I am not the thoughts that parade themselves one moment and light themselves ablaze the next. I am not the painful memories encased in a golden hue. I am not the shame loyally waiting by my bedside each night, nor the shame that rears her head whenever I mention my allergies, nor the shame that…
I keep falling in love with a history that doesn’t belong to me, the faces continually change but there is always a “you” and always a “me” and so I bury this “you” and that “you” in this mental ex-friend, ex-boyfriend, ex-lover, ex-whatever graveyard I’ve roped off in my head courtesy of all these people…
I find myself flocking to the inbox of someone new nearly every day— what is it about constant correspondence I crave so much? It is the skeleton of intimacy, the shavings of human interaction and interconnectivity and somehow I’ve duped myself into believing that it is enough for me.
If I accept, will you build me into your cobblestone patio let me dig my fingers into the earth to fill every crack with the green that seeps out from underneath? Will you bury me and all our secrets in your garden so no one can distinguish between the seeds that plant peas and the…
I let go of you faster than a sneeze, you slipped between my fingers and although I practiced holding you memorized all your ridges, I quickly realized I was never meant to hold you.
There are galaxies inside you, sometimes they pirouette make you point your toes in some direction you’ve never known but what you do know is that there are so many kinds of love to fill you up.
Don’t Maul the Lion-Tamer
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…
To the Black-capped Chickadee
I love you because you chirp no matter the weather.
Dust on My Headboard
Well, I’m not sure if “Love is a dog from hell,” because love hasn’t called love hasn’t showed up on my doorstep just ‘cause, love hasn’t texted, love has only left dust on my headboard.
You were so familiar running my fingers over the keys of this old typewriter almost Like I’d written your name before, but when I pressed the first letter of your name, years of rust both upheld & defended the key from landing.