before I go

 “I’m a map soaked in blood 

with made up towns and cities”*

    

I wish I was younger, 

I wish I knew better than getting lost, 

fading away each night into emptiness 

a shadow found again in the morning light,

daydreaming of becoming a poem

with roses blooming on my fingertips.

It’s my curse that I belong,

that I make a lover of—

all the small things surrounding me,

I never let go, 

I never hold so tight into something 

that it becomes mine.

    

I exist with a little block of saddens in my chest, a bitter feeling that never goes away even when I’m happy a part of me is miserable, drowning in the fear of missing this this moment when it’s over. 

 

The lights are always dim inside of me, 

always flickering, threatening to turn off, 

with butterflies made of dust, 

adding to the bitter taste on my lips. 

*taken from a poem I wrote in 2015