[mossandmetaphor]

every time the leaves change, she's on my mind

autumn never leaves

her leaves twirling as they fall you think of her every time the seasons change wishing the next one would embody her presence just as much as the last but in the spring her leaves grow back wishing they wouldn’t have fallen at all and you think of her every time the seasons change

[ghostsonpages]

in the pause

the hardest part isn’t taking the breath, it’s holding it.

breathe in. mustering up the strength to pull another lungful of muggy air into a chest too heavy to carry it hold it. in the fraction of a second, the air hangs still. it doesn’t know where to go the clock refused to move its hands and my pulse hides in my throat. the pause. you’re not supposed to notice this part. but i do. every single time. the world waits for something to happen, but it’s not time yet. and eventually, like everyone else you breathe out. the exhale spills like water begging to escape from a rotted trunk. the glorious collapse of the anxiety that lives inside of my ribs frees me from the pause

[ghostsonpages]

i don't know her, but i still cry for her

answer the phone

the walls soften around me i look around in confusion snapped back to reality it was all just a delusion the life i had before  ripped from my fingers i couldn't ignore   feelings that lingered i'm not who i was then i don't know her at all  she needed a friend no one answered her call

[ghostsonpages]

every inch that fell was a piece that i reclaimed

french rebellion

i cut my hair every chance i get it reminds me i have free will you said it like it was set in stone, "girls with short hair are ugly"  i always loved a good french bob so i ran away and cut my hair every single year i cut my hair to remind myself i have free will

[ghostsonpages]

the quiet ritual of burning and healing - i become the phoenix, burning away the old to rise anew

steam and silence

sitting in the shower the boiling rain falls down on me and i’m calm i tell myself it's washing away all of my sins when i stand up the steam rolls off my red, tender skin and i’m refreshed but cold again

[ghostsonpages]

sometimes the hardest door to open is the one inside of us

open the door

i sit in silence waiting for permission that will never be granted so many thoughts inside me that can’t make it outside they pile up like unread letters waiting to be brought inside sometimes i try to speak out, but i’m the only one home i try to open the door, but the lock stays closed haunted by the silence i keep my hesitation echoes off the walls