Worth the Time
July 20th, 2015

I have always wanted to be
worth the time it takes to pen my 
quivering thoughts to scratched paper,
always wanted my
scrambled similes and molting metaphors
to be worth the breath it takes to expel them
into the electric air of this highlighted stage,
to be heard and 
to resonate. 

Words and melodies have saved me 
from the monsters hiding beneath my
ridged skin as I lay against 
unforgiving marble tiles and
questioned why I spent so many moments
trying to articulate ineffable fervor 
to an audience of discolored pages and
dusty notebooks.

I wanted it to be worth the time it took
to string broken words together in cohesive pieces of poetry,
to be worth the time it took you to
untangle these smeared stanzas and
unravel the muddled motifs.
God knows your time was finite and precious 
as you spent it on
patio constructions and the production of fantastical images 
of a girl you could never confess to.

But these lines were carved from 
chipped nights spent wondering if
his and my implosion
was worth the carnage and wreckage 
that devastate my sense of reality,
from days racing around corroded trails with your
foot beats beside me,
form moments thinking
you could honestly care for something 
more than the mirage you turned her into. 

Shared on illuminated screens with 
clicking keys pressed by shaking fingertips, 
these words found you and
were accompanied by the enigmas lining my
rattling rib cage. 

I wanted them to be worth the time it took you to see
how contorted and twisted he has made me,
how he bent my bones into splinters of a fleeting sanity and 
warped mentality.
But their meaning was lost in the maze of your
logical brains as always. 

Analyzed and processed like calculus equations,
they were simply pixels producing another translation of
raw emotion into 
pieces of an algorithm that you
could comprehend.

You saw depression and pessimism 
packaged into irregular quotations,
just another piece of literary composition 
you resented reading. 

But these lines were worth the time
it took me to confess the sadness 
that lingered around me like a funeral shroud
to a friend I thought I could rely on. 
They were worth the time it took to
release the sensation of drowning in 
asymmetrical melodies,
to forget that my nights were once spent
dreaming of someone other than the one
I used to conceive love poems with. 

Maybe they were black holes consuming
crucial seconds of your diminishing time,
but I needed someone to see the 
split seams traversing my being,
and the way that I felt at home in 
an endless oblivion.

Cracks coated my exterior,
but to you I was twenty three minutes of
disassociated particles and dissolved quantities, 
a vacuum for definite moments,
but I was worth the time it took
to pen these inked rhymes and
to present them to an audience of breathing poems. 

I was worth the time it took to realize
you were a figment of my imagination,
and an entity I would never be able to comprehend.