It's been a year now.
I'm still mourning you, I'm sorry, Blackbird.
Sometimes I think terrible things, would you still love me? Do you even love me?
Hold me, please, I don't want to go yet.
when I am gone and you remember me, I hope you're reminded of warmth.
It's morning, I haven't slept.
It's cold but I can hear the birds.
My friend used to tell me stories before he left.
He would talk about a deep void in his chest, then tell me to listen to the birds.
He told me that they would comfort me when I'm sad, but I'm still sad.
I miss him, but he's gone.
I miss many people, but I also hate them.
My head is full of many thoughts, but this morning is quiet.
It's 9:06, and I don't think I'll be sleeping anytime soon.
I hear a guitar buzz and suddenly my hands are timeless.
Did I spin thread in a past life?
My head is far too dizzy to understand why I must have you.
Who let her be like that?
Braces that lace her teeth
Her eyes are my favorite color
Who allowed her to be indescribably bright?
I want to hold the sun.
I am a poet.
I saw her and forgot how to write.
She is beautiful in a language I do not know.
It's April today. I saw people singing at a concert I couldn't go to. I wanted to, I really did, but I don't know anyone who could go with me.
I'm not special in feeling lonely.
I wish I was loved. It doesn't have to be romantic... I can't stand this silence anymore.
Recently I've been having the same thought over and over again while I lay to rest; "I wish I was loved."
I haven't questioned it until today because I'm sure we all have depressing impulsive thoughts. "I wish I was enough." or "I want to go home." Usually these thoughts come and go like a blistery day.
But, mine just hasn't gone away.
I want to be loved because I wish things were easier. Things would be nicer if I knew someone would hold me at the end of my day. I wouldn't vomit in my mouth if I had a hand to hold. I would feel better if someone told me I was good, if I was something okay at all.
I would think, maybe for a second, that I was beautiful. That one thought could keep me going for weeks.
I want to love someone too. I want to be smug and clever, I want to be gentle and kind. I want to see their laugh in the sunset and smile thinking about them.
I want my words and thoughts to matter to someone. I don't need the sun, I just need to be kept warm.
I hope to plant a garden of sunflowers to show my love. War destroys so much. I'm so sorry.
"Fuck." My blood was staining the small wood cutting knife. I sucked my thumb as I paused carving the tree.
Why did I tend to my skin? Just hours ago I was hiking up woods I'd never been in. I stepped ankle-deep into sea water without care. I kept repeating the words "What are you afraid of? Dying?" God, there's nothing that scares me now.
I continued carving again. My phone buzzed with another text which I promptly ignored.
It's funny how little you care when you stop attaching yourself to mortality. Nothing care harm you if you want to be hurt.
I stepped back to look at my name etched on the sycamore tree. "That was pointless." I mumbled.