i’m afraid that if i stop speaking, if my words start to waver, if i become weightless

you’ll forget about me all over again.

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even running shoes get tired out, run out of purpose, stop being good for us. so we thank them for sticking by us and move on with new soles.

if you’re constantly scared of them leaving you behind

constantly out of breath trying to catch up

always trying to prove your worth to stay by their side

stop.

if they stop to wait for you, to take your hand, then by all means, let yourself choose how to move from there. did they ever look back to see if you were still there? ever slow down so your footsteps beat in rhythm? bandaged your scraped knees, nudged you along? did you both look at each other properly? have you held yourself as precious as you should? did they?

and if they keep going,

please,

for yourself,

let them go.

Continue reading “even running shoes get tired out, run out of purpose, stop being good for us. so we thank them for sticking by us and move on with new soles.”

i keep overwatering my plants/forgetting to water them and then i wonder why they die

please stop comparing the footsteps of your progress to the successes of others.

can’t shout at a seed, tell it to grow faster. can’t compare it to a flower that has already learned to battle the elements and thrive. can’t say that its bloom wasn’t achieved without navigating through mildew and hurt. they’ve braved their own snowstorms and heavy rains. they as well still wonder why the roses keep wilting why the daisies haven’t grown back. still have beds of soil filled with seeds still trying to find their roots. still.

the footsteps that we’ve left pressed into the soil can’t be compared to the garden.¬†we can’t let ourselves forget that we are making steps, no matter how unshaky they are. we’ll bloom in different seasons, wilt and wither away, but come back every time. let flowers bloom where our feet touch.

ever so vibrant.

please, just look at yourself properly. you’re doing fine. patience.

Continue reading “i keep overwatering my plants/forgetting to water them and then i wonder why they die”

please don’t fall in love with me.

i’m so afraid of breaking your tender heart.

can’t give you the love you deserve

can’t give back the world that you poured into me.

can’t love you.

so i’ll keep closing my eyes

until your heart stops calling my name.

because you are too precious to me,

i can’t let you love me.

your heart is too heavy for

your small body.

i’m holding it up out of fear it’ll tear out of your frame.

let yourself breathe a little, cut yourself some slack, you’re far too young to let the weight of the world pull you down. too young to expect yourself to be wise, too young to carry so many burdens. the world is not holding you to know all. you’re punishing yourself for being child-like. for not knowing everything.

but you are a child–we still all are.

and so

i want to hear you laugh without regard

walk lightly without shackling your feet with self-doubt

speak to me and tell me

that you

will let yourself live.

paint myself to be so ice cold, so stoic, so distant. see myself in snapshots, treat myself like a disposable camera. there just to take shots of the precious moments, to create a few, then to be thrown away after i’m all used up. too scared to get attached all over, too scared to see myself as something precious. take every ended friendship as a blow of the heart. i could build skyscrapers of apologies and good-byes; the material’s so flimsy that it falls apart in a day but my stubborn heart keeps building them up again in hopes that i could stand on top, see belonging in the distance again. stitch my heart and soul into words, let others melt into me only for them to tear themselves out, take pieces of me with them. i can’t find those pieces anymore. i’m scared to place value in myself, solidity, meaning. so that even the blows to the stomach, across the face, in the heart– can be hollowed. tell myself that as long as i served my purpose, even if things have to end this way, even if i’m thrown back and forth, things are fine. because i am

disposable.

but the slightest kindness will still leave me running back. melt too easy.

because even after the photos are developed, I still remember.

the residue of your fragmented words remain an enigma to me

they refuse to wash out of the folds of my skin. they’ve long since been the rosin of violin bow to me; once had crumbled over me ever so softly, helped me speak a little clearer, solidify sound to song to being.

just rosin dust of amber nostalgia. i might need you to be here again, might need you to hold onto these sad hands, might need you to help me be heard again. because without you, it’s so much harder to hear myself. without you, i can’t make you hear me.

so i cling onto what’s left of your rosin, make use of the residue to write sad songs and sad words.

in hopes that one day I will learn to play without your powdered words and touch.

Continue reading “the residue of your fragmented words remain an enigma to me”

i’ve long since forgotten the reason why

i hate you.

when i think of you, i have to catch myself from warming, remember that there are reminders carved into my being that you are first degree burns. that you’ve long since stopped being a hearth. just splinters from wood that stick to my skin,

leave me vulnerable to fire.

i hate that i carved it in me to hate you.

because the splinters still carry fond memories of when you were warm.

Continue reading “i’ve long since forgotten the reason why”