Two poems

surreal

words. i drown the emptiness in
doing things, saying nothing
i would rather give to someone
else than to myself, unworthy
every day i have done nothing is
proof of what i’m trying to disprove

online. the only place i can feel
loved, needed, worthwhile
but i am doing nothing, even
the things i’ve promised to do
i don’t deserve to cry. release is not
for wanderers confined

quiet. in this my brain has, suddenly,
free rein; i think much faster
into the open space, this time
not free but leased to me, my payment
sanity. perhaps i should stop trying
to care for myself when i am weak

touch. starving, starting to forget
retreating into shells i thought i’d
left. writing, because i can’t
hold you and the pain is worse
every day. night. sleeping, waking
more alone than ever before

love. how can i remember how
when the last time we touched feels like
years ago? it will never be enough to
tell you how much i miss you
words are imperfect so i am quiet
it’s reality, angel

untitled

you love me. fact.
you hurt me. fact.
love hurts. conclusion.

i want to be soft, open, butterfly wings
fluttering, bending with the breeze
i want to ask you to help me drown the
endless stream of bullshit that is my brain
i want to fall into you knowing you will
catch me, i am safe here

i have made a mistake, i have
hurt you. you are hurt.
why aren’t you angry?
why do you still love me?
i keep fucking up, keep
hurting you, you’re still here
i don’t understand. why
am i not being punished?

i am hard, cold, armoured walls
and catapults warning you away
i retreat, hating myself, powerless
against the narrative i’ve lived, am living
again. i want to stop this, i don’t have
the tools and my hands are not enough
the avalanche of thoughts is too much, i am
crushed, i have crushed myself

i tell myself that the pain is worth the
fleeting joy that loving you brings
i question this once it’s said. is it true
or do i just desperately want to feel?

i love you. fact.
i hurt you. fact.
you still love me.