talkin-silence

1st mistake. I want all of you. Your manuka honey skin, your opaque personality, your thundering walk, your war torn hands, the curls of your voice, the warm hue of your laughter. 2nd mistake. I move my bones to see you. God knows, I would change the magnetic field, so that the compass would point north to your heart. I move my chilled smile to warm hugs to show you, that even the thought of the destination, can change the traveller. 3rd mistake. I make everything about you. Heck, I named my hard drive after you, my phone password is your name! I want you to circulate in my blood, leak out of my pores, I want to be drenched in the scent of

This is what depression looks like. Depression is the late night talks with your father, with the words bouncing off the walls that listen intently, feeding off comfort; it is the sound of cajoling. -we love you. Stay strong. I know we don't say that we love you often, but we do, and we appreciate you- The words sound unnatural. Misplaced. Mis-spoken. Depression is when the conversations in the car, are about feelings. Always. How much it had hurt. How much it still does. Depression is driving the car into the divider, for the night before the emptiness bled on the plump pillow. It is the casual carelessness when you cross the road witho

It is a rainy grey day, when I think of you. All long hair and full blown acne but perfect with your clothes hanging from your bones like the ghost that you are. You wave and my cold body rises to a crescendo. You. I cannot tell why I like you so much. What makes you so worthy of my time, the space in my mind, I thought i have already taught myself to not love anyone but myself. How many hours of self loathing will you cause me now? From the lingering emptiness in my chest i feel that I will be disappointed somehow. Disappointed that you do not look in my direction a second longer or that your lips do not crack the brightest smile; That I d

1. My ankles were torn and bruised from all the times that I was too brave for my own good. 2.  It is a sign of weakness, they said, of teenage rebellion, a sign of breaking out of the cage of expectation but no. It was a sign of being hurt, of tired resignation, of trying to meet expectations and failing; In the end, doesn't matter too much. 3. When you asked me who would hurt you like this, and when I said no one. I wasn't lying.  4. I tried my best to hide myself from from me, oh, but she came out hungry to eat herself alive. Inside out and outside in.  5.  Sigh. 6.  I think my six year old self would have un

1. She is the best friend. The one who sticks by your side, who washes your hair when you're sad, the one who sings with you in the kitchen. 2. She. She is powerful. Her words work into your bones, and you, you are drenched in her odor. She is your personal warning sign. 3. She calms your heart and ignites it, she keeps you company but tries to leave, only to find herself back home. 4. She knows your hard work, your dreams. You work under the shadow of her motivation; she tells you to write poems about her, and you agree. 5. She is a buckled down frenzy, She is a wildfire. She is intelligent, and she does not deserve you. 6. She

1. Your smile is a memory of my past life still lingering in my bones. It flashes in the peripherals of my mind, even though they are not mine to remember. 2. Your lips have whispered my name in the back of my neck in all other realities except this one. 3. Your skin is the colour of the crescent moon on a tired day. 4. Your eyes remind me of the first boy I even changed my skin for. 5. Your voice reminds me of the bells my mother rings every morning out of habit. To say the least, it sounds like home. 6. That scar reminds me of the lies that we both tell me. 7. Sometimes, your name feels like fresh air. Like being lost, and being oka

 When we asked who you were, you turned away and hid behind cosmetics, painting a different person. When he asked who your mother is, you hid behind adjectives and struck out words and spluttered one worded answers that rhymed with the color of her blood that still miss you. when she asked who your father is, you stayed with the classic sad story, telling about the bruises and hits and the blood drawn, describing an innocent small man waiting for his daughter to come home. When they asked who your friends were, you spoke in broken annunciations, trying to sound damaged and hurt, from all the people you pushed away. When we asked who your

I like you. I can't be more pleased when you look at us, and tell us that in each of us, in our veins that we want to cut open, in our bones that we have broken, in the wounds that we have mended, and that in our feet that are two sizes too big, that we all have a little bit of stardust in us. It reminds me, that I can in fact love someone for who they are, all their words, and all of ones grins and laughs, and French. How you always say, there is a little bit of worm in you, and look at that in your brain, what used to be a fly is floating in there. You say that with enthusiasm, like there was something good in that. In all of us.

His irises are mahogany stone, oh it gives me agony. The hair behind his ears are the colour of autumn; red and orange, matching his voice; when he sees me with another. His teeth, bare and wide, greets me home everyday. The love on his face, when he sees me crying, and he kisses my tears. The way he smells my hair when i hug him,and the forceful tugs on my hairband, telling me i look better without it. The way he looks when he pulls out those stupid dance moves, god, he looks like a four legged tap dancer. The way his eyelashes batt at me, when he want affection. But he does not say he loves me. He does not speak to me. He doesn't wan

I think those lyrics are the foundation of what our friendship or rather what our bitterness is built on. We didn't realize that when we sang it to each other, we were singing the song that would kill us so much. *Ahem* Correction. Kill me. When you see me you just nod your head towards me, your voice, and your words; as if I no longer deserve it. They always say time heals all wounds, but like many other cliched hearts, I beg to differ. It was always such a catchy tune and as a young teen drowning in your words and a rather horrid voice; It was all I needed. I have tried to let you go, I swear. I promise! I promise! And you know I