my heart swells with things I do not understand.
I yearn for the love I have never received -
I spend lonely nights in dimly lit bedrooms,
squinting my eyes as they follow the words off of the page
until my eyes flutter shut and I dream instead.
and then it is more than yearning.
it is more than a want, more than a need or a desire.
with every term of affection, a new stitch unravels from my heart
and now it lies open, jagged,
on my bedroom floor,
the blood drying and fading from a bright red to the color of rust.
oxygen kills all bright things and it's hard to breathe.
I need someone to love, I need someone to breathe for me.
someone to take the place of the cruel gas tricking my lungs and
fading the colors.
it turns me bitter.
the loneliness. it's hard to bear.
it's its own excruciating pain to realize that you are not being seen.
visible, obviously, but not seen.
looked through, not looked at.
desperate to be recognized by the things you've never told a soul,
and someone wants to spend enough time
watching you be you
that they figure it out on your own.
it's more than cute crushes and playful interactions, whispered words behind closed doors.
it is the pain of searching.
it is the fear of finally understanding and then worrying that it will all fall to ruins.
and so I scream.
I throw my books across the room in unmistakable rage,
the pages fluttering to the pale pink carpet
like tear drops
crying for my broken heart.