solitude

with solitude arrives complexity a jagged, intricate feeling the intersecting layers stacked atop one another jamming each piece into its place while sitting alone at tables meant for four filling your stomach filling your mind with thoughts each bite, a fleeting memory a spiraling reflection no matter what noise you place in the background the whir of a fan the bustle of conversation amongst peers the isolation reemerges it cuts through each chord each strum, each beat forcing the silence to be louder, brighter, stronger than any orchestrated distraction the perception of self is shoved into the limelight until the action of singing aloud is stripped from your possession you must only whisper you must only mouth the words repeat them in your head, draw them in your mind the silence can only be lifted when the isolation ruptures when your friends fill your cars driving down backroads the music so loud your mouth can finally open you all scream each lyric each vow, each sentiment but your voices are so strained no one could hear you anyway

protection

I try to coax myself away from these thoughts these notions that my beauty is measurable but on certain days, they linger i question whether the curves of my body will ever be gracefully traced by loving fingertips whether my hips will be grabbed tenderly whether my neck will be kissed passionately rather -- am i undeserving, unfitting for any kind of romantic zeal like that i know the reasoning is because i am so fucking scared and so fucking fed up of being used of being exploited of lying on my floor, shaking with vulnerability my body, an influence for blatant disrespect rather than wholesome desire but i can't help but wonder if in my quest to refrain from these negative interactions i've placed a protective block over myself a shield behind which I'm hiding impeding me from experiencing any pleasure at all

writer's note: i've written pieces in the past with this exact subject matter, but with different language and a different grasp at it. while there may be a stigma against writing about the same thing, there's nothing wrong with trying to boost some creativity and develop a prior theme/notion -- it helps you get better and even perhaps it could help you express an idea more clearly/creatively. -- ls

house phone

i called the house phone today just to hear you pick up i wasn't expecting to get upset let alone cry on the sixth floor of the library i felt my heart escape my chest your voice echoing in my ears to leave a message for you to get back to later you sounded so present a voice is incapable of sounding lifeless it will always sound jubilant, eager, active for these four distant, dilapidated months i can almost wallow in ignorant, distant bliss it is sporadic reminders like this that take a toll on me they age me years in a day adding wrinkles to my young skin every time i hear you on the other line