My Little Pony makes me think of papaw.
Weekend visits with Saturday cartoons,
We’d sit in the living room together and watch tv
Or read the newspaper.
He’d whistle so softly that my ears would strain to hear it.
Then he’d fall asleep and small snores left him in
Tiny puffs of breath.
The newspaper lay forgotten in his lap.
Eventually, he’d wake up and try to act as though
He’d been awake the whole time.
“That one is Applejack, right?” he’d ask
And although it was obviously Fluttershy,
I would ask playfully if he watched it when I wasn’t there.
But, overtime
The snores darkened
And the breath more shallow.
I began to listen more to his breath than the show,
And watch the rise and fall of his chest instead of the screen.
I waited on edge for him to wake up.
And he would.
Except, he stopped waking up last year.
His snores evaporated
And his breath died.
And with that,
So did my love for my little pony.

At what point does love become love?
When the butterflies become eagles flying in your stomach,
And your heart skips too many beats?

Does it start when you come together
and your eyes connect like old friends.
your hands meeting like they’ve been apart for too long.
When there is too much distance between your knees
And not enough time in the day to look at them.

Does love come after you’ve carved your names in the sandstone behind your house?
wrote their name on the corner of your paper,
As if they are your new sun.

Or is  love when you talk to them while they ****.
And sit naked to talk
Or after you adopt two dogs,
Begin step-fathering a cat
Begin the process of adopting another cat
And mourning the loss of two pups along the way
All while having a child of your own

Is it when you agree to argue,
because the relationship is so perfect, it leaves no room for anger?
When passion is so bright that marks are left and cherished?
And each day is the first time that they smiled at you,
The first time you kissed, touched, yelled.

Love is hearing that people knew you two were getting together
Long before either of you did.
Knowing what the other wants without even thinking about it

Love is buying socks for Christmas
And not being disappointed.
Buying candles that you both like.
Never cleaning the house when you say you will.

Sleeping with two blankets but never feeling separated
Compromising on the small things
Struggling together for the big  

It is seeing them pack on a few pounds
And wish they would put on more.
Because each pound in another that you can love
And hold.


Love doesn’t come from the big infatuations
the loud confessions on rooftops
Or swimming pools full of rose petals.
And diamonds on a weekday
It is the soft shelled,
Gross
mess
that makes every day more amazing than the last.

Soft vibrations
waft through the air and
touch my ears like water on the edge of the pier.
They caress and ******
as if they know that I'm close to shattering my own walls.
I can barely feel them press against my teeth
barely taste the copper laced with sugar as they slide down my throat
and can't even feel them wrap around my lungs.

with your upturned nose
so naturally, you were born to be ******.
Your hands so genetically set at a predisposition to
wrap around your own throat.
Whilst your heart yearns and aches for every heartthrob story out there.
You walk around like the world is inside you.
As if you are neither too good to be on top,
but not good enough to uphold it.
You act as if you represent human nature in all of your flaws
instead of admitting to yourself that you have low impulse control.
I noticed you haven't been wearing shoes lately
you pretend to like the way the textures of Earth feel on your skin
but I am you
so I know you're only wishing to cut your feet.
The world looks so small through your telescope eyes,
so far from the ground even though you are standing on it.
Nothing makes you more special than the times you look away,
when the light hits the scar on your forehead.
Of course, you don't know this.
You're too busy thinking of other things,
wrapped inside your mind like a blanket.
This is a reminder to breathe.
To look in the mirror like you love it.
And to let yourself feel something beyond what's fake.

She crackles like a campfire
Looking
And listening.
Still feral.

Wild eyes.
Big as moons,
And a maze.
Piercing.

She moves with purpose
But stops to smell the roses.
Feels but never touches
Hears
And always tastes.

Leaving copper on your tongue.
Debates spark at her footsteps.
Hello she says
Just as fast as goodbye

Lightning with no storm
She is beautiful.
In every way