Wishing and missing.

There are some people that were meant to slip through the doors of our minds, 

and just as easily slip back out of them. 

Some of them are never missed, 

and some of them are too influential to allow them passed. 

Those old souls who just happen to sink their way through 

what we love to call our "tough exteriors."

But I wish to take a soft sponge, and wipe away all of the fingerprints

left on the fragile glass motionless fist that I have to call my heart. 

I know that it'll never be totally crystaline as once before,

but I wish to erase the souls that I forever long for from my emotional data set.

I feel as though I'm amongst the few that

would have never loved at all,

than to have burned in the fire of her passion that turns to scorn.

I don't long to hate the love that left me, 

or the people that snatched it from my cold hands,

growing colder as they drifted away from me. 

I hate saying the word "hate",

but even if I found all of the different words that I could choose, 

it wouldn't equate to the feeling in me that isn't hate at all.

Hate can cover anything like a fire. 

It's diasppointment, 

it's the holes that were left in my sorry excuse for a soul,

it's the jealousy of that girl that he wishes he was with,

it's the fact that I love her to death in such a different way 

that the infatuation that I've always had for him. 

And I'm tired of using the word "wish" 

to try to express the yearning that I have.

The yearning that I have to be someone else, 

someone of a prettier shell,

someone of confidence, 

someone who wouldn't have been so scared to talk my words to him,

because she knew that none of them were all that stupid as I thought they were. 

The yearning that there was a monsoon that could come about

to wash the salt away from my blunt red cheeks. 

And most of all, I'm tired of trying to funnel all of my "anything else" feelings

into the words "I misws."

Because in reality, 

I fnd myself missing the thinfs that I don't have the need to miss yet.

I simply want them so much that I have the innate fear that I'll break them.

It's a feeling that I can't stop, 

but there's a part of me that doesn't wish to stop it.

Because what if letting go of the things that I've had for so long

takes me with them? 

I'll take the pain of burning with my ice than freezing inside my lonely mind. 

There are so many things that I had truly tried to be, 

and they all turned me into a person that I am not. 

I find parts of myself all over, scattered over the wild crackled sidewalk.

I find the tattoos that I gave myself and they still hurt just as much.

Scar tissue a doctor's dream- 

the wound is fixed, but the memory of it doesn't concern anyone else. 

Recovery is a two sided road,

there is still the relapse,

and it is never to be fully completed.

Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace.