I’ve always lost myself
trying to find
the meaning in things.

I’ve also tied myself
to those things
that have meant the most to me.

They have left me broken
and you’d think
after twenty four years,
I’d be use to it

but I am still delicate.

I scare myself
with how easy it is
to not feel a thing

only to preserve
the last breaths of life
I have inside me.

Maybe one day I’ll be ready
to not feel as safe
as I do alone.

I will find comfort like leaves
ripping off trees
and be happy as the wind blows.

I fit into nothing
but this body
and the room
I spend countless
hours writing in;

I’ve always been like this.

i just lost 2 followers after posting that photo.

i remember standing on a bridge

looking over ocean cliffs, breathing in 

and i don’t remember if the salt was in the air

or on my skin

but it tasted right because that was the moment

i closed my eyes and called out to the universe

for a reason to remain part of it

and now its’ reason

lies in every line i write, in every sleepless night

in all the steps i take, through my apartment,

in every day

i just never expected

it would take face and a name