i fear love isn't meant to be this heavy.
i think back on how ephemeral our joys were;
if id knew they'd end then maybe i'd've done better.
similarly to anyone else i, too, have clasped my hands together –
i've done the motions, let the words fall softly from my lips.
i've wrapped my fingers around metal
so worn the acquired patina is all i can recall,
well, besides its weight – the weight that sits in my chests hollow,
making me ill anytime i dare glance up from my lap;
i made this choice,
this path forged by my own puissance &
my own misguidence.
my own soul-consuming trepidation picked
one from the one place i'm meant to lie it down at.

love,
often i find myself glancing out a window &
thinking of how our hands felt intertwined all those years ago;
how it felt like they were melting together, burning
into one –
searing our grasps together,
branding our love into our palms,
branding that burns my skin to this day,
filling my guts with a burning feeling;
a feeling i'll admittedly deny is my guilt,
my guilt over how i yearn to be held in your arms.
i yearn to enjoy the warmth that comes from our intertwined hands,
but i fear it often makes me sick.
(i fear loving you.)
i want to fall to my knees and proclaim my love for you;
however, i find myself on my knees begging for forgiveness for daring
to /love/ you.
(maybe one day ill find myself on my knees begging for forgiveness for daring to hate myself for loving you.)

i used to believe that this soil held me hostage,
digging into my roots & never allowing me to experience the taste of 'freedom',
refusing to allow me to stretch,
refusing to let me taste the sun.
i think i was naive then,
blissfully unaware of myself;
blissfully unaware of how /to/ grow.
i didn't want to admit that being grounded was a necessity,
the soil wasn't holding me hostage,
but aiding me.
the soil i was convinced was my limiting factor was truly my savior.
it wasn't pulling my roots under,
but keeping my roots stable;
grounding me so when i rose
i wouldn't rise too high.
i wouldn't become akin to icarus.

my guilt will not purify me.
it will not make me lighter;
it will not cleanse me.
yet, it won't suffocate me.
this guilt may not displace the lines carved into my soul,
it may not force the words from my lips,
but, maybe it'll grow.
maybe my guilt cannot purify,
cannot cleanse,
yet, it changes.
it swirls in my gut,
a heavy weight,
but perhaps a comforting one.
it's not a punishment,
my guilt doesn't wish to drown me.
it simply wishes to grasp me under that water,
pull me to the sand, and burn.
for that temporary burn births glass,
i'm not cleansed - but i am changed,

life's a gift, possibly even the greatest gift bestowed upon us.
its delicate and fragile like glass,
fleeting like the wind breezing by us in gusts.
there's no offering quite as magical,
yet its one i seem to glance over.
i forget what it's like to awaken appreciative,
i yearn to remember my childlike wonder and joy,
ive become deaf to the melodies floating in the breeze,
blind to the pitter patter of rain,
the droplets on my skin no longer feel welcoming; they now tend to burn.
i've lost the feeling, the excitement to life seems to fade quicker now,
the night sky no longer embraces me in comfort, but in lock,
it's colder now.
life's a gift from god, and my appreciation falters,
i feel drowned,
the laughter of the world seems malicious,
the wind tends to glance too long,
the sun feels accusatory,
shining in every hidden crack.
the line between life and living blurs;
i'm unsure where i stand.
still, life is a gift from a god,
his fingerprints lie in every aspect,
his embrace holding them together,
every wonder created with reason,
every rhythm holds a meaning.
i need not to understand them now,
i know im held tightly regardless of if i waver,
one day, i know, ill understand,
there's never reason to rush.
this gift, this life,
it cradles me with patience,
one day, eventually,
i'll appreciate the sunrise.
i'll acknowledge the beauty it holds.

i hold our memories dear,
i hold them in my heart nearby to you.
they're akin to a pacemaker; thumping along & not allowing halts.
regardless of silence or gaps, i know they're there, i know you're there.
beating to 'hot girl bummer',
and similarly twisting into a falsified stan of bts -
in an odd attempt to woo you -
but there regardless,
and there solely made for you.
the tempo isn't truly relevant,
because regardless of the scratches we're still there -
skipping parts, but never really being incomplete.
i love you, missing beats and all.
you're my clarity ;)