cerulean

you’re like the ocean.

just when I convince myself to swim towards shore, your waves pull me back out to sea.

diving.

floating.

drowning.

in your beauty.

 

-p.g.

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Falling Half in Love with Strangers

When Do I Get The Manual?

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I love being able to express myself in writing.

It feels more accurate somehow than speaking words. Talking for me can sometimes feel like playing tennis with a colander; I mean, it’s possible, I can do it, but it’s not ideal. The ball goes over the net, but just about. It goes where I want it to go… more or less. I can’t be sure it’ll hit it’s mark, but I can hope. Later, I’ll go home and think about how I could have done it some other, better way.

Writing is different.

Writing is a tennis racket. When I’m writing, I have the time to think about what I’m trying to say, and then mentally flip through millions of words looking for the one that slots into my sentence like that Tetris block you’ve been waiting five minutes for; the one that gives you a combo and wipes the…

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post apocalyptic in real time

the wind whips the surface of the lake

making it look uninhabitable; a sickly brown, over flowing. beneath it’s waters all of the once living creatures float aimlessly. at the mercy of its acidic currents.

the tops of dead trees ascend the greencaps of the waves, lining the shore line. a withering militia guarding the unsuspecting from entering  its virulent tides.

Mother Earth, unrelenting in her protection, after all that we have done to destroy her.

 

p.g.

Jesus at midnight

‘i have no reason to be here’, i say.

sitting on the bathroom floor.

why do i feel as though life is overwhelming when i have never experienced true terrors that others have faced?

its selfish.

so i cry.

you reach out and take my hand.

i don’t know what else to say

i whisper, ‘im sorry’

we always end up here.

& you deserve better.

tomorrow i will find you in sun.

i promise.

p.g.

paint the town black

Last night I had a dream that it was ten years from now. I was homeless. I lived in a beautiful, clean, bustling city beneath a busy bridge. I was fortunate to have been provided with a small cot to sleep on. But this, and a bottle of water, was all that I had. Ocassionally, I would have strangers visit me. Sometimes even old friends would pass by. They would stop for a moment and look at me with sad gazes, and smile. Then carry on about their lives in their fancy shoes and suits. Always the same look. “What happened?”  A question that I ask myself every day. I convince myself that there was nothing I could have done to avoid getting here. This was how it was meant to be. Alone, showing others a different side of life. A reminder for the fortunate to be grateful for all they are given. But…maybe there was something that I could have done. I was just too caught up in the bullshit of fate to see my chance. Or is fate real? I make my bed. And am suddenly thrown back in time to every relationship that I ended because I convinced myself that I deserved better. And maybe I did. But maybe I didn’t. Maybe I deserved it all. All of my burned bridges appear before me. They look at me beneath my own bridge, with the same wondering eyes. “What happened? How did you get here?” I stare at each of them. All of them happy and successful. Defeated, I take to my cot and fall asleep.

But they know why I’m here.

p.g.

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the rain & the sun.

IMG_0885give me your pain

your worry

let me carry it for awhile

so you can enjoy

the rain & the sun

let the minutes pass sweet & slow

take time to breathe

i’ll be here when you get back

waiting anxiously

to see the light return to your eyes

to hear your stories

in hopes that one day

you get everything that you deserve

and the kindness that you give to the world

is given back to you

so give it all to me

and just breathe.

p.g.

ashes & honey

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i spend hours

growing flowers

from the wounds you made

only for you to call

sweet honey, covering me

thick and suffocating

you take my breath, my life

nothing grows in your sweetness

it only takes

so excuse me

while i burn all the words that i wrote about you

to ashes

and grow from them.

p.g.

forgive me, but

used to be all i would crave was sleep and solitude.

but now i find myself craving you.

being next to you. your smell, your touch.

i crave how i am with you.

bright, charming, hopeful, adventurous.

there are so many feelings, but never the right words.

i want to give you everything.

you give me everything, and you don’t even know it.

forgive me, but

i cannot help but to think that we

were made for more.

 

-p.g.
Continue reading “forgive me, but”

thalassophile

there are times where I just sit and daydream about the sounds of the waves. something to calm my busy mind from the constant thoughts and emotions. a rest; a second of peace from the sweet torture of being able to feel everything that my eyes meet.

words are my lifeboat in these stormy seas. may you find some peace and rest beneath these waters.

i promise it won’t be all bad.

-p.g.