6.15.16

cherry blossoms are not the enemy
whats dangerous is crappy pens on the wrong side of the page
they make too much noise
like those damned boots
fuck your boots
my bare feet have much more soul
than your damned fucking boots

6.12.15

please know that i’m so
so
oh
sorry

“I don’t know what it is about you that opens and closes. Only something in me understand, you are the fairest of all roses. Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.”
e.e cummings

I understand now
unlike most
i’m not the victim of attachment
that beauty behind transition is
desire for more.
brave or idiotic.
my hands will not be cages
simply curious guests
but they are messy,
clumsy,
they have not yet learned grace
they have not yet learned
how to leave not trace.

06.04.15
it is an  ultimatum
i’ll do something good for myself
we’ll change and get better
or we’ll hurt
then change
and get better.
its time to put a muzzle
on the tyrant that will silence the symptom.

no one carries my hips under their arm
you do not define the structure of my lungs
i made an error
to muffle away my pride
hoping silence would leave room for you kindness
it’s empty

i hear echoes in my own please
you body pressed against my own
repulsed at my repulsion
i should be able to love
you lips
are sour
and my tongue is tired of the rough patch

nature to you
is the criminal tried dishonoring you status of self confinement
to me
the fire licking the mountain
is as sharp and malignant
as it is necessary.
not a lot of people will hear the grass scream

I feel accountable for every last blade of pain

as much as it hurts
i would let it burn.
this is where we are different
I seek to tame the instinct of fight
and flight
to redefine self preservation
with the empathy of acceptance
if that means I have to clench my teeth every time you cut me
i will do so
until my Bite
can no longer pierce skin

5.17.15

she holds me hostage in inquisition and discovery
only shares  ideals and monosyllabic
patterns in plural
mixes.
I float on the river of her body, ears an ache with the pressure of her words
idle
seeking tidlewaves, thunderstorms
I want hurricanes.
guess your never old enough to splash in a puddle

…

no, not for what we had
i cried for what we never experienced

the way the ocean numbs my toes
could never compare to the way the sun kisses my skin

i painted the ridges of  your body
made the limelight
into candlewood
held space for isolation
and found only limitation in the timber
of your mood
swings.

smells of firewood in the morning
of cigarettes
and washed hands mid day
scrolling through laziness and procrastination
only to go to sleep with beer and defeat

and you say i run
when it gets real
well, my fantasies have become reality
and that much may be true my love,
but unlike you
i’m running towards something
At least I’m not stagnant.

 

 

5.5.15

i want to touch the sleeve of her river
i want to un-damn my bloodstream

Perhaps some day I’ll crawl back home, beaten, defeated,
but not as long as i can make stories out of my heart break, beauty out of my sorrow.
if people were rain – she was a drizzle and i a hurricane and i hold
my lungs in the palms of my nervous system because i’ve been stung by a bee twice in my life and i carry an epic-pen with me so i never forget where honey comes from, you will never have to lose yourself to win me over.
Her arms are no branches, her body no trunk,
her feet are not roots.
I’m not held steady nor in compassion. Instead her arms are streams to her river-body, her mind a Pierian spring and my body hers.
temporarily buoyant.
temporarily.