I got asked ‘how you?’
And within the rundownlist of howme
I ended up coming upyou
maybe onetwo
threefour times,
thinking of the way
life’s gone happysmile
without me noticing.
I didn’t notice
when the upsome
got more than the downsome,
didn’t notice
when the brightsome
came close
to outweighing the darksome.
I didn’t notice
until my mine was smile sore
and the up bubble feeling in my chest
was defined to be
giddy and all of laughter, all of freedom.
I’d pull down the pillars of the temple for you.
I’d turn the tables,
drive out our demons
with whips and holy water,
with laughter and dreams,
and maybe nothing would be better,
but everything would change
and I mean to change.
Or at least see it all through.
I’m just this branch pocket of green
a wet-insides mouthspit
bundle of raw
not yet ready
but when it’s time
o when it’s time
I’ll tear me open
lighter
better
I will love me and you will
Unexpected
Wishful thinking
You on your knees
blood on your teeth
pride at my feet
But aren’t you what
I love the most.
Aren’t you what I want?
You know me better
than I know myself.
If I am the singer
you are the song
from my lips, maybe
but your heart
is the tune I hum
when I can’t sleep
restless in the moon
when all the
green silver blue black sky
is star star star iridescence
the laundry list of
everything I want
to sing to you
goes down the paper
like so
down down
just like I want
you on your knees
blood on your teeth
pride at my feet
Peace
Cool blue
waters, ocean
air and mists.
Halcyon days,
and serenity.
There is a gravity
to the becalmed sea,
the surging of all
things beneath,
unseen
above
the waves,
but powerful
and without measure
below.
If I am ablaze,
if I am aflame,
if I am that burning light,
you are the life-giving waters that promise a steady surface,
and surging strength beneath.
If I consume in rage and pain,
you soothe in hope and sweetness.
If I destroy,
you reclaim.
If I consume,
you replenish.
Far from my opposite,
you are my complement,
my other half,
a fulfillment for a lack I did not know
until I knew,
the ache of it eased
only by soaking in your presence.
I worry sometimes
They’ll figure out
what I’m doing — or,
worse yet,
that they already have,
and now I’m a ticking time bomb
of my own making,
painstakingly created,
impossible to defuse.
What happens
when I
die?
Everything I have ever loved
will crumble unto dust.
Where
do I
go?
No one truly loves me
as I wish to be loved,
with a painful sort of aching
that cannot be helped,
seen in every gesture,
beheld gently,
and accepted without judgment —
in fact,
I am only tolerated.
I am resented.
Who
do I
become?
What
have I
become,
already?
Untitled
Death by
a thousand papercuts,
the careless finality of words
where gestures would be far more appreciated,
even if futile.
Do you have any idea what it feels like
to be thrown away so easily,
unnoticed,
without mattering?
You’re a throwaway line,
thought of in the moment
and then discarded,
lost
not even to dreams,
lost
and never found,
lost
and lost and