End of May

Every time I wonder what we are I stop and get lost in swirls of nothing.
There are no answers waiting for me to reach out and grab them.
There are no hints or clues, there are contradictions and commitments.
But when it comes down to it, it all cancels out and there is nothing.

I am stuck here with my head in my hands and both are shaking.
My head, because her thought process is scrambled and all she wants is the words to fall out and form sentences.
My hands, because they are scared of what the answer will be.
The stress is almost too much to bear because the answer is always the same.

No matter how hard I try to change how I feel, I can't.
No matter how much I sleep, or how little I eat, all I think about is this problem with no answer.
The problem that I know the answer to but I can't face.
The one thing I let myself grow close to and I don't know if it's good or bad.

This is the first and only time I've been this confused.
I'm dodging the answer with all my strength but I can't.
You're leaving, that is the answer.
The question is if I want it to be tomorrow or today.

I only have one month to decide and I feel like neither decision is right.
I feel like in the end I'll still be broken hearted.
I'll still be left wondering what I should do, and where I should go.
Should I wait? Can you wait?

I'll be stuck here wondering, " was it worth it?
Did he love me or lust me?
Does he know the pain I'm feeling?
Will he forget?"

Will he forget.

He'll be off stepping foot on different sands.
He'll be sharing experiences with new friends and new faces.
He'll go home to a sleeping bag, and pockets full of money.
He'll forget.

He'll forget.

He will because the things that he will be doing will be more than anything we've done.
They will be experiences that are life altering, while I was just another straight track he laid.
I'm there, but my only purpose was to take him to where he needed to be.
The tracks he's about to lay will be winding and thrill finding, and I was just boring old me.

He'll forget.

So while I sit here knowing my heart may never heal,
That this pain I feel deep inside my chest and my gut will always scream, "WHY?!"
I'll be forgotten. I'll be a memory.
While he will be holding the only parts I had left of me.

My heart, my soul, my body.

I'll be beaten and broken by my own hands because my body can't help but thrash between these walls,
Between the things I've built around me.
I built them as protection but now all the do is hurt me.
I'll never forget.

I'll never forget.

I see fields of green, red roses too.

I live in a box.
Every angle and cut,
Is safe and protecting.
I stay in my box.

The world outside sounds loud,
And harmful.
My box is cold and damp.
My box is  my home.

I cut a tiny hole in the side
And I watch people's feet,
Walk by at such fast paces
Obviously rushing to somewhere important.

I love my box.
My heart is woven in the lines,
My soul moves with the waves,
My body crunches and fits perfectly.

My spine aches.
My legs have grown numb.
My arms can't move anymore.
But my eyes stare in wonder.

They believe that they could walk with the crowd.
They hope that they will get out one day.
They burn from the sun, but can't stop looking.
They're envious of the other eyes sitting outside.

My hands fumble to a crease above my head.
It takes all my strength and multiple tries,
My energy lowers with every push and pull.
And my sweat beads as I pray to the gods.

With one final push and my last breath of air,
The brightness blinds me.
The air rushes in and fills up my lungs
While every one stops and is staring at one.

One small girl has pushed her way through.
And as soon as her eyes adjust,
She sees something cruel,
There aren't as many free souls as her eyes had thought.

Instead of millions of pairs of feet walking to places she thinks she needs to be,
There are only a few who have escaped.
She looks all around at all the brown boxes,
All of them different one from another.

Some of them are brown,
Others have faded,
Only a few dare to look through
The little holes they have made.

She rushes to one to pry it open,
But she can't not all.
A man walks behind her and rests a hand on her shoulder,
And for a moment she relishes in the touch she has missed.

He talks with a voice full of despair,
And whispers, "only one person can get them out of there."
He continues to speak of the boxes as if they aren't boxes,
And tells her only they can let themselves out.

They only can be opened from the inside,
And too many are afraid to come out.
So as she sits and she cries
With her beautiful eyes, she looks to the sky.

The blueness she remembers,
Is still just the same.
From her younger years,
Nothing has changed.