Kenadee's Poems

unknown title

i don't even think i can put it into words.
but, i continually try.

what i feel for you is not something i have felt.
not before you, and probably not after you.
and it terrifies me.
you, terrify me.

that sounds bad.
you do not terrify me, but you do something to me that i cannot interpret.

you know me.
more than i know myself.
clichè, i know.
but i am not wrong.
the ins and outs of my heart, the cracks in my soul, the craters and divots of my mind man-made so long ago have always been misinterpreted, misdiagnosed, and highly misunderstood.

but the first time we spoke you seemed to just click.
those ins and outs were now normal, those cracks were suddenly vulnerable, and those craters and divots were irrefutably yours.
and i did not know what to do.

no one has ever known me.
i do not let them.
i do not want my heart, soul, and mind inspected like a cold-case crime scene.
i do not want my trauma and unoriginal experiences exploited like a tabloid.
some people only know the surface-
because i let them think the surface is clean, there's nothing underneath.
but some people only want to know the surface.

you peeled the surface up like a floor board and jumped through like it was a portal into another unknown world.
that unknown world was me.
from the first moment we talked, you explored me like an old house with so many chambers and secrets that was so tedious that no others wanted to explore.
but you took a liking in that.
the isolation, the secrets, the chambers- you liked the repartee.

but after time went on and you continued to pick my brain and endure my brute soul i realized-
i saw-
that your fascination did not reside within exploring me like a lab rat.
it resides within me.
and that, horrified me.

it shook me to my core.

those emotions you displayed, the understanding, the relation, the weird connection:
it was because you had the same ins and outs,
you had the same cracks,
and you had the same craters and divots.

you saw me not as a person who was damaged.
you saw me and you saw me.
you didn't see someone you could save,
because you knew yourself we couldn't be saved.

eight months.
we've been feeling, laughing, fighting, tasting, touching, talking, living, seeing, enduring, killing, crying, smelling, and loving for eight straight months.
we have been exploring each other's ins and outs, cracks, and craters for this long.
learning something new every single god forsaken day.

touching each other's skin.
looking in each other's eyes.
talking into each other's souls.
feeling each other's souls morph into something neither of us have ever seen before.
we continue to change each other.

and i don't know if that's good or bad.

the trail has gone cold.
your heart has been explored.
your soul has been compromised.
your mind has been seen.
and you, are getting kind of bored.

my ins and outs have been widened, but sewn back together knowing that i would soon regret reopening these wounds.
my cracks have been made larger, but covered with a white cloth as if they were dead, with a " do not resuscitate " form signed and dated. 
my craters and divots have deepened, but filled with cement and acting as if they never really were there in the first place.

i have sewn myself into the captivity of cowardice whilst sewing my mouth shut.
i watched the spark in your eye dim.
i watched the urge to touch me turn to nothing.
i watching the interest and fascination in me turn to a monotonous, lifeless; die. 
and i watched us wither away.

unable to scream your name.

we are still here, eight months later.
i want to be here, with you-
but i am not stupid.
i see you losing it.
i am your everyday.
you're tired of this everyday.
this everyday is predictable, there's no life to it.
so you crave, to kill it.

but you see the way i look at you and touch you and feel you and smell you and taste you and speak to you but-
you do not have the heart to slaughter mine and sign your name in blood.

you wish you could, but we both know you can't.

the knowingness is killing us.
and i know how to revive it.
you do not-

but maybe you do.
and you just don't wish to see it occur.

i know who you are.
i've always known,
like the back of my god damn motherfucking hand.
i am not sick of my everyday.

but i'm starting to believe that you, do not know yourself as much as i do.

and it's eating you alive.