she would write words
upon her hand on a whim,

words like
burn, drown, essence, crescent,
jingle, irony, scheme,
and i did not understand why.

when she would get
frustrated, and that line
would come between her brow,
she would begin to touch her face,
as she always did

and the ink would smudge
and smear and color her cheeks,
eyes, nose, a dark, deep, blue

and i still did not understand why,
until one time i asked her,
"why do you write on yourself?"

and she replied,
pen in hand,
"i wish to be a poem."

Me?
I reached for a star
and came back with the moon.

Its wild in here

yet so peaceful

your love has made a forest out of me

There's a place
in this world
that's safe
and I want you to see,
I don't care if it hurts,
crash into me.