spiraling 1

this is going to be one of those entries

that doesn’t sound good

sometimes i break the words up

because that’s how my brain flows

and not because i consider this

Real Poetry

the journal is scratched

and my computer is slow

too many tabs open

too much going on

that’s not an original joke, i know

but that doesn’t make it less true

every day that slips by

and all i do is exist

i feel my sins piling up mountainous

i know i’ve let someone down

a friend who was excited about a shared project

a professor i fooled into thinking i could be brilliant

a parent who gives far too much

for me to let it all go to waste

and a sister who

watches my life perhaps

more than she hears my words

my brain is full when i try to sleep

empty when i long to write

to find a release from the drowning guilt

of not living up to my own expectations

when i’m half alseep

caught between thought and dream

the words click in my head

a door swings wide

and i am transfigured

into something beautiful

the words last night were magical

a music box alive in my veins

whimsical fancies transferred into letters and words

maybe i’m just too lazy

the words are there, within grasp

but i grow weary of reaching

i have fallen in love

with their precision

sharp knives that carve out meaning

that translate an idea, intangible

from one heart to another

and yet words fail me so often lately

words, my friends, betray me

when i try to admit the way i feel

when i try to calm the storms

when i reach out to a ceiling that feels mocking

in its silence

she wants me to tell him

“you’ll be proud of yourself”

but should i be proud of a love that clings too tight

to something far too good for a girl like me

should i be proud of

love that might be selfishness underneath

and will i ever feel whole again

if he says no

it’s hard sometimes

to know the difference

between a loss and a win

i try to sugarcoat pain

playing peacemaker

throwing my body in between the people i love

who cannot love one another

it’s a sacrifice

i’m willing to make

then words like a boomerang

come back around i see

that they became a weapon

instead of the white flag i intended

the thing about words is

you give them away

like a gift

but they can be twisted

and gifts don’t belong to the giver anymore

sometimes i feel like i keep quiet

when i ought to say more

i choose love perhaps

over truth

because maybe the truth right now

would just push her away

last night felt like a win

maybe by next week

it will feel like a failure

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