On Writing

I am writing.

I am writing. I am breathing. I am working.

but I am not living.

I am writing, I am speaking, I am moving,

but I am not living.

I am writing, loving, dying, crying, grasping, pushing, pulling

but I am not living.

but at least

I am writing.

So I am alive.

Poetry by Sunshine

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Without You.

There are so many words on the tip of my tongue,
burning, pushing, crying to get out.
I find some spill over the edge of my lips, but it is never enough. Never enough to satisfy the need of communication.
There is so much to be said, with so many things I wish to clarify.

There is an aching desire to spill my thoughts and have my feelings gazed upon.
Yet if I were given the opportunity to speak again, I would be at loss of what to relay.

For these words come in many forms.

What would I speak of? Where would I speak from?
The sharp edges of the broken pieces of my heart?
Or perhaps the softness of my lips as I remember yours?
It may be from the tenderness of my touch as I think of your skin against mine.
These words may also overflow from my eyes in the form of tears as I remember the betrayal of those I loved most.

How will I choose to speak my feelings, given the opportunity?

Just as a bag bursts at the seams when too full, so do my lips as they part and the words come tumbling out,
too many rumbling inside of me to ignore.

In a case like this, I would have one wish.
Not to speak eloquently.
Not profess my undying love.
Not to announce my pain.

No.

My wish would be for you to understand the mess I am portraying.

My wish would be for my words to match my feelings and actions so that you may understand how I am feeling.

My wish would be for you to realize how I am living.
Without you.

Poetry by Sunshine.

All credit of artwork goes to original owner.

Artwork belongs to Instagram user @arthiyya