An open letter to everyone I’ve ever convinced myself I loved. I. I am still sorry. I fear that you were just the first in a long line of men I will be all too willing to bury my loneliness in. II. Now that I’ve figured that you wronged me, I am not ready to forgive. III. I loved you more than you knew, but you were still right: it was not enough. IV. I have learned what the infinite tastes like but I still haven’t learned that people can’t be fixed because they aren’t broken, or that I deserve…
psychosomatic
–> i’ve grown accustomed to the pain. in your absence everything else aches.
Going With The Tides
Going With The Tides A Haiku Pair Loneliness sometimes lingers like cold in your bones and damp in your soul, even when the tides that washed it up have long since moved to other shores.
On the Distribution of One’s Heart
On the Distribution of One’s Heart (A Haiku Quintet) I had given my heart to someone who didn’t know how to hold it. Instead, they cradled it like an adolescent with a stranger’s child: awkward and uneasy, with a fear of falling head first and snapping. I gave my heart to someone who didn’t quite want it and was surprised when they gave it back. They said to keep it safe, but their fingers left bruises.
Drowning
Drowning (A Haiku Pair) I am drowning. You have oversaturated me, but I need it. You overwhelm me. I gasp for air but choking never felt so good.
Going The Distance
Have you ever gone through your personal poetry archives and stumbled upon an old piece that, at the time of writing, you were convinced was absolutely awful, but now that you’ve given it some space, it turns out it wasn’t too bad after all? This piece is one of them. It’s almost a year old and no longer personally relevant, but I hope you like it. Distance pulls heartstrings taut While memory taunts Sighs go unanswered Empty promises fill Where your touch should be. Silence breeds disquiet: I quietly wonder If it’ll be worth it in the end.
Anthology
I would write you everyday. Poems and scribbles and notes, Until you learned The unevenness of my hand The habits of my penmanship The chaos of my scrawl. In a world of dying paper and ink They would save every scrap Torn from the back of notebooks Jotted down on well-folded receipts They would compile anthologies of my sweet nothings Until children who had long forgotten pens and lined paper Would press their fingers into the ink and indentations And know this is what devotion feels like.
Coming Out
I read that we never get to stop coming out. Well I came out to myself the other day, Stepped out of my glass closet for a moment, Well, not so much a class closet than one of those Cabinets old people use to store their china I am transparent, the way I hoard your gifts, Your presents, your presence. I never tell the ones who need to hear it the most. Instead I let it rest on my lips the way I wish yours would And flitter round my tongue the way I want yours to, But I can’t….
Shop Boy Crush
Do you have a lunch break, or do you sustain on cuteness and sheepish smiles? Because if you do, I do too. And i don’t mean to be ambiguous but I do mean both. Because if you don’t have a lunch break, I don’t really need That soup and a sandwich I buy everyday Just that smile… See I’m like a plant except instead of sunshine, I flourish on your shine Because boy do you shine. See I’m more like a flower than anything else, You know, like how they lean to the sun and all? Yeah, that’s my flow…
Hands
I have become enamored with your hands. The way slender fingers join knuckles, Soft palms taper to fine wrists. I cannot look away. Cupping your face, Clasped around knee, Rest belies their strength. Your hands could craft the world if they wanted to.