the fear of touch.

I just want to cry
and I can't feel my tongue
or my fingertips
heart palpitates
sitting in the corner is this better version of myself
listening to everything I say and finding the fallacies
I did not intend to state.

I kept telling myself to sit still
for just one second
It never works

that corner lady kept
eyeing me
with her lightening bolt eyes

I just want to throw up
I wrote so many letters
telling of my new
seagull shaped heart

the post office is where I earned this reputation
which is rather ironic
because sometimes mail never shows up
but where does it go? and does it feel sad ending up alone?


I recall sitting on the sidewalk
it had to of been a Sunday afternoon
i am just sitting there like a lady
or some sort of bird
with my arms folded up
brown leathery bag strapped across my torso
talking to myself
sitting in that hot sun
hating myself
hating myself so much

men kept riding by
shouting from their windows
tellin me i'm beautifull
I suppose they were trying to pick me up

i just coulden't understand why.


i can never understand what I am supposed to
not untill the last minute

which is why I would be a terrible fortune teller
anyways

the sun was hot
I belived that airwaves
airplanes
letters
worn down souls
and a new sea
would earase everything

i learned the hard way
that
winning is never easy
for those with an anxious heart

i've never felt so fragile
sitting in my teacup.

i just kept on crying
while tearing apart
everysingle word
ide ever written

my childhood home dosent feel the same
the hallways seems bigger
the plants have all died
and my room feels like not mine

i might end up running away
and people only seem to miss you when you are away