the kind of sad that doesn’t fit
anywhere. mine to keep. the world lets so many
things exist i’ll never learn to
words come only when i’m the solitary
it’s not your fault, it’s nobody’s fault
our parents could have taught us but the ugly keeps them
who wants to speak of that?
you say you are
and i think of all the times you were my
i hate these tears because they make you
you are too good for the
i’m not going to be happy
and i’m doomed to be
because i don’t want to be swaddled in your sugar coated comfort blanket ?
i’m sorry that you believe love is only true if you suppress all of your satisfying, swelling feelings until the day someone wants to reproduce with you
and that you have to cover your most tender, lovely parts in ugly underwear and that on your wedding night both of you will
look the other way
it’s unfortunate that your God only likes you if you give him all your money and hate the right things
and that your life is a dichotomy of
knowing you are superior to everyone who didn’t happen to grow up with your doctrine pinned to their shirt
& knowing that if you don’t color inside of religion’s lines just so
and what if that still, small voice is actually doubt
and you spend your entire human existence trying to prove it wrong
by passive-agressively pushing your fear towards others
it’s sad that you’ll make yourself small for a potential outcome
while i’ll grow, grow, grow because i am boundless
you are too, but you don’t know it so you’ll pollute your potential with petty
yes, there’s a (pretty) fucking ring in my nose and some (meaningful) fucking ink on my skin and your son and i (beautifully) fuck each other
your high horse has wobbly legs and thanks but
i will determine my own
light autumn rain drops
smear the words being delicately written:
if i were pregnant, i would never wear a shirt so everyone could see
i don't know why i thought of that as i was
talking you to sleep, i thought it and didn't say it and then heard you say, 'i want you always'
so quiet i could hear your eyelashes scraping against my skin
your breath is the forest and i think about when walking and smoking and trying to find new things in the same.
remember the first time we touched each other?
now sometimes i feel guilty for taking up all the happy, especially when you put your lips a half second away from mine and the tiny things mean everything.
the walls are bleeding and my fingers are
melting into your skin.
on the back porch, the sky is voluptuous with rain and i’m crying because everything is electric and so, so beautiful
you give me one of those hugs that makes every bone in my back pop into place and then say,
i’ll never hurt you
it’s amazing how you can let go and feel
standing in the wet street, my feet are muddy and i know the moon is shining on my bare legs even though when i look in the sky there is only
it's just that
when we are laying in the crumpled sheets
and your belly is folded into my back like the tide folds into the
i keep thinking:
this is the most important art i'll ever make
happiness is a slant of sunshine that only
my cheek when i'm with you, darling.
i want to know what makes people drift so that i can blow kisses at them and go the opposite
my heart missed the lesson on holding back
i swallowed my pride and got
i'll tell you in the smallest ways until the right way
comes to me,
i'll leave you notes in obscure places and kiss your feet
you are the butterfly branched from the moth,,,
and you are worth the wait.
i’m afraid of social encounters, of getting close but no closer, of meaning nothing to another person, everything, anything, the wrong thing. i’m afraid of looking around and realizing i don’t really know shit about those i love. i don’t feel okay unless i lay on the floor at least once a day because there are so many things i want to touch but can’t-
like the rim around his iris or the unspoken thoughts that tie us all into invisible knots or the pain it must be to live in a house where your dad once drank coffee and read the paper and pet the cat, but now he’s dead and you still have to walk around pretending he isn’t in every inch of every room.
i have to lay on the floor because it’s tangible, reliable, forcing every bone to stay still, to stop trying to float to some impossible place where i’d be allowed to run my fingers across everything and try every emotion there is on for size
so i could stop fucking guessing.
how does one pain differ from another? why does cancer take everyone good? why didn’t he tell me he had gone blind, that day i went to visit? why didn’t his parents cry? why is 4 years later and he still fills pages of my thoughts when there were so many people closer to him?
all the good in me came from you
i’d be bad if it meant you could live the life you wanted to
the best poem i ever wrote was slipped into a journal and never read because he was afraid of the words
i can’t get enough of you
my neck hurts from trying to sleep without you
life is easily divided into two categories:
things that don't matter being first
and then there's
red patterned morning light drapes your eyelashes and the thing about love is
it's not falling so much as
faster than my head can make words for. so my cheek is on your chest, and i keep opening my mouth as if it will all come out just right
sometimes things are too big for explaining,
like the way you let me use your toothbrush and how the word guileless reminds me of you and how
i'd be hiding,darkening,drowning if we never
it's okay, though. because when i wake up, your arms are my blanket and
unlike a dream
this is real.
'i want you'
i think that means more than one thing
half open eyelids don't lie
the sun is slanting on your feet and how effortlessly my back curves into your belly scares me because
i'm always falling in love with what is right in front of me
and this might be different.
'the world needs more people like you'
i had a dream that i was on a bus to the Great Salt Lake
dark blue, foamy waves enclosing us,
and when we got there nothing mattered.
i really, really, really have no place in thinking you're a fucker
given the bed i sleep in most nights.
since i'm seeking a convenient justification:
you silently abandoned ship
as if i know how to read a fucking map or shapes in the stars
regrets, resentment, apologies
what's the point
not worth it
i've got more love for you than i'll never know what to do with
even when i'm already climbing the next tree and you are god knows where
unconditional was not a lie.
asking all the questions but the hardest one
- - - - -
when you say you want to cry because you’re sorry, i want to weep because i don’t believe in apologies
- - - - -
the almost blue sky is suffocatingly beautiful. unfamiliar bed and an all too familiar feeling. limbo limbo limbo under this invisible bar;backbending for the small things, the intangible things. like the dark green around your iris, or the slight, instinctual brush against my cheek.giveandtakegiveandtakegiveandtake,give
-i love you
-i can’t answer that truthfully
- - - - -
i walk outside in the dark and there you are, blowing dandelions with your back on the grass, a friend who shows up when i don’t realize i need it
- - - - -
‘you seem like the type of girl who has never had to watch a dream die’
- - - - -
justification for not sleeping: why the fuck break a perfectly handsome insomnia streak? also, music.
- - - - -
roofs, cigarettes, porches, cigarettes, satisfyingly self destructive habits, Tom Waits, coffee black as the nicotine inside
- - - - -
i finally grew a voice,
and it scared you away.
the promise of lips upon mine will be the last fucking thing holding me to this
my dad says, the McGinnis curse is our undying, romantic hearts.
i said the 3 words
and i think he's right.
your beauty is not
starlit and soft,
kiss me clear as your half Brazilian eyes
clear as laughter that fills me:
i am your cup
press your lips to my edges and
liquid turns solid turns gas
the properties are the same,
as is love
changing but not changed.
if heaven is not liberation,
heaven is our cheeks brushing just as they should.
i'm too drunk to tell you i love you
whiskey runs in hot waves, but never makes it to the coldest parts
the contrast sends me
high above these doubtful clouds,
your wet lips could bring me down
the place that feels familiar on the back of my tongue ---
new, like a drop down the window
your voice,your voice,your voice
i can feel your art
it's in the heartbeat of your palm
a springtime thunderstorm that might drizzle or might defiantly dump
i'd stand with outstretched tongue
if only for one
of your honeydew compositions ; sunflower symphonies.
your diamond skin is
as you dream in orchestrated swells.
i can feel your art
when our heartbeats caress
take it off,
dump it on my floor. let the the sound of the thud
fill us both.
excited heart in the dark;
i know your presence is more or less an apology
a sorry for not calling or not thinking or not knowing how to let your love lay just right
eyes closed so that you can have the satisfaction of surprise. as if my body doesn’t leap into exaltation the second you enter my orbit
this bed is miles long as you arrange yourself on top ,
snowflake lips upon neck and the unadulterated words: