AberrantInkwell

I am vulnerable You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but I am. Not all the time, but where it counts. My chest has been cut open, my nerve endings exposed to whomever decides to play with them; touch them, send shocks through my body of pain— most don’t. That doesn’t stop the jolts of fear that come whenever the air touches them. He could, you know.  He has that power now (and that’s why relationships need trust). They could as well. They could wear me down with a simple, sincere smile, a gentle touch— like water to one in a desert of repressed emotions and restrained anguish— (and that’s why

Excuse me, please, my mind is full. Full of what? I am not sure— full of guilt and full of shame, full of emptiness and pain, full of happiness and of fear. It’s so full I can barely feel, and hardly hear, so I’m sorry if I don’t respond immediately. I’m thinking hard, too hard for listening, or for sleeping, or for eating; such trivial things aren’t worth my time when on top of it all I try to rhyme in some whimsical way, a sarcastic dance— good luck waking me from this trance. I’m so far gone, I need a map if I’m ever to escape from this dratted trap of over-thinking, checking out—

Is this the real life, or am I falling blindly into fantasy? You see, I never rued the day that I learned to laugh on command. I could never bring myself to regret the moment I let myself be defined by song lyrics, or that someone else’s hand writes out my life. Pretend to live, pretend to care, to not care, pretend to be in control, or at least that I’m not spinning out of it. We go to school to learn how to read, to write, to add and multiply, but somewhere along the way we pick up “divide and conquer;” somewhere along the way we learn to fake a smile, and that’s when classes become nothing more than mask-maki

You could predict the weather easier, and with far more success than if you tried to predict life. Look out the window, see the rain-laden clouds— don’t forget your umbrella. But injuries, tragedy, and pain aren’t heralded by those teary-eyed grey angels. Lightning follows the path of least resistance, but humankind doesn’t have that luxury. Instead we tumble along like rocks in a river and try to erode ourselves into perfection. The earth rotates on a fixed axis, consequences waiting if we should ever lose that tilt, but on this planet there are more than 7 billion lives that are pushing and pulling on each other, con

Kaleidoscope eyes A fractured perspective Frosted panes and reading glasses Stained glass windows of a church A rosy lens of joy I see you and I’m happy I see you and I smile I always want to talk to you But it’s always been a while A nervous energy with orange-ish hue Always move Always rush A jittery feeling In the morning hush Forest green denotes frustration Always try Never stop But none of my efforts Come out on top In dark purple there is peace A comforting home A warm place to sleep No evil thoughts can penetrate This fortified stone keep Deep sadness comes in pastel blue The crushing pieces falling from a

if mirrors were memories then to do your makeup would be to look back at the time when it didn't matter and looking at yourself would send you back to before the scars rather than reminding you why they're there perhaps then we could recall how it felt to not hurt, and why it felt so good but if memories were mirrors then forgetting would cost 7 years of bad luck and it would leave a shattered mess on the floor so we would just continue to get hurt while trying to clean up something that will never go away and if mirrors can be memories then dreams can be diamonds and we could all be equal because the ones wanting for nothing would be the po

2963 miles but so close, connected by a bridge of years, a highway of headaches and burning eyes 2963 miles but those gunshots echoed across an entire country Their pain is ours because their children were ours but no one understood that until it was too late And we can sing our hymns and like our Facebook photos but nothing can undo what was done by a sick man who just so happened to have a gun We can go on with life, resume scheduled programming but it will always be in the back of our minds that they can't This is for the children who became angels a lifetime too early For the teachers who supervised their trip to Heaven and

this is apathy this is being alone in a crowd trapped by morals and conscience when you just want them to feel like you do this is the nostalgia of oncoming traffic after dusk city lights far in the distance this is us believing in forever because we're young and naïve and wiser than the world this is the burnt waffles early on a saturday morning when there are two kids and not enough sleep to go around this is all the things I want to tell you and the fear that's holding me back this is Cinderella's slipper at midnight a hope as fragile as the heart it belongs to this is the longing that someday you'll wake up to find me gone