Every End is a New Beginning

 I cry like my heart is breaking, 

There is healing in the tears, 

even as they fall.

Well-meaning people say,

Don't be sad.

Every end is a new beginning.

But I can't turn the page until this one is filled 

with all the tears I can muster.

And every new beginning

is also an end.

Sadness and anticipation mingle

in that black space between 

dusk and dawn.

I pause here.

I will be sad.

Off they go, with pieces of my heart.

I guess my heart did break after all.

Domestic Bliss in Neon

My skin tingles and
my eyes dance and
my thoughts scream into the void
with the joy of joy. 

I have you and
I have her and
we are us and overflowing
with all I ever wanted.

I can't imagine more than this.
We are made of bliss.

Boredom?

My heart feels like it doesn't belong in my chest. 
I should let it out to wander on these melancholic nights.
Bring me the freshness from the air outside and the deepest tone of evening thunder.
Fetch some lightness from the dark and set it loose to glow in my veins.
Surely there is joy in the stillness, but I don't know where to find it.

This Place

This place is for the emotions I can't find words for to explain. 
This place is for when everyone else would wonder how I got depressed and worry about my gloom and give advice to cheer me up and then be satisfied or triumphant or I-told-you-so when I inevitably emerge from this place back to myself or what they see as me.

This place is not always where I come.

But I know when I come 

That I will find some relief.

Guest Post By Shakespeare

How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I seek, my weary travel's end,
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,
'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!'
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider loved not speed, being made from thee:
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide;
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me than spurring to his side;
     For that same groan doth put this in my mind;
     My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.

i
really
really
really
really
really
really
really
thought
he
was
the
one

i
am
so
dumb

The Present

I feel really raw, really present. More so than I can ever remember. But it isn't like they all say. The present drags on. It doesn't give any gifts. I make up crafts for myself to do so that I can notice the time passing and the seasons changing. I buy groceries and try new recipes, only to throw out food because time won't pass fast enough for me to get hungry enough to eat it all. No one comes to me to stay. I am present, alright. Like the axel of a wheel. Things are happening around me, happening to other people, and I stay put, just connected enough to not be able to complain. What happens next? What happens next?

I can smell tears in my nose. I wonder if I am supposed to cry.