This feeling that only feels liberating in
shackles. The room that gets smaller and
smaller, eating away the oxygen.
The 24/7 panic attack that begins when you
decide to lock away your heart.
You just wanted to give your heart a break
after it has been broken. Now you forgot how
to use it, you are running away from its purpose.
The touch was something like silk.
The taste was that of sugar,
but even more addictive.
You felt like home, like peace.
I spent days writing then rushing
my fingers through paper
hoping to catch a glimpse of your face
somewhere between my words.
I think I was trying to recreate you,
but I don’t know how to recreate a feeling.
It was like a summer morning with a pinch of salt
in the air and hot sand between my toes.
I got lost between the palm trees,
wandered around the buildings,
spent my days climbing the mountains.
Are you looking for me as well?
I am giving everything away
and the bar is low.
You just need to love me a little bit more
than I love myself and that’s easy to do.
Last poem by Luna: Poem #335
Our First Travel Vlog: Vacation Vlog – Island of Krk, Croatia
Somewhere between the smoke and alcohol,
the hobbies and oversleeping,
the binges and the purges
you realize it was never a writers block.
You screamed your words at that page
to let go, to release.
You never expected they would scream
right back at you.
You used to write to let it all out
now you fake writers block to keep it all in.
Just to avoid reading what you feel.
Just to avoid facing your own fears.
Last poem by Luna: Poem #334
Our First Travel Vlog: Vacation Vlog – Island of Krk, Croatia
She almost becomes one with people.
She immerses herself in one’s body and
emerges carrying out their pain and sorrow.
The burden gets too hard to carry and
people just keep piling on. They are biting
the hand that fed them help.
Her bones break, her shoulders cannot carry the load.
When her body hits the ground there’s no one to pick her up.
The dust settles on a body that has a cold touch to it now.
It’s the death of an empath.
The life of trauma means saying
“I knew it” instead of “I can’t believe it”
when the worst scenario comes to life.
The life of trauma means being
relieved when you lose because
it’s so familiar to you.
The life of trauma means sleeping
awake because you’re just waiting
for the other shoe to drop.
The life of fear, of expecting the worst.
A brain in anticipation of pain.
A young body being a home to an old soul.
Last poem by Luna: Poem #332
Our First Travel Vlog: Vacation Vlog – Island of Krk, Croatia
There was nothing. Not even a spark.
When you kissed me, it felt like you were
kissing someone else. I couldn’t feel your hands.
There was no love, just the need to avoid loneliness.
It was like we were drinking from an empty cup
and wondered why we felt thirst.
You wake up with nausea and dizziness
but not with the will to wake up.
Go through the day not feeling like yourself,
you are selling your soul to the devil and that
devil is the world you are trapped in.
At night, before bed, you are in the shower for hours.
You are trying to purge the sin from your body with water
as if you just stepped out of a Bible while in reality
you have been questioning the existence of God
for years now. You turn the water off, your body is burning
but for a moment there you feel clean.
You promise yourself that in the morning it will be better.
You wake up with nausea and dizziness
but not with the will to wake up.
You are already late so you do not have time to
have a shower to see if the magic works in the morning as well.
You slap on a smile to avoid the questions, not realizing
this fakeness is eating away at your soul.
The poet inside of you invites you to write the feelings down,
he whispers in your ear that they are bottled up.
So you try to purge that thing out of your body with
words and verses for yourself or for the world to read,
laugh at, call you crazy because of that.
But for a moment there, it empties your mind.
It’s all for moments, nothing lasts.
You cannot purge something rotten that grew inside.
You can only heal it but you are too weak from trying
to purge it out as if a broken heart can be purged.
You are just tired and want to close your eyes
but the demons never sleep.
Just come home.
This is not in a selfish way, I am not
asking you to come back to me.
I am asking you to come home.
To the home that doesn’t have a roof
or 4 walls.
To the home where you feel safe,
no matter where it is.
Just come home.
The lines and the smoke won’t
ease that mind. You need to come home.
There is safety in the light,
there can be peace in the dark.
Just come home.
I do not need you.
I have been through hell and back,
got out by myself.
I shower in burning hot water
to make my skin remember of how
much I am capable of.
I do not need you.
I learned the hard way to stand
on my own two feet.
My knees still bleed, the bruises
pulsate but it doesn’t stop
me from getting up every day.
I do not need you. I want you.
I want you to kiss every wound,
touch every weakness.
You look like you are smart
enough to know what type of
blessing that is.