I am tired of searching for myself in the arms of someone else, I am impatient to heal from the wounds you inflicted and the wounds I inflict on myself, so I try to pass the time by counting every red and white stripe in this tent I can find. When I get tired of…
I love you because you chirp no matter the weather.
I am not interested in only half of your attention I want to be the axis upon which your world turns, the cure for your drooping daffodils.
I wanted to run my fingers through your long hair reaching like wisps of branches toward the sky grip you tight by the roots and remind you who controls the wind that rustles your leaves who controls the rain to relieve your thirst and who controls the sun to warm your soul.
Anxiety is feeling like the universe will grab me by the ankle hang me upside down and shake me loose of all my integrity.
It feels like fire in my bones punishing me for overindulging— what a sinner I have become.
When I’m old and it’s time for me to leave this earth, paint me in green in honor of the moss which grows across the abandoned train station, across the stumps and rocks that flirt with sunlight in the woods.
“You are infinite,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear with one of her wrinkled hands etched with all the memories of her trips, “Stay curious and let yourself enjoy life,” she said, bowing her head to look at me over the top of her glasses, a small smile hovering over her…
When I think of you, my body feels heavy weighed down by 10 years of memories that never cease to scamper around my brain like field mice on an August afternoon.
You mistook me for the village on the mountainside, you didn’t realize I was the whole damn mountain— rivers and creeks and patchy trees snowy peaks and blankets of green. You were just a traveler who left your muddy boots where you pleased never caring to wipe your feet and starting fires for fun in…