Parables and hymns

I want to be the sort of scripture that
you are not afraid to call good news.

Let my words be the verses that sink
through your blood stream and anchor
themselves to your pulses when
you are unsure of this world.

I don’t want you to worship the
frayed binding of my spine,
but I want to be the reason
you believe in something bigger
than the parables etched in
my skin like hymns.

#bemymuse 12, as requested by @gedthompsonpoet


What’s your poison?

Tonight, the bartender asked me “what’s your poison?”,
and I wanted to respond with your name.
But the truth is, they have yet to learn
how to bottle love, how to create a drug
that’s potent enough to mimic the intoxicating
addiction of another person’s heart,
beating in time with yours.

So I will settle for a bottle of tequila for now,
and a hangover strong enough to help me forget
selected memories, even if only for a night.

#bemymuse 10 & 11
Time as requested by @michelle_robinson_writer
Memories as requested by @saifizzm


There is nothing romantic about a love
that used to be, a love that happened,
and then ended, just like everything else
in the world. People often romanticize
tragedy, like the kiss that almost was,
the “maybe” that could have been but
will remain a “what if” forever. There
is nothing beautiful about something
that once was, but died. Ended. Failed.

#bemymuse 9, as requested by @kerflooey_


Through clenched teeth and failing knees,
my soul resiliently hums a symphony of hope.
I know my heart will heal,
fear will loosen its icicle claws.
But for now, each keystroke soothes and
revives the tender ears of my forlorn heart,
as it listens to the tune of a humble song
that calloused feet keep pressing on.

Catching up on #bemymuse requests:
Resilience- for @anviejezette
Forlorn – for @lovelylogophile
Symphony- for @maxwelldpoetry


I’m not the type who takes a lot of selfies.
Today, he took a hundred horrible pictures
of me, and said he loved each one. I could feel
that he meant it. Is this how it is to h e a l ?
Unlearning panic and believing when
a person says they won’t leave you,
having the courage to trust. Again.
I just have to learn to stop
being scared of saying that.

#bemymuse 5, as requested by @abdulkadiir_mb

I want you all the time

My fingertips yearn for the hard and the soft
of you. My mouth waters for the sweet, salty
taste of your lips. I am forever longing for
the burn of your kisses against my skin,
for the way you fit against me, inside me.
I am half crazed from wanting you.

Come home.

For © Our Poetry Journey Contest #ourpoetryjourneyaug18

First love

Whenever I want to remember a time
when love was simpler, I think of you.

When love didn’t mean getting undressed or
doing drugs, when love was as simple as you
walking me home, with my hand in yours, and
you kiss me on the porch as we bid goodbye.

I have loved a handful of men after you.

But I find myself trying to remember
the exact color of your eyes and
what it felt like to be pure again.

For  #bemymuse 2, as requested by @physical_mentality


I thought of you today.
For what we were,
and what we weren’t,
for what we could have been
and what we could never be,
for what you changed in me
and for what will never change.
I cried because I knew you
and because I only knew
certain parts of you,
because I loved you and
never got the chance to.

For  #bemymuse 1, as requested by @mylostmuse