I only really get like that for things i genuinely care about—
I don’t care about poetry,

but i do care about you.

And a lot of other people.
So when i speak genuinely it comes off that way

i want a love that is selfless
a love that make you hate yourself
because of how good they are

i want a love that is warm
that you can sink into
where getting up is a foreign concept

i want a love that is an orange
split between two without thinking
deep under the tree it grew

and lastly i want a love that is easy
a love that happens slowly
and a love that is unnoticeable

be the vines,
exist slowly. cautiously.

crawl up, looking for any
footholds to expand your reach.

exist violently.
tear down the bricks of
the building you conquered

and above all else—

rise to the top of what you hate the most.

a man crested his hill, he viewed the world around him. never before had he seen such ferociousness.

he was viewing something no souls had ever encountered. he was, for the first time in his life, the first.

he fell to his knees— water crashed below, as the tangles of pine closed in on his frail form.

he believed the world built this view for him, and only him. only— the world built this view for no reason.

the serendipity of the hill he collapsed on was marveled by the man. he wept. alone, in a world only he would ever see exactly as is.

cries to the heavens were silenced. his own drive to rise again fell off the cliff face. he simply watched.

vines creeped up his torso. snakes nestled under his legs. his hair melted with the spring thaw, then washed away with the rain.

his eyes never faded. his mind never dulled. he simply sat and waited. he waited for god to extend His hand.

what else should one do in front of the sublime?

you were the one who
smiled at me from across the room
just to keep our secret.

you were the one who drove
and drove and drove endlessly just
to show me your favorite song.

you were the one who held my hand
under the blanket we shared
in a room full of people.

you were the one who got excited
when you thought that just maybe
i was excited too.

you were the one who held me as we woke
and would do things that
showed me you felt like yourself.

you were the one who showed a small bit
of who you really are
and left me scrambling for more—

and now you are the one who never calls,
the one who never looks,
and the one who never happened at all.

who are you to me?

why must i always
uncover the unknown—
is it not enough
to follow what i know?

or are you just
unknown to me?
incapable of showing
and preferring to leave.

in your stomach, in your lungs—
what is it you’re running from?

to my core, all for the fun,
but in the end i’ll run towards your gun.