Christinabean

PROOF Sometimes I sleep with my hand on my heart, Often I'll rest with my thumb on my wrist. With eyes fixed hollow and still in the dark, I feel the fact that I exist. The tireless rhythm of being alive Echoes on my hand and thumb. A single touch, to which I derive This sense and fact, yet still I'm numb. The persistent pulse of blood so steady Is soothing in its resonance. And while what this proves, I know already, It's nice to have some evidence.

TRY The moments you sorely hemorrhage Are painted painfully in regret. Of an unrequited and distant message, Of a chance and challenge you never met. The trouble exists in the haunting fact That if you never attempt what scares you so, In an effort to keep your pride intact, You cannot try, and you'll never know. Know in certainty, what you fail to speak, Due to an honest awareness and lack of allure, With the self deprivation that leaves you weak, Barring you from your yearning to know for sure. This isn't enough to make you act, It's far more easy to reject what's true. But you cannot deny the principal fact: Words would mel

WHOLE NUMBERS X and Y are meant to be, As arithmetic has always shown. But it's this that's made me wholly see A formula before unknown. Thus I struggle sorely to impute Any form of logic to this love. I cannot manage to compute What this racing heart's indicative of. To my dismay, I cannot derive, Any sense to this new affection. But it's this very confusion that keeps me alive, Though I desperately fear a certain rejection. By parenthesis, we're set apart, Such a hopeless equation I long to pursue. But I hope someday to hold your heart, And I vow with conviction I'll factor through. Whole numbers are what I once desired, I