This is the worst

I hate limits
I hate walls
I hate the way
Some friendships fall

I hate goodbyes
I hate pain
I hate the end
Of things so great

I hate perceptions
I hate distrust
I hate maybes
becoming musts

I hate baggage
I hate scars
I hate distance
It's just too far

I hate arguments
I hate ends
I hate the thought
Of losing friends

I hate that this
Is not the first time
That I have had to break
Apart things in my life

But I can love
And I can explain
And I can repair
And I can abstain 

And I can fight bitterness
I can fight tears
I can fight the regurgitating
Pain from the years

I can love harder
I can dig deep
I can turn off my phone
When I go to sleep

A Man

I know a man

He thinks he is not kind

I think he is not soft

But his values are firm

I know a man

He thinks he is not caring

I think he is not meek

But his character is strong

I know a man

He thinks he is inattentive

I think he is not vocal

But he hears those without voices

And the truth is

He is not soft

He is not meek

He is not vocal

But he is a man

A man worth knowing

Scarred

I feel like if you stripped me down

And looked beneath my skin somehow

You'd see the scars that I've sustained

Across the years, across the pain

The curves that biting words tore off

A deep tear here from heart too soft

The lines from stabs into my back

My thighs sliced up from self attack

None of these are physical wounds

But scars run deep into my bones

Moments, words, betrayal, pain

Inside my mind the scars are plain

But if you could raise the scars within 

Up to the surface of my skin

And followed all the bends and lines

A pattern would form before your eyes

Intricate, beautiful designs drawn in

To the very fabric of my skin

Like henna drawn onto a bride

I carry all my scars with pride

I roll up my sleeves to show the world

That scars from when I was just a girl

Have drawn me up to who I am

A beautiful, confident, strong woman

She looks at him

Still on the couch

Book in hand 

Deep in thought

Her eyes are soft

Her mouth is closed

But her heartbeat shakes the room

A bird named Hope

Hope

Sings the bird

That sits above my bed

Squinting up into the sunlight

A world of golden hues before her

Hope 

Sings the bird

That stands on her bamboo

Settled in her feathers

Basking in the breeze

Hope 

Sings the bird

Over me as I sleep

With dreams left undreamt

In the dark around me

Hope

Echoes my chest

As I look at my bird

Painted with my fingers

Painted on my heart

Nostalgia

Nostalgia is a funny thing.
Tonight it sucks me in with pictures,
old words,
old ideas.
It makes me replay my life in different scenarios
from that point forward.
If I had said yes.
If she had opened the door.
If actions had been taken.
If words had been said.
If paths moved differently.
But it is time to climb back to the now.
That life would not be this life.
And this life is mine.
Good night, Nostalgia.

When I can't be me

"Let Maia Be Maia" is my mantra this year
Only it isn't that simple, is it?
There are moments when I am not acceptable
When what is expected
What is deemed appropriate
What is perceived
Trumps me
Washes out my vibrant light
Dims me down
Pushes me aside
Stomps out my inner flame

Somehow, the boarders of this life
The restrictions of this world
The framework of society
Do not permit me

I was made for another place
A place where friendship goes deeper
Where familiarity is wider
Where love is longer
Where people can be their whole selves
Always
With everyone

And that place is clearly not here

So Maia, she cannot be Maia
Because Maia is not allowed on this earth

I will hold back
I will mourn the loss of myself
And then I will step in the lines
And pretend I belong here

For now