the face behind mine

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face behind mine

the face behind mine
I hid so well
I forgot the lines
and the shade of
the deepened eyes
the curve of the
covered lips
for when I stop to think
I am not sure
what my face
truely looks like
and so it is
ever changing

lifeless gift

You didn’t want to give me flowers
that would perish
as soon
as I placed them in my room
so you gave me a pretty plant
without telling me
how to care for it
and so, now
I am sitting in my room
looking at the lifeless
crisp leaves on the floor.
And I feel as though they were mine.

august 15th

when I think about then
I see myself sitting by a blue window
looking at a wild glooming garden
with the smell of coffee hanging in the air
captured inbetween my hands
I will gaze over to floors and walls covered
in patterns of colours indefinable
scraps of my mind on yellow paper
clustered all around
and miles of crisp white canvas waiting
and all I can see is me
in these tiny walls
that would be mine
merely falling apart
holding each other
to hold on

and hold on to my brushes

cloak

I did all those things
bended a thousand ways
almost too many to
stand up straight again
and only
so they’d like
the phantom I was creating
so they’d think
the mask I put on
was a pretty one
so they’d never see
the crackling lines
that were wandering down
from my eyes

squares and streets

I was standing in a sea of brown squares and empty walls.
When did all the scraps and pieces get pushed into those cold boxes? Like they meant nothing – were all the same – they threw her things in cartons and sealed them from the daylight. The thought that her books, her brushes, but never her would see these walls; it spread out in my mind, circling in my head it fell to my stomach.
I cut open the brown tape; reached in; put things in their new place. Again and again.
I remember thinking how everyone always says new beginnings were exciting. And yes, there were new streets and webs to get lost in and tiny cafés to breath in and people to see with, but grief has the great power to overshadow those bits of magic I could find in the streets I saw laying empty before me.

june 5th

and I was so ready. So ready to just let loose and really I just craved to twirl around without a care in the world and to
just let go.
And I tried and I hoped and waited.
But it wouldn’t get better
and so I went home without my heart high in the sky – with my hopes let low –
when I opened the door I played the tunes I was craving, danced through my tiny room and just lay down on my fuzzy floor and bumped my feet into the air along with the music dwelling from the corner.