if you were food, then I

Let's imagine I'm lost somewhere on a deserted island.
At some point I will get pretty hungry. So hungry in fact that I might start eating tree bark. I don't think I would normally eat tree bark.
I feel watched. A cannibal is trying to make friends, but I have this feeling he just wants to eat me whole. I don't want to be anybody's meal.
I'm hungry. I have a cookbook with me. I've been carrying it around for a while. I can't eat paper and I'm starving. Tree bark makes cinnamon, doesn't it?

dear pieces of void,

You come to me and put yourself in the center of my attention. I wish you came to me and put myself in the center of your attention. But at least you come to me every now and again.

You say I am awesome and amazing. You say it's not me, it's you. No, it's not me, it's her.

I say you're gone and lost me. Maybe I just forgot how to make myself interesting enough for you to want to keep me.

You say you need to go there and make a life for yourself. My life misses you here.

You say I was unfair to you. I am not perfect. You are not perfect. I say I forget to be fair to me.

I would be me, except I forgot who you wanted that to be.

fill my little world

If I would now for then, would you here from there?
If I would white for black, would you high from low?

If I would gray sometimes, would you average somewhere?


I will yellowredgreenblueandmore anytime, please extraordinary anywhere.
[.]

the randomness of it all

And some people taught themselves out of happiness one million times, but not even once into it. Because you can't.
And sometimes our lives' stories happen so much faster than our lives themselves that we can't catch up and just be. So we follow stories never written that we can read on our faces.
And then we live so much, so many real lives, written by us, for us, against us, that in the end we never stop needing imaginary friends.
We all have ghosts tattooed on the inside. Of our skulls, of our eyelids, of our toes, of our oceans.
Make me the most me I can be, and we won't call it love, let's say it's just a beautiful toleration of each other.


(may contain some hints or traces of extremely loud and incredibly close)

I come in pairs

My heart sees with one eye, my mind watches with the other. So my vision is impaired.

So my reality is made of gray images stitched together with colorful imagination.

My heart feels with one hand, my mind touches with the other. I may be partially numb.

And my fists are full of scars.

My heart hears with one ear, my mind listens with the other. So I can't hear you clearly.

So I'm deafened by words never whispered.

My heart stands on one leg, my mind walks on the other. I loose my balance easily.

And I can't run just by standing still.

But I have only one mouth, so you'll probably not know and not understand.
So I'll give my heart to people who don't want it. And they'll keep it because they like my mind.

dear you,

You are loved. You are not perfect, except perhaps in your idiosyncrasies and faults.
You are loved. You do not deserve it, nor should you earn it.
You are loved. Without expectations, but against your wishes.
You are loved. Not from afar and despite the magnifying glass.
You are loved. It is not a choice. Neither yours, nor mine.

You are loved. It is not a weapon, or a weight. It is not a promise, or an excuse. It is not an explanation, or a question. It is not a prize, or a punishment.

You are loved. I implode whenever I try to say what I feel.

Love,
me, not only myself, and not I