Papercuts

What if I told you

That in a room of a million faces

I could stand amidst the silence and speak without hesitation,

As long as you are not in it

That you’re the only one who can make the knots in my stomach play tug of war

The only one I could reject

Then obsess over

Regret

Fail myself

You

turn away

don’t listen

I’ve been kidnapped by repetition

I’ve VCR recording, every moment in my mind

now playing them back only to find

the past replayed one too many times

I close my eyes in an attempt to escape reality

but find myself ten centimeters away, still

dreams are more comforting than the conscious because when I open my eyes

I see your lips dance to the motion of her mouth

now

the description puppy love doesn’t seem so offensive

now

all my suspicion is more qualified than I could have ever hoped

and now

every paper cut I throbbed over

flip flopping between our ending and our beginning seem

unworthy of throbbing over

My feelings are twisted

like the nightmare before Christmas:

A romantic mixture between Disney and a horror movie

yet I am sticking to being picked at by acidic Cinderella stories

and tiny ten men armies

Who approach to provide comfort

while simultaneously corroding the meaning of caring

With all of their falsities staged out strategically

Until eventually there is no ground around me but a fantasy

A fantasy where love was nothing more than a fleeting fairytale

And Romeo and Juliet were users and abusers of words

Who would twist and turn the word love

Until like a screw it was stripped of all its meaning

empty

I am guilty of the possession of emptiness

I attempted to obtain pleasure as a substitute for love

But emptiness still echoed with every knock

Whose knuckles made scars across my soul

where I ran my two bare feet over pebbles pavement and glass

towards a fleeting semi-truck calling Daddy

but he left me

and the door to my heart swinging

inviting

for a replacement

Like a drug

Pleasure became a band-aid to a battle wound

I was trying to replace my heart with a cork to stop the bleeding

you were a cork to stop the bleeding

and I was begging you to beat

My heart can’t even speak

so what is the point when I breath

if I can’t even call myself living

I am finally admitting

So this time

I will let the pages unfold in my hands

Finally recognizing the fact that the past is printed permanently

abd here I was thinking that I held the plot in my hands

Until the hands holding me caused an earthquake

Begging me to wake up and recognize

I can’t squeeze my circumstances into submission

thinking I can schedule my way into a meaningful existence

when my scheduler already predestined me to be innately extraordinary

I don’t have to worry about being perfect

and fail repeatedly

because perfection is in the digression of the ordinary

So it’s okay to hit an earthquake

because that crumbling is humbling

so when my heart shakes and shutters

and struggles to utter

the actions necessary to accomplish anything I remember

with a little faith

I can write my own destiny

all I need to do

is turn the page

I can write my own destiny