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2:38 AM
You smell familiar.
You feel reminiscent.
You sound nostalgic.
But your words, your words are like honey.
They satisfy the tastebuds of my ego, they satiate my appetite for all that is sweet and indulgent.
And yet, they leave a residue, an aftertaste that makes me question.
Question.
Question.
Question if I may like the honey, more than I like the bee.
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Sensory
Today,
Did you feel the earth rotate?
Did you hear the atmosphere sing?
Did you see the stars wink?
I did not.
But I have.
When no one is listening, I hear.
When no one is looking, I see.
But if nobody else notices,
How am I to know it is happening at all?
Am I dreaming?
Am I projecting?
Projecting a sound, vision, sight to make me feel like the framework of my mind is reflected somewhere else.
When I notice the earth rotate, I feel less alarmed by the tremors running up and down my joints.
When I notice the atmosphere sing, I feel less focused on the incessant voices in my head controlling what I say, eat, want.
When I notice the stars wink, I feel less alone in this secret of mine.
When I notice the stars wink, I feel like winking back.
I hope to shine again some day.
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So
I do not know what it was about you that struck me so.
So.
So.
So intriguing.
One look at you, and my heart screamed “ideal.”
One touch from you, and my stomach began to fly all over my body, propelled by the sudden invasion of a colony of monarchs.
One kiss from you, and my mind birthed thoughts, thoughts of “what if’s” and “why not’s” and “stay confident’s”; thoughts which grew legs and began to run amuck through my brain.
There were thoughts that grew arms instead; those thoughts, I chose to ignore. Messages of “too good to be true” and “out of your league” and “why even try” tried to dig their sharpened claws into the seemingly-reliable calves of the thoughts which instilled confidence and envisioned potential.
Potential.
Does the word lose its meaning when it’s definition is not fulfilled?
Do the legged thoughts flee from memory when they are proven to be inapplicable?
Does the warmth evoked from a newfound strain of confidence and positivity no longer feel comforting, but rather scalding, turned up in degrees from the kindling of disappointment and shame?
Why does shame rear its inflated head at times such as these?
Why do circumstances entirely out of my control give wings to ideas of “self-destructive behavior” and “numb yourself out” and “that’s what you get for letting your emotions develop outside of your tight grasp”?
Although this is reality, it feels unrealistic. At times, it feels virtual. It feels scripted.
It feels unexplainable.
Unexplainable, much like the reason why you struck me so.
So.
So.
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“Happiness”
You.
Expecting your fleetingness.
Overwhelmed by your arrival.
Enamored by your stay?
Why?
You do not deserve to be overvalued, nor undervalued.
For with any special treatment comes the expectations, the overwhelm, the enamored.
You deserve to be acknowledged.
You deserve to be embraced.
But the rarer your appearance grows,
The more inclined I’ve grown to become hyper-aware of your presence.
Won’t you come around more often?
On those nights when you come and cuddle up with me just before I fall asleep, won’t you stay until morning?
Won’t you stick around for breakfast, for my morning stroll to class?
Won’t you join my friends and I for lunch?
They’ll love and envy you all at once.
Won’t you stay by my side at those idle hours when you seem to suddenly have better places to be?
Won’t you stick around?
You won’t regret it.
After all, it’s practically impossible for me to be unhappy with you by my side.
#poem#poetry#writing#wm#js#creative#happy#unhappy#happiness#fleeting#words#emotion#personification#works
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2:10
I rediscovered an old love.
A love for the wee hours of the night,
When the entire world’s seeming slumber and idleness feels comforting.
Nothing feels lonesome.
Everything feels inspiring.
Nights like these remind me of good times past.
Nights like these remind me of emotions, loving and being loved.
Nights like these remind me of goosebumps and candles and fireplaces and cuddles under duvet covers and midday conversations about not much but so much and intertwined legs and arms and fingers and your breathing on my neck as I smile into my pillow.
I need to stay up more often.
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UnTruth
I’ve always been a light sleeper.
I’m woken up by the sound of you opening the perpetually-creaking bedroom door.
“I’ll be more careful not to wake you tomorrow morning,” you say.
We both know that isn’t true.
I’ve always hated crumbs.
I’m alerted by the sound of you stepping on the Cheerios you’ve just spilled all over the checker-tiled kitchen floor, covering an entire white panel with the aftermath of the cereal massacre.
“I’ll clean it up later,” you say.
We both know that isn’t true.
I’ve always loved going out on Friday nights.
I’m bothered by your unwillingness to do so.
“I’ll go out with you next weekend if we just stay in tonight,” you say.
We both know that isn’t true.
I’ve always believed in honesty.
I’m confused by your reluctance to admit we’re no longer right for each other.
“I’ll do whatever it takes, I’ll be quieter, I’ll be cleanlier, I’ll be more outgoing,” you say.
You must know that isn’t true.
I just wish you’d understand that I’d rather you stay true to yourself than be dishonest for me.
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I want to wake up ready to dive into the world, take it all in as if I have nothing more to do than perform cannonballs composed of my exhilaration.
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UnWorship
You live off of worship.
You feed off of attention.
You crave fame, glory, entitlement.
You never cease to make your presence known.
But I wish to kiss your lips,
Not the ground you walk on.
And I desire to be a priority.
And I desire to be closest to you.
And I desire to run my fingers through your hair.
And I desire to wear your jackets that are far too oversized for me.
And I desire to sit in the passenger seat of your car and listen to the tangents of your thoughts.
And I desire to claim you as mine.
But the thought of living in a world where your idolization is not prevalent,
Frightens you more than the idea of losing me.
And so I am left lonesome,
The only acknowledger of your UnWorship.
#poem#poetry#UnWorship#attention seeker#personal#boy#relationships#crush#attraction#art#writing#words#inspired#wm#js#works
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