#freedomewriters

[coloringtheworldwithwords]

Hearts trying to beat in sync

but hers is beating too fast.

Mine?..left somewhere on a beach,

far from California and a long, long ways from here.

I try everything to make mine go faster,

like maybe I’m not giving it a fair shot,

but when I think of where my hearts the most steady,

I can hear her heartbeat syncing up to mine,

someone else, somewhere else along the Eastern coastline,

watching waves crash quickly at her feet.

We don’t get to choose what our hearts want most,

tangled up in distance and regret-

I miss how good the sound of silence felt,

like nothing could ever take away what we had.

We’d rest our heads gently at our pillows each night,

and talk about why we felt the Moon was an old friend who already knew all our secrets.

Loving you was that feeling, of knowing you knew me before I knew myself,

and I miss the comfort of my heartbeat synced with yours.

Steadiness, in my chest, and passion in our souls, is the only thing I ever desire in this lifetime.

I would travel across the entire universe if it meant it got one more day at loving you..

if it meant I got one more day to steady your heart with mine.

- I love you, (coloringtheworldwithwords)

[coloringtheworldwithwords]

You've got baggage to last you a lifetime, silly regrets suppressed in your memory, and you are nothing but a series of making the mistakes that you never learn from. I could never lead my life with such recklessness, taking no time to heal old wounds, instead, giving half loving love to lovers whose name you stumble on when you're drunk. It is not my duty to tell you you're wrong, but God, isn't it frustrating to have loved someone who used you as a pawn, who played you like all her others, who sold them to you as the evil in her story. Victims are sad humans who don't know how to be anything else, who hide out in the shadows, who lurk for the lovers who are sold as weak because of the scent of their empathy. I no longer hold one understanding bone in my body for you, now built with a stronger structure, that will never allow toxic creatures to toxify my soul again. I am the stone and you are a glass house. I can see right through you. I know how breakable you are; I am not. Not anymore.

One day you will shatter, but I will no longer cut myself on all your pieces, (coloringtheworldwithwords)

[coloringtheworldwithwords]

I don’t know how far I walked before I hit the sand dunes of despair. It seems I’ve travelled miles beneath these bare feet before I reached the sunset but, God, the sand dunes came so soon. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to drown out my thoughts in the sound of the waves, to hear the whispers of promises from the sky and the moon, to wash away the sins of my past, forgiveness trickling over my toes reminding me that the ocean never gives up on its shore. There is beauty in the unknown and there is beauty in solidarity and I am the epitome of the traveler who takes the road less traveled by. There’s much to say about those who walk miles to chase the sunset and, here, in this moment, with darkness fell behind me I am able to feel hope in my veins, pulsing to the steadiness of the tide. I use the sunset to guide my way and the moon to comfort me from behind, a gentle reminder that there’s always enough light to turn around and come back home.

There’s always a light guiding you through the darkness, (coloringtheworldwithwords)

[coloringtheworldwithwords]

Her skin was the color of porcelain, but soft, curved in all the right places, and gentle, the way you couldn’t be. I watched her fingers trace my elbows and felt her gaze on me, the type that made me shift in the sheets because you could never see me that way. I let out awkward smiles and shallow breaths, unsure of what would come next, unable to tread in any type of direction because my compass used to always point to you. She followed my lead, stagnant in the morning, waiting for my weary heart to steady its beat. She wasn’t the forceful type of love but she was love none the less, reminding me that goosebumps can arise from a simple touch, and that it’s okay not to flee when someone raises their hand to feel you. Not everyone will have the hard hand you had, not everyone is made up of white lies and deceit; some girls are the color of porcelain by the way they are, not how they act, freckled arms to freckled chest, willing me to count all the reasons it never worked with you. I was so much better than the safety you neglected to give me, I deserve to feel safe like this.

Even though this is temporary, thank you for letting me feel this, (coloringtheworldwithwords)