I saw mountains,
and my soul was home.
Not even my mountains,
but my heart knew.
I looked towards the ocean,
but all I saw were memories
and sadness and flatlands.
I guess your soul speaks
its own language,
and for me,
it is the language of mountains.
when you wake up from a nap
only to discover that somehow
you’ve been buried in sadness.
i want to be with someone
who sees the way i look at books.
someone who notices
the way my fingers trail over covers
as though the right one will speak
straight to my soul.
i want someone who sees
the fire in my eyes
when i talk about
the things that move me.
i want to be with
the person who makes me
feel like im not sorry,
no need to apologize all the time.
someone who will hold me
so close, so tightly
that our souls cannot be separated.
thats all i want.
just fucking love me.
there are things that are beyond words,
like one soul speaking to another.
to touch the deepest parts of another human being,
to know what makes them ache
with fear and pleasure.
to peel away the layers of skin and flesh and bone
and say “here i am”
to be completely and utterly naked,
to present yourself vulnerably. explicitly.
that is soul speak.
Couldn’t be more naked if I tried,
took off my skin and bared my soul to you —
offered everything inside of me,
and you took it.
Why don’t you just pay a-fucking-ttention,
here’s my words that I’m screamin’
why don’t you give a-fucking damn?
Why’m I pissed?
Why’m I fruster-fucking-ated?
Live my life, walk in my shoes.
Tell me, can you feel the rocks?
The ice, the glass, the grass,
through the soles of my shoes.
Your sole in my sole,
can you feel my soul?
I can see you standing there
in a circle of fire – why’re you a liar?
Don’t deny it – I can see it,
You’re just smoke and ashes.
Like everyone else.
Just like every-fucking-one else.
Watch your words,
mind your tone.
Fuck you, I’m going home.
What home you say?
Cause you been there,
you know how flame licks out,
ignites everything it touches.
You could burn a town to the ground,
you could set the world on fire,
burn it down tree by tree.
So, why’m I so angry?
You’re standing there in my shoes,
red flames racing up the laces,
remains catching in a gray wind.
Don’t blame me for these flames.
White hot mist is what you’ll become,
if you keep wearing those shoes.
Take them off.
Please take them off.