frayed between contradictions & pain.

--  

i find it easier to type, because everything i pencil into my sketchbook
turns out to be poetically incorrect, and i never seem to occupy enough
erasers to vanish my scrambled thoughts. i used to over-analyze every
word that his lips expressed, because it always seemed to deplete into
uneven verses. but now, i've arranged my disposition and chain-smoke
melodies when i'm unsure. maybe that accordingly makes me insecure.
but i guess i've had my heart displayed behind a picket fence for so long
that i'm not durable enough to accept being let down again.


--

it's unfair that he adores emeralds and compares them to my eyes.
it's unfair that we've gotten nowhere within a year of tearing down
brick walls and rebuilding them with straw.
it's unfair that i'm pulling weeds from a prairie of daisies,
when he's only counterfeited my lies to keep me from choking.

i know confusion is just another excuse for not peeling these
eyelashes far apart enough to encounter everything i knew 
before. but you know how it is, getting two scoops of rocky
road ice cream, and feeling as if it's not enough to occupy the

emptiness that drills through your blood. but we're made up

of physics and strategic lullabies to render our dispositions.

every girl has a 'he' that inspires her to beautify words with
raw images. the one that builds her up with charm and

chocolate roses, and wretchedly pulls the rug from underneath
her toes when he simply doesn't see it fit to leave her hanging
by velvet lace.



and if i could stop writing about him, i would.
but he's all that trembles beneath my golden skin. 

-- 

and though i feel like i'm untouchable when his hand rests upon my
hip-bone and the only thing i can hear is his uneven breathing pattern,
i feel as if i will never be let down from this banister he's had me on
for so long. i'm running out excuses to stay, and he's rebuilding a steady
structure below me.




ihaveneverfeltsoeagertojump.




i never imagined to encounter anything relatively close to love and
the indecisiveness that pours into every organ that supplies blood
to my heart. i feel as if i've been staring at blank sheet of paper for
hours on end, unable to express anything in beauty anymore. lately,
he is the only thing that crosses my mind. maybe how i feel is too
cliche and unoriginal to support with a different hypothesis every
time my mind is scraped from inhaling moments too quickly. and
there's still that possibility that his shadow has become too familiar,
and i'm just holding on because he's all i've ever known.





figuratively speaking,
i am in the perfect state of mind
to love
him.




and i have never found it so hard to breathe.





love,
amanda.