Hope Vanished When She Wrote Off The Rules.

want to replay sincerity with
bobby pins and a cheap acoustic guitar.
i want to rewind the record player
until it confiscates our soft spoken
alibis. i don't want to unlearn
happiness again, because what
if i fall in love with misery before
i experience the different colors
of my heart?

--

what if i settle for the ordinary,
and bury my toes in clay
instead of the softness
that flourishes sand?

--

my mind flutters like the wings
of a monarch butterfly,
tracing individual moments
with my nerves and
overlaying grays
with maroons and oranges.
this way, my indecision
will boil with the truth,
rather than be pierced
with emotional icicles.

--

i know there's a lot
that is nearly impossible to adore,
but i only recreate the definition
of trust because my eyes no
longer glitter when excuses
are brushed onto my kneecaps.
and sure,
my askew stability is constantly
relocating near immovable
glaciers because i'm sacrificing
my shoulder to accompany a
security blanket,
but that's only because i care.

--

sadness;
sadness is embracing
what's incomplete and
feeling no sense of closure.
sadness is the burden of
biting so sharply into
the center of your tongue,
yet the only pain encountered
is swimming like dolphins
through your bloodstream.



sadness is weak and vulnerable,
but we all cling to it,
because it's
real;


and nothing else
seems attainable
anymore.