. Am I getting close? Like the way the blood feels as my vision swims. It’s like the way the air would feel underneath me, as body rushes to concrete. Ballistic test of me. And I thought I had this figured out. It’s like how the first line rhymes with I don’t want to. And this last one rhymes with breathe.

Tear-filled eyes are uncontrollable floods that flow from deep within your soul in an attempt to quench the flames of turbulent planes barreling out of control amid a peaceful blue sky.

Plastic smiles are beautiful porcelain masks that depict ever-content beings who suffocate the wearers within.

Broken hearts are birds beating against their cages, despite their broken wings, fighting to break free from the curses of decisions made in times past.

Quivering lips are normally serene rivers rippling under the hostile breath of savage hurricanes nearby.

Shaky fingers are precious stalactites hanging from wonderous diamond mines that tremble through destructive avalanches that appear in the presence of mighty earthquakes.

Scattered thoughts are tortured creatures screaming silently into your ears with loud voices from inside your brain with no end.

Sadness is a blanket of clouds that hover over a tender daisy, yielding shade and no rain, to prevent the sun rays of happiness from pervading its roots in the field of flowers that is life.

I’m no trophy wife.

They’ve made that abundantly clear. I wasn’t made for a broadcasted love.

Rather, a closed-door intimacy.

I’m no reward, nor prize. Just a benefit. Simply convenience. A mere utility at most.

I was made to pour tsunamis of my love into those who wouldn’t give me a drizzle.

I was made to shower flowers into their full potential.

Never meant to hold that level of beauty. Never meant to be paraded.

I was made for a quiet love. For their ears will not accept my decibels.

Far of today’s standards. One size fits none. I don’t fit the mold.

Not within the beholder’s bracket. A pattern often overseen.

Sometimes confused into thinking I deserve more, I slightly raise the bar.

They limbo under, only proving I was never worth the trouble.

I was made for secrets.

Not for dangling.

Not for flaunting.

For they are never proud enough to show me off.

Is confusion an emotion?

I find I am rather confused.

You see - its a rather confusing concept,

one that disturbs me.

For what defines emotion,

Power? Vulnerability?

Or is it simply abstract,

to let confusion breathe?

Twenty years

Of fucking anger,

Pent up inside,

Bottled for a later date you bastards!

I tried,

I cried,

I died inside

And you knew.

I fucking told you,

So you knew.

But still you piled and piled

The pressure on,

Laughing in your leather bound offices,

Drinking tea and Champagne

As I carried your load,

Knees bent,

Head down,

Determined to bear it with pride,

To never fail.

Until my mind gave way beneath me.

I should have punched your fucking lights out.

You arrogant, smarmy bastards!

You went on courses to learn how to destroy people

Who gave you everything

Except what you deserved –

Their anger

And their fist

In your overblow

Smirking face.

You bastards

staring at the penciled drawing on the tabletop in front of her

perfection seeping from every carefully crafted line sweeping across the page.

perfection that I will never be able to emulate

perfection that I cannot achieve

perfection that dangles above me on a string

so close but out of reach.

everything she does

comes easily

it’s like she doesn’t even try

yet still she doesn’t have to.

every pencil stroke

perfection

every question answered

perfection

then

there’s

me.

they think that I’m perfect

they say that I am

then they see her

then they realize

I am mediocre

in comparison

I am a failure

in comparison

I can try

but suddenly trying is not enough anymore

suddenly I am second best

suddenly I realize that I always have been

and fighting the inevitable is a fruitless attempt at the perfection

I cannot attain.

I felt nothing,

Nothing,

Nothing...

Throughout my whole life.

A void, devoid of emotions

Except one,

One barren, lifeless emptiness...

I felt nothing,

When my dad brought a kitten.

I felt nothing,

When the kitten died.

I felt nothing,

When my dad died.

A life full of forged emotions,

To hide one,

One barren, lifeless emptiness...

I felt nothing,

As long as I have lived.

And I know,

I will feel nothing,

As long as I will live.

And when I die,

I will feel nothing,

Nothing,

Nothing...

Just like my whole life:

A void, devoid of emotions

Except one,

One barren, lifeless emptiness.

I am red,

Like the color that I saw,

As you turned away,

When I needed help.

I am orange.

The same as the flames,

Of the house as it burnt,

Like something from a nightmare.

I am yellow.

The sun shining in my eyes,

As you drove away,

For the last time.

I am green,

Like the life I should have had,

But withered and died,

Under your care.

I am blue,

For the tears I wish I hadn’t cried,

And that you didn’t,

And never will deserve.

And I am purple,

For all the times,

I made a mistake,

By believing you could change.

I am the entire rainbow,

But when I think of you,

And what you’ve done,

I am a single emotion.

I am afraid of everything. Small, big, light, dark, open, closed, anything and everything. I am afraid of the dark, afraid of the light. Afraid of being judged, afraid of taking flight. Afraid of being left alone afraid of my mother's tone. Afraid of spiders, afraid of heights, afraid of losing sight of what might be the last bite. Afraid of getting lost, afraid of being tossed around. Afraid of being the boss, afraid of getting found. I am afraid of everything and anything. Big or small, closed or open, dark or light. Anything & everything. But it's ok to be afraid. Because being afraid just means you can be trusted and you are limitless to the possibilities of things you cna do.

The last time I held your hand.

The last time I felt the beating of your heart underneath my fingertips after we made love, your heart not skipping a beat.

The last time you turned toward my face on the pillow and gazed into my eyes with a empty look and all the while a smile...

The last time we ate together for our last meal, toasting to health , happiness and prosperity, glasses clinking together with the fragility of my heart.

The last movie we saw together, my hand grazing yours in the salty popcorn bag with the bent over edges.

The last time you told me you loved me.

The last argument we shared, not fierce, not soft... just right.

The last time I felt your feet rub mine.

The last hug, slow, short, empty... a pat felt better than that.

The last kiss...

It’s over.

The last walk down the walkway, no glancing back.

There is only beauty in front, darkness behind with a cast of a dark shadow fading the farther I walk away.

The lasting...