I spend a lot of time searching for who I am. I peel back the skin, look for hints in the muscles and clues in the tendons to tell me what I am made of. Atomic particles of identity, specks of personality, and shadows of wants dance like fireflies in the night, beckoning me to catch them, to cage them, to put them in a tangible place, a body to call home. I don’t know enough of settling or stability to tell you who I am. I can’t recall the last sunset that made me feel like I was part of a bigger world or the first time I got excited over a job or what color I would be if I wasn’t a person. I’ve lived an undefinable life. No labels, no limits, no lines. But I think that’s okay. I am still finding out what it means to be human, and I think that’s just as good as knowing who, if anyone, is waiting for me at the end of the day.
—  An Odyssey to Someone
The lesson

Did you close your eyes

the last time you said goodbye

Kissing me as I slept

knowing it was the very last

time, never again

Did I hurt you so badly

that you would want to

crush my very soul

I don’t know

been lost in the dark

stumbling, fumbling my way

to who I’m meant to be

I should thank you

for the lesson in pain

But, then again

I’ll let it go. Maybe

you didn’t know

that I died inside

It’s alright, I’m healing

still reeling from the feeling

Loss is pain, and pain

is growth

And growth is good

So thank you

for the lesson

                           we’re back to the years of the church
             
                                                 -let me explain-

[Yves in a church with stained windows, searching for 
something without a name] with hymns in the background;
the heart of holy in your mouth, waiting to be swallowed-
the fading marble turning soft in your hands / your hands
lining the alter, waiting for god. waiting for something better
than this.


the halcyon years remind me of the paint on our torsos, and 
how we looked doused in gold / i remember your golden mouth
and the way it sang, without saying goodbye- yes, i know we’re 
back to the years of the church, and how we prayed

                                               - but hear me out-

[Yves in a church with fruit in their hand, waiting to be devoured /
waiting to be communion]; always hungry. you with all the pits,
and how they crash into each other in your stomach. i, with my
emptiness, and fullness all at once- that summer i let out the doves

from under my armpits, and gave them a reason to fly / you found
a place to hide, and we both lied from between our teeth. we both laid
in different beds. with different arms around us, and it didn’t feel like 
death- here i am awakened, in the church years, with Yves- waiting

for you under the orange tree- with your golden mouth. with
the thing without a name. with the halcyon years. with the
church in my chest. with the doves painted blue. with
my hands folded. with my knees on the floor-
               
                                                where are you?

PILGRIMAGE // FOR @yvesolade

“There’s always going to be something magical about late night drives. Staring out my window, watching everything pass by in a cinematic way. I’d maybe think of you. I’d think of songs that I imagine playing in the background as we drive; like music in a credit role to conclude whatever our adventure was that day. I imagine us sitting in the front seat of your car laughing over something totally irrelevant. We’d lose our way, miss exits and get stuck in more and more highway traffic, but we’d still be laughing. We’d escape the traffic and flashes of blues and reds would all start to flicker over the edges of your face. It would be cold. You’d be holding my hand. No way to go and nothing planned; just a magical late night drive…”

She ignored the guys with sugar-kissed lips
Past the ones who complemented her hips
She sampled the sweetness once but
Their cotton candy words did not appeal to her taste
She craved the acerbic language
Which you two interlaced
—  She craves for something real
A Love Letter To The Stars

Forgive me body.
I am a poet who uses the word ‘love’ to frequently.
I put it in as a synonym for feel and admiration and pain.
I stick it like a post it over my poetry and call myself a hopeless romantic.
Forgive me body I fall too hard.
I launch myself at the ground like it is arms that I can disappear into,
Forgive me body.
For I know the bruises on my knees don’t fade for weeks but I don’t stop falling because I love scars.
I feel scars, I admire them and they bring me pain but I do not love them.
I use 'love’ too often for a girl who is scared of being seen.
I use 'love’ too often instead of just saying what I mean.
So I guess what I mean is that I’m feeling.
I’m feeling the floor hurtling up towards me and I’m admiring the stars from my position on the concrete.
So forgive me body.
I do use 'love’ too often but thats because its keeping me floating.
The word is becoming a life vest that stops me from falling to the floor and I would rather you be scared than broken
So forgive me body.
Forgive me body because I say 'love’ too often but that doesn’t mean I don’t comprehend it.
It doesn’t mean I don’t love
Like I’m falling.

we love to glorify best friends who fall apart, but what’s sadder is two people who never were friends to begin with. because you’ve had a chance with your best friend, you’ve tried being with each other, but all the pinky promises in the world can’t erase the fact that she’s the sun and you’re the moon and you two just weren’t meant to exist in the same sky.

but maybe the guy who sits behind you in chem class could have been your real best friend if only you’d talked to him. maybe the girl who was reading the same book as you on the subway could have been your future love. and all it took was one missed opportunity, one moment of possibility that died when you swallowed your words. maybe you could have been more than stars gathered in different constellations, strangers sent adrift on diverging paths, never knowing what could have been.

arlen c. | my books

The moment you let somebody into your heart you’re taking a risk…
Not everybody’s going to hurt you of course but from the moment you begin to care for someone you’re giving them that power and whether or not they use it is completely beyond your control. It’s terrifying I know – but it’s the risk you take when you love somebody. That’s not a negative attitude on life or love – that’s just how it is and sometimes you win and sometimes you lose.
When you lose it feels like you always lose… like every relationship ends in tears and that this is just the latest in a long line of risks that didn’t pay off. But there was happiness before it ended – if there wasn’t you wouldn’t be so upset about it, so it’s not really a loss because you had love. Not everything has to go the way you wanted it to for you to have gained something valuable. Trust me, the longer you live the more you’ll realize that life rarely goes the way you want it to… but that doesn’t make it a loss.
It didn’t work out and it hurts I know, but take it from me – you didn’t lose. You had love, you had happiness, you opened your heart and connected with another human being and just because it didn’t last forever doesn’t mean it wasn’t worthwhile. The people who lose are the ones who close their heart or don’t know how to love… The ones who lose are the people who will never have the happiness you’ve had because they live in emotional isolation and will never experience what it’s like to have a connection with somebody…
You may have been hurt, but you were brave enough to open your heart in the first place and one day, when you’re ready, I hope you open it again for somebody else… because the only way you lose is if you don’t…
—  Ranata Suzuki | Love is worth the risk

I wasn’t looking of anything when I met you. If anything I was over the thought of falling for someone. I had finally gotten over someone and the thought of being flooded with emotions each day again was exhausting.

But we practically stumbled on top of one another. Our paths could have crossed, but instead they collided. And the night we met was like coming up for air after drowning in my own tears. You made me laugh, and you told me stories about your life and for that night I was just happy to be me. It was an odd feeling, to be so happy and free.

Things didn’t work out, and maybe it was for the best. This way you can always be the guy that never hurt me, the one that let me listen and laugh for a night. And I am grateful for you and the part you played in realising I deserved better than those I had met before you.

—  To the one that came out of no where, but was exactly what I needed.

“Heartbreak is how many of us first learn self-discipline,” my psychology professor said. “Your heart is screaming at you. It’s aching in your chest. But your mind says, ‘We’re okay. It may not feel like it, but I know it. We’ll be just fine.’ And this is where we learn mind over matter.”

My heart wrenched in my chest, and I looked across the lecture hall. There he sat, staring down at his hands. I knew he could feel my eyes on him, so I looked away. My heart begged me to look over again, but my mind told me I’d be just fine, even if I didn’t ever look again.

—  excerpt from an unfinished book #131
The sad thing about losing someone is that it’s not the pain that hurts the most, it’s the fear that the pain will pass. That sooner or later, you’ll pull yourself together and move on. That’s the killing blow. Knowing that someday, no matter how hard you try, you will forget how it felt to love them.
—  LA // excerpt from a book I’ll never write

I told you once that I didn’t think love exists, you told me that one day you’d show me what love felt like.

It was only after you left that I decided that love had to be real, because all I remember is pain, pure fucking pain and It hurt too much to be anything but love.

When you told me you’d show me what love felt like; I didn’t think you meant like this.

One day you wake up and it’s different. There’s no sinking feeling in your stomach and you feel like you can breathe again. One day you wake up and it just clicks, you don’t care about him anymore. The thought of him being with someone who isn’t you no longer consumes you and you don’t feel the sudden urge to pick up the phone and call him. You feel lighter, you feel free and it’s one of the best feelings in the world because you know your ready to move on with your life.
—  the hurt doesn’t last forever, nothing ever does.
I have never been happier than the moment your name was mentioned and I realised I had fallen out of love with you. Finally, it was like I was finally free of the chains I had tangled around my head and heart.
—  Getting over you was the best thing that happened to me.
i am waiting
for someone
to come along;
to see the best of me,
to see the worst of me,
and still decide to stay.