untitled

unspoken words of despondency

[morikomo]

We sit there,

our hands are ribbons intertwined.

I stare at the cute lace bow in your hair.

You ask me, "What's your favourite...?"

Book, flower, artist, song.

I ask, "What's yours?"

I guess to you I seem like less than a woman—

a canvas full of brushstrokes

left half-sung

amid dull tones of muted leaves.

But if I'm the canvas,

then you're the artist and muse.

You paint delicate bows and ribbons

of soft pink hues.

You ask me, "What is your favourite...?"

You, you, you, you.

I answer, "I'm not sure..."

[morikomo]

I am not special.

Maybe that's what makes it so much harder —

knowing this pain im feeling is not unique.

i have not created my own abyss for i know that it was here long before me.

This loneliness is an ancient being that has embraced many a soul, before it set its eyes on me.

Maybe that's what makes it so much easier —

knowing that no matter how particular these scars appear,

there are others that adorn them like jewels.

In the end this feeling is not mine to keep, but anothers to discover at the depths of their misery.

[morikomo]

I have seen things die in the shadow of my shortcomings.

In natures depth,

I found myself.

i danced with the shadows of its leaves

and for once i was free.

[morikomo]

I've had an ache for a while now.

The pain comes and goes like the ebbing of a tide,

lost in its own acrimony.

It drags me from the shore without thought or feeling.

My palms scrape against sand and stone.

I do not want to feel this pain.

Tears begin to escape my eyes,

longing to mingle with the ocean's mass.

Yet I myself cannot begin to settle,

for I know I do not belong here.

The pain no longer ebbs or flows but, instead, it drowns.

The preponderance of its voice begins to subjugate my will.

It does not care what I want.

Eventually, I am submerged and for the first time,I feel no pain.

I am enraptured in a sense I have not yet seen

reflected in the eyes of another,

I feel not the currents against my skin

for I am numb.

No longer do I wish to find myself washed ashore,

for all I see becomes all I know,

and in turn, I want for nothing less

and nothing more.

[morikomo]

Nature's kin found itself within her grasp—

waltzing across her supple palm.

She in turn found herself enamoured

with its sublimity.

But as the sun graced each mole on her skin

with the softest kiss,

I could no longer join her in reverence

for the ruby-speckled bugs,

For I found myself wishing I too was a ladybird.

To be able to take in every aspect of her form,

magnified as if to fit the space

she saturates in my mind.

To be able to watch her eyes warm in the sun,

seeing every shade of umber

melt into the sweetest caramel.

To be able to maunder across her palm as they do,

each crease a path to lead me

to a place anew,

and yet so familiar in its ambience.

I long to find myself in her grasp

for she already grasps me whole,

already am I enamoured with her mind's symphonies

and the way she sings them through her touch.

I am hers before I am mine;

I only ask she kisses me softly as we waltz

and let the ladybirds fly.

[morikomo]

And the flames that licked my skin

held more comfort than her warm embrace,

so each tear shed, evaporated

until nothing felt so wrong or right.

Before me laid the life I'd lived,

and a mirror to reflect it

in the life yet to come.

I knew to break it would mean freedom,

but my arms hung limp;

wounded by my sides.

I know freedom is for the birds

and my back bears no wings,

so when I fall, let me find fire

to burn away my sins.

[morikomo]

I am the fox and I am the rabbit chased.

I bite down and tear

I tear and quiver.

Grass whips against my bloody palms;

it towers above my cowered head.

I crave substance and fear such substance I am.

I falter but I cannot slow—

For I must catch my prey,

And I must flee this beast.