pieces

i hope i’m not asking too much of you.

i’m not asking you to fix me,

because that wouldn’t be fair.

i’m not asking you to accept me with wide open arms,

but i’d love that.

i don’t want you to be my friend,

because we’ve never truly worked as just friends before.

i wish we weren’t on different time zones,

we always fall out of infatuation when the other falls in.

i hope that we don’t crumble apart,

because i can’t handle another landslide.

just like i’m sure you can’t handle another person leaving you behind.

i promise i’d never walk away from you,

i’d never leave you stranded.

i can’t promise forever,

that’s too much to bear.

Photo Credit: pinterest.com

i can only promise you pieces of me,

a puzzle with some empty spots.

instead of presents wrapped in bows,

i’ll give you my heart and soul

in the shape of little irregular pieces of cardboard.

i’ll wait for you to fit me in next to the edge pieces,

i’ll make it easy for you.

because, it’s so easy to see myself with you,

my head fits into the dip in your chest

like we were made for each other.

maybe you’re my final piece to the puzzle,

but i’ll never force you to fit with me.

A Writer’s Battle

I’m craving to write something, but I simply can’t. I’m sitting here with so many thoughts running through my mind, yet none of them can leave.

I sit here with my hands immobilized while trying to think of what key to touch next. I’m mindlessly staring at the glaring screen in front of me trying to think of something to write that’d make someone in this world proud of me, but I can’t. My mind is empty, and my heart is too drained to come up with any creative concoction of words to form some poem or sad element of my life to send chills down someone’s spine just reading it.

My thoughts are begging to be expressed in writing, yet they’re trapped inside my mind, and I’m sitting here helplessly trying to figure out how to let them out.

Photo Credit: sarwrites.com

It’s just not possible right now. I’m trying to write for me – or, maybe, for anyone – but every time I start a poem or a story, I exit the tab. And draft after draft later, I’m left with tens of unfinished passages into my thoughts, and now I’m just here writing out every insecurity I can think of about my writing.

But even then, these words don’t even share half of it. They don’t share half the conflicts I face when it comes to my writing. How I constantly think my writing won’t be beautiful enough, good enough. That it won’t be something extraordinary, just something plain and forgettable. I’m still battling myself, trying to figure out the right words that accurately express what I’m trying to portray about myself, yet right now it’s useless.

In this moment I have nothing to share. Sometimes, I have so much inspiration I’m writing one blog post after another, one story after another, and I’m sharing one dream after another, but right now… I’m empty.