If my heart belongs to you, so do my tears.
I can’t say that I miss you,
it’s impossible to miss someone
who was never present to begin
with. Maybe it’s the possibility
of you that I miss,
the possibility of us.
I’ve held onto the concept of an “us” for so long that I’ve begun to lose my grip. That’s the thing about intangibles, you can’t really hold onto them, at least not for very long. They seep through the spaces between your fingers eventually, like vapor. Maybe it’s the holding on that I miss. It was all I ever had, after all.
*For Day 7 of #illogicalvalentinechallenge hosted by #illogicalpoemworld
Imagine being content enough to dream.
When you’ve been hurt so much, sometimes you stop hoping, you stop making plans, you stop dreaming, you just move on with life one day at a time. I hope you realize that you don’t need another person to make you feel worthy to be alive. Your main reason should be YOU, because you exist, because you are capable of many things, because you yourself can make things happen.
*For Day 3, #illogicalvalentinechallenge hosted by @illogicalpoemworld
I don’t love to write, I just love.
The writing comes after.
I’ve come to the conclusion that clarity is not always necessary and not always possible and that one’s emotions can be muddled into a big ball of muck and still be totally valid, just as they are.
Continue reading “Clarity”
Somehow, I have lured you
into my bed. I wake, picking
up our clothing dropped like
a trail of breadcrumbs, and
stack them neatly on the bed.
It’s funny how it isn’t the sex
that I remember, but the chance
that you might stay.
you slide into me,
every pleading gasp
declaring my ruin.
That moment in the dark when
you miss the last step on the
staircase, when you catch the
breath in your throat and your
body stiffens and prepares to fall..
that is how it feels when
I hear your name.
Poets are fools
who have mastered the
art of arranging and
rearranging the same
twenty six letters
to spell love.
Honestly, you don’t have to take me anywhere. You don’t have to buy me anything. You don’t have to do any of those cliche rituals that people think are required of them when they are in a relationship. You just have to see me. Take the time. Care enough to peel back my layers and scale my walls. That’s all I really want. I can buy my own flowers.
He tells me he’s not a writer as he
explains his struggle to find the
right words to express his love for
me. Behind his every cliché line and
overused metaphors, I know there is
something so precious between us
that language itself can’t name.
So I treasure every word he gives
me like they are pieces of himself,
because goddamit, at least he tries.
- For Day 15: Endeavors, #ourpoetryjourneydec17
There is no avoiding being burned when
everything involved is a four letter word.