Thoughts in the Wind

I am an introvert.

There is a lot that I could say,

but it'd all be wasted air

because there’s more in what isn't said.

My thoughts march to the beat

of the slaps of the jump rope on the blacktop.

People want to jump in but just keep putting it off.

You can't hear my words without

hearing the screaming of my mind at night.

You can't know who I am

until you've seen the boy I didn’t talk to until he died.

But once you get to know me

I just won’t shut up

I’d talk about just anything,

the trees, the sun when it rises

I'd talk about water,

how you can see the entire world

hanging in that little drop.

I’d talk about the snow

outside my window,

how pure and smooth,

how i can see the tracks

of everyone who’s walked past.

I’d talk about the music I listen to,

and the pictures I see

when i stare really hard

at white walls around me.

But all I ever seem to talk about

is her.

The trees outside remind me of skeletons,

the bare bones left of our love,

after every last leaf of our life together had fallen

and every trace of them covered with snow.

Every time I saw her

there was a sun rising

from the pits of my stomach,

where the butterflies fluttered,

rising past my struggling lungs

to bring a fresh breeze.

It ascends to the beat

of the frantic drumming of my heart

before lodging in my throat

where it swells

and sweeps my body with overwhelming heat.

My heart is beating so fast,

and I’m afraid that it might stop.

Thinking each breath might be my last,

I can’t breathe quite right.

There’s a buzzing in my ears

and tunnel vision in my eyes.

You might think this is it.

You might think that I’m falling in love.

Youre wrong, but it's alright.

It's an easy mistake.

How can I fall in love

when I’ve already fallen down?

How can I fall in love

knowing that everything that falls breaks?

How can I fall in love

when I’m already in pieces on the ground?

How can I fall in love

when there’s no love to be found?

Did you know?

I hate my bathroom.

It's too cold.

Cold tiles on the ground,

cold tiles in the shower,

cold porcelain of my bathtub

of my toilet

of the sink.

Everywhere I touch,

I just feel cold

I hate my bathroom.

It’s too bright

The lights are white,

the tub is white,

the shower,

the bathtub,

the toilet,

and the sink.

It’s all white,

but all I can see is red.

I hate my bathroom

because all I can see is red.

When I look in the mirror

and see an imposter staring back at me,

there’s red in my eyes,

red in my face.

All I see is red.

My tears are red.

My arms are red,

dripping down

in thick rivulets.

There’s red running along my fingers.

I try to catch it,

but it slips through.

The red falls in the sink

and spreads so fast.

I try to catch it,

but I’m too slow.