Burning Bridges

I like standing on bridges and feel the water rush beneath me.

A bit unsure about which view I prefer facing, 

the one where the water rushes towards me and makes me feel like a fighter,

or the one that flows away from me and makes me feel lighter.

The irony is, the non existence of a choice, an aphorism of my life;

It's not a dilemma, I have always swam in still waters looking up at the sky.

Nothing new to bring.

I have a bundle of emotions or rather I am one,
Spilled out across the grey floor that is my life.
I am not sure which one fits where or which one shouldn't,
Can't figure out the right words for the right time and place. 

I think I have said too much to too many,
Word vomiting one after the other on whoever passes by me.
I am screaming a complicated story made of simple words,
to be understood by someone who reads between the lines. 

I am singing the songs people want to hear,
But forgotten to sing the ones that are sung alone,
The ones played in the background only for me to hear,
The songs about the heart, the soul and a mind that is sorted out. 

I am uncomfortably self-aware and yet  everywhere,
A giggling mess of gibberish sentences thrown at every moment, 
Always starting out as seemingly interesting and intriguing,
Ending up being just another piece of misunderstood soul in the pile.

All I want is you.

I am not sure I can find the courage anymore to say what I need to say,

I am a bit drunk and floating with the moon shining through my window,

but alcohol is not the way I want to find courage for something that matters,

it's like reading the summary of a story and ignoring the whole tale of love,

with all the anxieties and the breathlessness and the desperation,

where lovers look into each others eyes and know something's different,

looking for excuses to be together and feel each others intoxicating presence,

when the air is too heavy to even move around let alone dance.

The frustration of inaction and stillness kills the the excitement within,

and just like everything else I am putting it away for another day,

satisfied with living in a false hope that someday I would have the courage,

where I would break through all my inhibitions and my fears,

I would just run to you and tell you how I really feel inside,

how I say vapid sentences and repeat them later to myself in regret,

how your presence alone disorients me to the point of incoherence,

that you are beautiful in this moonlight and that all I want is you.

If you really think hard about someone, do they appear in front of you?

No, don't get me wrong. I was never the crazy, obsessed girl you made me out to be. 

Nor am I saying, that you are still on my mind suffering bouts of melancholy,

I am all my demons that I fought, I am all the fires I lit around me and came out alive.

So no, you don't define me; you never did, But you were one of the fires I burned in.

I only carry that one last butterfly in my stomach that won't leave.

The one that makes me go back to all the old pictures of you.

The one that makes me wish I could live that time once more.

The one that makes me want to pick up my phone and call you.

To tell you how shitty my life was back then.

To tell you what that feeling meant to me and about all the chest pains.

Maybe it's my unfinished business and things I want you to know.

To let you know about that happiness I found was only because I was looking for it in you.

Because it was never really you who made me happy, but my false attachment to you.

I loved the person I was when I was around you and the idea of loving someone like you.

I confess, I have been scared to admit to myself how pathetic all of this really is,

This feeling of wanting to know what your life is about right now. 

I could just call, we could be friends, but you wouldn't want that because we never were.

I could tell you that sometimes I still miss you and that I have some regrets. 

I am weak when I let this feeling take over me time and again.

My head knows that I am better than this moment of  weakness.

Hell, I wish I wasn't even writing this tonight.

But I need to get this off my chest.

Tango

Today, I lost a part of myself. 

But I'll carry him within me as long as I live, because he saved me.

Goodbye Tango, I love you and miss you.

Things I'd like to say but I'd rather write .

My stories are my own and they are not tragic,
sometimes unfortunate, but they made me what I am.
I cannot seem interesting to others through my misfortunes,

because no one loves a pity party, especially if its not theirs.
My future must not be shaped by my past anymore,
since self-empathy is good but introspection is better.

I should learn to love myself more,
without calculating how much I truly deserve every night.
I should believe in myself a little more,
more than everyday "I cans" in front of the mirror.
I should keep some of my secrets to myself,
because I must have my own personal share of amusements.
I should have more hope and lesser expectations,
because hope feeds you while expectations only disappoint.
I should stop trying so hard to be loved,
because in the end, real love is only looking for the real me.