so now, at the end of this terrible, terrible day, you get up and wash your face. you throw out the tissues and drink some water. you order from your favorite restaurant for dinner and put on your comfort show. and when tomorrow comes, you will keep going.

the hermit

there is a peace

that settles when

you sit alone

with your thoughts.

an understanding of

your soul emerges,

but only if you are

not afraid to embrace

the scarier parts of you.

all you must do

is take some time

for yourself

and gather the strength

to look inward.

how many more pieces

of myself am i willing to lose,

to bury deep within me,

to swallow down

just to please

somebody else?

when will i learn

that that isn’t love?

i always hoped he’d become a better person, that he’d change and grow, and one day i’d be able to look at him and say, “look, we were 16, everybody does shitty things when they’re 16,” but every time his name comes up in conversation, it’s accompanied by the latest terrible thing he’s done. for a while, i thought maybe i was the wake-up call, the final nail in the coffin of the person he used to be, but it doesn’t seem that way. it hurts to know i was just another pit stop, another place he rested for a while and set fire to before moving on to whoever grew to love him next.

but there’s nothing i can do about it now. i’ve done my time and found my closure and healed my wounds and at some point, he won’t have anybody left to burn through. and thankfully, that simply isn’t my fucking problem anymore. some people just don’t want to change, and it’s never been my job to try and do it for them. maybe i learned that a few years too late, but i’m glad i learned it eventually. even if it cost me.

and it cost me.

is there anything scarier

than the realization

that you aren’t sure

of who you are anymore?

i look at my reflection

and see a nightmare staring

back at me.

and if i cannot recognize myself,

who else will?

i know

i have much more

to give—

this heart holds

cities,

stars,

entire galaxies—

i just wish

i could find

somebody

worth giving

it to.

i am either too much for somebody or not enough,

but never just right.

on the third day of october,

it rained: a soft, light drizzle

dancing across the pavement.

i cracked open my living room window,

let the breeze carry in the scent

of wet leaves and the changing season,

listened to its gentle song.

i thought, at least

in this time of confusion

and not being sure of much else,

i still have the rain.

i find comfort

in loneliness.

there is no greater time spent

than the time you spend

getting to know yourself.

you are lying alone in your bed. it is late, 2:13 a.m. to be exact. it is quiet, except for your head. your head is never quiet. you say to nobody in particular, “i don’t think i like myself.”