abirdscry

[abirdscry]

she runs and i follow. i’m not a runner. i never have been. still, i run. my feet hit the ground flat and a fire starts in my shins but i look up and i see her and i run. i can’t catch my breath. there’s a heavy fog coating my lungs, choking me out, rising and falling as droplets painting the ground in my wake. still, she shines before me; the full extent of her grace. the way she absorbs the sun in her warmth and i am drawn towards it, blind, driven only by the chilling sting of my skin that screams for her heat. she runs, further and further. her movement somehow calm, fluid and light, the way a puddle ripples but does not shake when kissed gently by a cautious palm. i fear how my trembling hand may ruin that perfection; how these heavy steps break the earth beneath us. i slip between the cracks and there’s rocks digging into every imperfect edge but the sting makes me feel at home so i lean into it. i melt into each groove until it doesn’t hurt anymore. i stare until my vision goes dark and no light can penetrate my lens. she runs and i can’t see her so i stop. my eyes closed. my muscles tense and rigid yet holding no shape at all. everything burns and i am cold to the touch so i hold myself closer and sink further still. every breath, shallow and clear. it’s dark, and it’s cold, and it feels right. she runs. and i stay. as it’s always been.

[abirdscry]

i grew used to having an inferno nestled in my chest. sometimes it’s enough. it provides a certain warmth. my arms can provide solace to another on a cold night, and that’s enough for me to believe that i’m worth a gentle touch in return. it becomes hard to explain how water frightens me, the way a cat hisses at its reflection. i hear it’s refreshing to taste; that it grounds as it sways; its cleansing touch soothing the most matted souls. i’ve spent my life staring at waves as they ebb and flow. the noise alone brings a certain calm. it hums in my ear — i hear it now — and flames flicker forth to sway with it. the ashes stain my skin, but its heat feels worth the mess. that inferno, it rages at the tide, stronger as i inch closer. it can burn so bright, but it leaves me blind. it rolls over my skin in shades of blue, but it doesn’t hum like the sea; it whispers out a scream so hoarse and detached that i forget it’s being ripped out of my throat. i don’t think i could ever hold that cold no matter how calmly i try to approach. the thought is enough to fill the air thick and grey. i think of it, possessed, obsessively. it hurts and it burns, but the flames condense into the pit at my core as the oxygen fades. that feeling, to feel whole, is enough. because it must be. it’s all i have. it’s enough.

[abirdscry]

i love you more and it’s not a competition. i merely mean that i love you more than i hate myself; i love you more than i dread all the bad days to come; i love you more than i fear losing you. i love you more than i did yesterday, and i love you more than i ever thought possible.

[abirdscry]

it’s nothing more than a small cardboard box, crudely painted over white with not enough layers at too many spots. thin green ribbon wraps around it so tight, but it frays where rough fingernails lingered for too long. it sits close to me at all times; a firm pressure pushing back against fingertips calloused from its edges. the corners of my chest burn red and raw with its indents but it’s never crossed my mind to let go. i can hold it still. against my skin, i feel my pulse radiating back from it and i wonder if maybe its developed one of its own. its warmth radiates through my palms. sweat pools in my ridges and i wonder how long it’d take for those thin paper layers to soak through. i can’t explain it, but part of me dreams of it tearing to pieces in my grip; to feel it peel and fall in little scraps piled at my feet. i know it’s not that weak. i know it’s not strong enough to bear more pressure, but my muscles cannot push more, and its structure cannot yield to my whim without force behind it. so i stand still. it stays in my arms. my gaze wanders away from its creased surface, but it remains in my mind. i don’t feel the tears red and hot against my skin; i see them traced against its. i search for meaning within its patterns. there is none. it’s just a box; pretty and horrific and innocent and stained. i’m not sure how much longer i can hold on. i’m not sure what else i can do.

[abirdscry]

it’s summer and, in the abundance of daylight, you commit yourself to daily walks. you won’t let yourself think “maybe tomorrow”. your therapist, your doctor, that uncle you forgot you had, everyone tells you it’ll make a difference, and, honestly, you’re desperate, so you try. 

you’ve found a little route that’s horribly mundane, but it brings you back to your apartment before it gets dark. you can’t seem to get yourself to leave before nightfall becomes a concern. it’s plain and painfully suburban, but, still, you can’t deny its allure. every day, you pass the same houses, but…

look, isn’t that interesting. 

that one’s got four 24-packs of what looks like coconut water out front. you know it probably isn’t; you can’t imagine anyone drinking that much coconut water. 

a couple blocks down, there’s a little book exchange set up on someone’s dying lawn. you didn’t think anyone used those, but the last couple times you’ve passed by you’ve noticed some books missing. you can’t recall which ones. all you know is that it changed. 

you could’ve sworn that house on the corner had chickens — when you first heard one, you accidentally cursed at your father on the phone — but you haven’t seen or heard them since. you still can’t tell if he was amused or upset. you don’t care, but you still think about it. 

every day, the sun hits the leaves on that same tree a little differently. you still stop and stare for too long when it’s at that angle. by all means, it’s nothing special, but the sting of your irises and the slight burn of your skin feels fresh. you want to feel how it felt that first time again. you don’t mind the weird looks you get from people driving by, but the dog barking at you through the window gets you moving again. 

your heel feels weird rubbing against the space where the foam has been slowly disintegrating in your shoes. it’s only the right shoe, and you’re not sure why, but your foot doesn’t blister anymore, so you don’t think about it. 

you notice that house with the abundance of “coconut water” again. turns out you were right, about being wrong; it was sanpellegrino, which you only know because you spent an absurd amount of time searching up various canned drinks. you still can’t imagine anyone drinking that much sparkling water — sorry, “sparkling fruit beverages” — but sure enough most of the cans are gone. you take it as a sign and get some sparkling tea. you still don’t like it, but you don’t hate it as much as you did before either. maybe you’ll finish your five cans by the time you pass by that patio and find no trace of the drinks you’ve thought too much about this summer. 

that dying lawn seems to be doing better now, but, more importantly, you learned what that odd book exchange thing is. it’s called a little free library; the result of a nonprofit you think you’ve heard of before but can’t be sure. the last time you passed it, you actually looked at what was inside. you still can’t confidently recall the titles, but you’re pretty sure you saw an old worn out copy of the hunger games in there. something about it makes you feel old. you flip through your own copy later that night, and strangely that age doesn’t feel as heavy. 

it’s been weeks but you’ve yet to see a single chicken anywhere. you’re not sure if you imagined it or if that yard is just unruly enough to hide a chicken coop from your sight. honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t a chicken’s call at all. there’s enough stuff stacked precariously out front that it’d make sense if it were something else. you still hope it was a chicken though, and you’ll still look for it every time you walk by. it’s been more than a few days since you called your father. you couldn’t say how many for the life of you. you care, but you haven’t thought about it. 

the sun is freshly gone by the time you reach your stairs. you look at the moon in its place and wave hello. it too has changed. 

a deep sigh breaches your lips before you turn towards your door. everyday, it gets a little harder to punch in your code. your right shoe has no backing left when you take it off. your father messages and you swear you’ll message back, later. you see your bookshelf in the corner and take note of which titles you haven’t picked up in a bit. the cans in your recycling teeter on the edge of the bin. 

there’s no more daylight, but somehow the space still feels brighter. 

you wonder again, “maybe tomorrow”, but this time, there’s no question.

tomorrow, it’ll all start anew.

[abirdscry]

i hope that, when i sing, you feel it. my love for you stains every word. every line sung softly under my breathe is a desperate plea for you to know im thinking of you and i care. i dont know how to show my love, but i know how to carry you in song. its not just music; its my soul, raw and bare, reaching out to hold you, burning in your light. i dont share my voice often or lightly, but, for you, id cry a million melodies and let them float across the sea. i hope you hear them. i hope you feel loved.

[abirdscry]

i think there’s something to be said about long car rides as a way of expressing love. i have nowhere to go; there’s no reason for me to be on this road, but here i am, with you, and there’s nowhere else i’d rather be. let’s just spend a few hours chasing the sun with fingers intertwined. in those moments, there’s nothing and no one that matters more than you and i. i have nowhere to go, but i’d go anywhere with you; anywhere to hear that mindless jabber and softly sung melody; anywhere to glance over and see your face, so peaceful and full of bliss. the scenery passes us by; there’s beauty in its blur and in how you’ll always find something to laugh about as we speed by. it’s not just a drive during the odd hours of day. it’s saying i love you, and there’s nothing more i’d rather do than carve out this moment in time to make a world for just us two.

[abirdscry]

you let the flowers die. they sit there, where you left them after they first appeared at your door, on that same cardboard box. the floor surrounding it is more beiged and brittled petals than that cold hardwood you always meant to cover with a welcoming mat. there’s a thick layer of dust nestled around the vase. your duster hasn’t come out of the garage since long before those bouquets showed up. you never liked flowers. they were useless, smelly, empty gestures you learned to loathe. maybe that’s why you pass by them every morning and night and they never move an inch. maybe that’s why — even now, as they decay before your eyes — you still can’t throw them out. but you let them die. and dead they are. and dead they’ll stay. but, even in death, you can still curse them out for having come to your door. even in death, they remain the first thing you see every time you come home, and the last thing you think of every time you leave. and some part of you hopes that’s enough to bring them back.

[abirdscry]

i dont know how to feel safe, but, something about you makes me want to try; for once in my life, theres a reason for me to learn what it means to feel at home.

[abirdscry]

even still, i hold the moon in my hands, though i cannot see beyond the dusk that glazes over my mind. still, i know i am not alone. though my thoughts stray and my eyelids grow heavy, i hold her close and raise her to my lips to whisper every sweet nothing and ghost a kiss upon silver skin. even still, as i drift into the night’s heavenly call, i hold the moon in my hands, and forever more i shall.

[abirdscry]

i saw a cloud in the shape of an angel wing brushing up against the moon tonight. i’m not one to believe in signs, not genuinely, but, maybe this once, i can have faith. maybe that was you, in the one spot you knew i’d be staring at, today of all days. i’d like to imagine you knew it’d fill me with warmth; that i’d walk into the night with my soul bare; that i’d need to know you’re with me still. all i know is that i want to believe it true. so thank you, for being here. i’ll see you next year <3

[abirdscry]

i feel fundamentally different than before; they say to be loved is to be changed; i’ll never be the same again; i hope i can be loved still; but i’m not sure how much change i can handle; i’m not sure there’s anything left to love; but maybe it’s worth risking still; i’d change a million times over to hold your hand in mine; i’d leave myself behind to be loved once more; i’ll hold my scraps still; just waiting to be whole again like before

[abirdscry]

i speak to you in poetry because nothing else could fit. it isn’t enough to say ‘i love you’ when i know that i’ve trekked over a million lifetimes to have our souls embrace every time our skin unites. how could i stop at saying ‘you’re beautiful’ when your beauty outshines that of the night sky on a clear night where every star illuminates the moon and frames it on proud display. to say ‘i trust you’ would be a lie; it goes so much deeper than that; with you, i’d let my wings kiss the sun, and would gladly kiss the salt below, if only you’d ask; if only to see that goofy smile grace your lips before plunging into the never ending dark. and, every time, i go silent in your arms, and never once has it been because there’s nothing to say. all the thoughts in my head spread too wide to be compressed into a single sentence. for you, there’s every word; every image; every joy; every light; that could ever be made, all pressed against my lips and sighed out in every blissful kiss. the way you move; the way you talk; the way you are; it is art; poetry in rare perfection. that’s why, though it is flawed, to reflect that art back onto your soul is the only way i can hope to reach your ears; it’s the only way i know to show i truly mean it when i say ‘i love you’.

[abirdscry]

i carry her with me everywhere i go. every step is torturous but to let go would kill me. that chain around my neck tightens every time i step outside that fog; if i stay in limbo long enough, maybe i can find her; maybe i can say goodbye. i carry her with me, but i feel her slipping away. in my head, only my voice remains, and i despise it because it’s not hers. i stare in the mirror and her ghost doesn’t stand before me; it’s my eyes reflected back; the smile that was once ours is now mine alone. i carried her with me everywhere, long before she was gone. but there’s no denying it anymore. she’s gone. and there’s nothing i can do — no amount of weight i can bear, no breath to hold — to keep her here with me. it’s torture, but i must let go; not yet, but eventually; eventually i’ll learn to walk alone.

[abirdscry]

you see the scraps on the floor and you don’t tear them apart; you don’t turn away either. you untie that ribbon, smiling all the while. petals of roses and tulips pour out of loose seams. they drift down, dancing to the melody of your laugh; your soul. hues of red and yellow mix with burned edges; the sun at my fingertips. there’s a warmth encapsulating every bit of my essence. i’ve never known a light so bright. your arms stretch out despite how the skin ebbs away. my head on your chest, i’ve never felt so whole. your heartbeat slows and softens, yet it’s all consuming nonetheless. i’ve never met one so willing to burn. how sweet it is to jump into the inferno together. how sweet it is to be one with you.

[abirdscry]

i find myself walking without knowing where or why. i’ve been told all my life that it’s a fucking stupid thing to do but i can’t bring myself to care. the night beacons me and no part of me wants to deny its call. it’s strange, floating away from myself yet feeling everything so intensely. there’s a creak in my bones and my left foot aches a bit more than my right. my hips are unbalanced till i hit a curb wrong and it pops back. i’m not really walking as much as i am falling forward in an approximation of human behavior. still, i can’t tell you what i’m thinking about. i’ll say it’s nothing, but that’s not true; it’s never true. it’s everything — the shame accompanied with every growl of my stomach, the fear i feel thinking of all i’ve done, the joys i hold close to my heart in hopes they won’t get corrupted by my ugly — but it’s all so far away, so foreign, that it feels wrong to present it as my own. it’s much darker now than it was when i began. maybe the night is appeased by how much of myself i lost venturing into its abyss. maybe my eyes tire too much to seek out the light. i know the earth has just turned. i know these thoughts are my own. i know i’m alive; i’m human. but, truth be told, a lot of what i thought i knew has been proven false recently. all i know now is that i really know nothing at all. all that’s left for me is whatever is waiting for me at the end of the night. fuck it, i’ll keep walking to find out.

[abirdscry]

i don’t know how to be held without falling

im terrified of all that lays below

how far can i go before shattering at your feet

just abandon the mosaic tainting the floor

(every fragment screams out your name)

(stay, love me still when you see how broken i am)

(if the shards were to pierce your skin)

(hold me tight and tell me it’s worth it to have my love in return)