I Wanted Coffee…

A passionate history of empty promises,

In the chamber of moments never written,

I was waiting for you…

Your presence

poured out like perfume –

No wonder I adored you so much.

Just wanting you to look at me once more…

Just look at me like love.

And like a break from war,

I accept you with open arms wide open,

Just glad that you’re breathing again,

And glad that you’re whole.

 

 

Now I am everything depicting broken because it is my heart that you stole.

Now here you are…

And I am unable to feel my own hollow; due to the illusion that you make me whole.

Waking up next to you, with the smell of coffee brewing parallel to morning dust.

Coffee synonymous to lust

At this moment, I am unable to differentiate between love and lust.

I’ve avoided so many potential heartbreaks

Yet I still want to face your heads on.

Upon preparation for this moment

I specifically said I wanted coffee.

And not coffee in the morning.

But Coffee as a gesture.

A simple gesture to show that you care.

 

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Vulnerability

I’ve grown found of affection, Something which has always been foreign to me.
There’s something that feelings so homely about a pillow with a beating heart….

Blanket that resignates with body heat…

And calm breaths that scream “HOME”
This moment is so precious to me.

Conscious of the energy we feeding the moment 

Too tired to sleep

Nurturing warmth between the sheets.
I love being held,

And I’m no longer ashamed to confess that,

I no longer associate my emotional fulfilment with weakness.
Creating memories that refuse to be forgotten beyond the pain caused
I am needy because I’m human and I deserve to be held.

I’ve overcome my vulnerability…

Trapped 2

My heart is heavy 
                                and I don’t want to wake 
up along side the sun…
I want my body to be buried beneath many moons-

               

                until I’m able to find my smile again.
                       It hurts-
                                        It hurts everywhere.
The weight pressing on my chest isn’t anxiety, 
                       it’s my soul feeling trapped.

09/04/2016

Waiting on the sun to sleep

I allow my clothes to grace my ankles. 

I turn on the shower – 

Grab a wine glass and make it less hollow. 

Slip into the shower with the the sole purpose of scrubbing my soul clean from anything a that is not me.  

In pursuit of nothing less than self intimacy 

Longing to be intimate with myself, and only me.  

Hot waters hit my back, 

hot vapors hit the ceiling, 

dancing in the air, 

graciously existing my body, 

Stripping away characters that remain long after the person leaves. 

Long after the pain. 

Finally allowing me to enjoy my company.. 

My body now feels like home to me.

Laying naked, un ashamed of baring my flaws. 

At this point, I am aware that nobody matters more than me. 

I get cosy with no intention of touching myself, but rather to invite myself and let myself know me more.

Reintroducing myself to my scars. 

Identifying features beyond intertwined branches, drawn from places much deeper – rooted trees in the soil.

– Mirror Conversation 

  
You’re the real meaning of staying but leaving.
A cross between a hurricane and tremor infused in water.
But you’re not a disaster,
And you don’t cause one,
But somehow those around your feel the aftermath of your presence,
And It’s not as pretty as you look.
You wonder why people who love you, never want you to stay.
You wonder why they say you keep pushing them away.
There’s just something about you that doesn’t scream “safe”.

-Mirror Conversation