let music make me whole again and words tell me how it makes me feel

inside the pockets
of jeans that i wore
for three days or more
before they came back to life
and walked away
on their own
the scraps of paper are still there
where i wrote your name
in so many different ways
stuck together
from when you tried
to make them clean
and if i tried
to pry them apart
they would just dissolve
like all the thoughts
in my head
that never make it out
things fall apart
they would get stuck
and never fit through
the tight spaces
that we have to travel
we are a part
even when we’re apart
even when we come apart
and sometimes
i just want to hold you
and to be held
without holding on

i practiced
different ways
to be natural
only to find out
that practice
makes perfect
and perfection
has no place
in art
the letters that connect
to form a pattern
are uneven
the words that bind feelings
to meanings
often have no meaning at all
destroys the pattern
and sets our language free
it breaks the glass
so that we can find our words
out of context
so that we can find our selves
out of breath
so that we can find out
who we are
who we are not

how many times
have you woken up
and realized
it was just a dream
how many times
have you lost track
of which is which
reality doesn’t need a resurrection
it needs a burial
and then
once it has come back
once it has risen
we will know it
for what it is
and what it is not



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