he told me i shined like a diamond

that my soul was crystal clear

flawless

i was his gem

they say very few things can cut diamonds

that they're as tough as they come

diamonds don't cry

he told me i shined like a diamond

while he simultaneously cut me down

and dirtied my lustre

i was his gem

the only bad thing about sleeping

is when you dream so hard

so vividly

it's a nightmare waking up

when the holds are so tight

and the feelings so real

when you're in another world

and then you wake up

lost in the sheets

with the fading memories

of a dream past

like a rainstorm in summer,

the water mixes with the sweat

and washes it away,

leaving you cleaner than before,

cooler,

better than a breeze

better than AC

after a summer rainstorm

you're refreshed

that's what you are:

you are the rainstorm

in the summer of my life

the welcomed blast

of refreshment

even if it lasts for just a second

that fleeting feeling

will make a mark deeper than you know

that fleeting feeling

is all i'll need

in case of a drought

like a rainstorm in summer,

you mix with my sweat

and leave me better than before.

i spend most of my time rationalizing,

talking myself out of feelings,

dreams, hopes, aspirations.

if something goes wrong

and i can't explain it,

i give it space, a meaning,

i give it a reason to happen.

i can't believe that shit just happens,

that people can fuck you over for no reason

i try to find the deeper meaning,

the reason why i opened myself up

to that failure.

in doing so, i find the good - 

the relationships that never would've formed,

the times i never would've had

and i try to think that makes it okay.

but the thing about rationalizing is that

it obviously isn't okay

otherwise i would've just let it be.

i can't keep thinking it's my fault

or theirs

sometimes two people come together

and you're only meant to have one night, one week, one year

before you have none of them at all

it all goes back to the grand scheme

back to how we run on perpendicular planes

some people come in and out of our lives like night and day

but others don't

you get a finite amount of time with them

and that's it

you might see them again, but it's not the same

you're not the same and neither are they

the contact you had changed you both

and going back isn't an option

so what you're left with are the good memories

from the past

trying to reconnect never works, not really

it's not your fault

or mine

a hot breeze envelopes me

sweltering, i'm caged in

binding, it takes my breath away

my entire body is sweating

feeling the heat

a hot breeze is relaxing for a second

as it ruffles your hair

and gives the false idea

that it will cool you,

relieve you

a hot breeze isn't a breeze at all

just displaced hot air

finding its rightful place

next to you

suffocating

bruises aren't ugly. they're not defects.

bruises are beautiful. they show a life lived,

a night loved.

my bruises are reminders, short-lived memories that fade and disappear.

my bruises are temporary pieces of art

that depicts a story of two people coming together

just once.

bruises cover my legs, my body, sometimes

and i'm proud of them.

i notice them when i glimpse at a mirror.

bruises fade, the temporary memory,

physical evidence fades - but the non-tangible stays behind.

i wear my bruises like badges of honor.

the birdsong in a rainstorm

the little message that lets you know

the sun will shine again

it can't be grey and rainy all the time

you can't feel grey and rainy all the time

sometimes the universe just takes a while

to make it up to you

to show you that you're on the right track

your bird will sing soon

and i hope, when it does,

you enjoy the tune

because it isn't sung forever

no one's that lucky

the universe doesn't love you that much

it can't

you're a snowflake - unique -

but in the end,

just one of the million falling from the sky

like the raindrops that are meddling with your birdsong

your eventual swansong

you're the plans i make

but never follow

the dreams

i never chase

who knows you, the real you?

the you that's only around

when no one else is.

why is it we all have different versions of ourselves

but keep the best for no one?

the truthsayer, the artist, the girl who smiles, 

no one knows that person

they see the white lies that grow like weeds,

the flicker of creativity, a spark that never quite catches,

the pout.

why do we share the untrue facets of ourselves

when time and again, people have proved their worth?

there are only a handful of people close to knowing the real me -

they hear my scathing judgement calls

and are privy to my mind's inner workings

as well as my smile

but even they get the glossed-over version,

the annotations.

the complete works of me is a book locked away

there is only one keyholder

and she wont share its location once she's gone

these words are all you'll have

the closest you'll get to the real me

she's by your bed

and calling out

trying to make it into your dreams

one way or another.

persistence pays off

in the end

whether you want it to

or not.

but the good thing about dreams

is their privacy

no one knows what's running through your mind

until you tell them.

so tell her what she wants to hear

and have her forever

or tell her the truth

and let her move on.

i used to be full of love - it flowed through my veins in droves. it pumped my heart, made me warm. but over time, the pool of red lessened. my heart beat slower, i got colder. there were bouts where the blood surged, but they were all flukes. once the red becomes a pink, you can't saturate again. colors don't deepen over time. too many factors cause them to wash out. i used to be full of love, but over time, over the course of my life thus far, it lessened. it becomes more rare. i give it out less.

i can talk myself out of expecting to hear from you. i can talk myself into lower expectations. i do this to stifle the hurt if you don't respond and to create a semblance of joy if you do.

i manipulate on a regular basis and my regular subject is myself. i tell myself not to expect anything different and that you're just like the others. why wouldn't you be? that night was not the night you fell in love with me, it was the night you came home with me. why wouldn't you be the same as the others that came before you? the ones i was never just friends with and never would be?

i tell myself all of this but still i put myself out there. i manipulate on a regular basis. this time it's to trick myself into thinking i don't care, that i've lowered my expectations, that i'm not waiting for your response and planning my next move.