When I feel down
I like to think on all the phases in which I've loved you.
From the fragile flame of our brief beginnings,
To the tangled legs and songs of our second chance,
And I smile every time
I come back to the present,
And dwell in the me that belongs with you.
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 12:03 AM UTC
As the caterpillar sheds its skin
And digests itself
So too must I.
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 5:19 PM UTC
Was there ever a time
When fear and neurosis
Didn't slam dance their way out
Of the birdcage between my armpits?
When did my ears not ring with tinnitus
Lines on repeat like
"They don't care."
And
"You're worthless."
When did I stop treading water?
When did I start using loved ones as life rafts,
Shoving them beneath the surface
If only for one quick gasp of air?
When did the sadness get so immense,
It formed its own gravitational pull?
Like a black hole in space,
******* in all the surroundings.
When did I stop feeling like enough?
Like the moment a meteor earns its "-ite,"
Epiphany has struck and leaves a trail of realization.
All that remains
Is the decision to make things right.
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 2:35 PM UTC
I cannot tell anymore
If the silence he resonates
Is the defense he fronts
To keep the closing cage of commitment at bay
A gentle reprieve from the fears divebombing like magpies
Or if this new wave is the end.
If this darkness and muffled cries
Are a direct correlation to my bad days
Overwhelming him
Forcing him in that car
Taking him hundreds of miles away
And telling me "I can't help you."
But he can't see
I never wanted him to ride in like a savior
I don't need to be rescued.
I just wanted to show him my soul
And for him to look, really look,
And tell me he loved me.
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 10:11 AM UTC
He told me he loved me once
I still do.
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 10:00 AM UTC
They told me what didn't **** me would make me stronger.
They lied.
What didn't **** me made me damaged,
Defective, unable to function at "acceptable" levels.
Traumatic experiences didn't build some great wall to fortify my resolutions in life
Instead, they shook my foundations with ferocity,
Slashing cracks down my walls, crumbling rooms to rubble
They planted bombs for later,
Little surprises once the aftershocks faded
With triggers tucked away safe, wrapped up like gifts.
No, what didn't **** me made me want to disappear
Over, and over, and over.
And even almost 7 years later,
There are still detonators being uncovered.
Sure, now I know the paths to avoid
The piles of broken memories, loneliness, and displacement
To keep out of sight.
And still,
There are some days, but mostly nights
When the bombs go off in succession
And I have to bring myself back from the dark
Over. And over. And over.
And there are some nights
Where I'm the one holding the switch
I'm the one willing my world to explode into shrapnel.
And someone else has to bring me back
Over. And over.
They lied.
What doesn't **** you doesn't make you stronger,
It makes you a survivor, even if you sometimes don't want to survive.
And it leaves you with the scars every survivor bears,
Seen and unseen.
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 11:58 PM UTC
There are secrets buried in the freckles on your elbow.
Stories, memories, dreams
All interwoven with epithelial cells and sunlight.
When I first realized I loved you
I found myself captivated by essence of star you carried in your skin
Like Sirius, embodied.
But now that my eyes have adjusted to your brilliance,
I instead ponder the depths of the tales each freckle could tell.
You are endless, intricate, effervescent man, you
Are your own night sky of constellations.
Tell me a story?
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 12:46 AM UTC
You were always better at love poems
Which is truly a tragedy
Because now who will write you the eloquence you deserve?
There is something terribly fitting, and yet sad,
That when I think of how to write for you,
"Your Song" immediately comes to mind.
However, unfortunate for you, it's also true.
If I had anything better to express these wavelengths vibrating in my chest,
I would do it, to show you the depth, volume, mass of my affection
For the way you hair only knows how to grow up,
For your hobbit-like, animated toes,
For hands so perfect, Michelangelo couldn't have done it better,
For the ever-shifting newness of your irises;
But as previously lamented,
I have nothing but words.
Even more unfortunate for you, love
I was always more of a math brain.
Ah! If only there was a formula,
One where x equals the buzzing in my knee caps when you're standing close enough to touch,
And y equals the deepest secret that cummings tried to explain,
Where there's a tree and a sky and bud.
Something I could quantify,
Like how your star sign and mine dance around the earth with one another.
How it all means nothing by itself, just some shots in the dark
But because of love, some of those shots meet their target.
One day I'll write you a love poem,
A real one.
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 4:21 AM UTC
I have a horrible tendency to take things too personally
To the point of tears and anger and losing my temper to the Aries hiding in my chest.
I cling tight to past wrongs and embarrassments, much longer than I suppose I should.
I criticize to the point of cruelty, a dark narrative of flinging insults from one lobe to another,
But don't worry, I get my fair share.
I judge more often than a public servant, and my sentences are always strict.
I wage war on a social anxiety that is, was, and always will be myself,
And even if the anxiety recedes, the weariness of battle ensures a losing result.
I live to escape the life I'm living;
In the stories I read, I am the brave one, the right one, the fearless daredevil:
I exercise regularly, do back flips as a hobby, and have no fear of microphones.
I talk entirely way too much about myself.
Give me a crisis and I'll make it about me.
Tell me you're having a hard time right now,
And it'll somehow be my fault.
If it's not my fault,
It'll somehow become about how my relationship with my mother has deteriorated to me listening to her last voicemail to me two years ago
Or how I fell through the rotten floor of our trailer when I was nine.
Can't think of a subject? I'll just talk about myself.
Don't believe me? Just read this poem.
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 12:03 AM UTC
I don't have to fall asleep with the TV on anymore.
The sullen silence waiting in the click of a light switch
Doesn't intimidate my eyelids anymore.
I don't stare at the glow in the dark stars
Placed on my ceiling long before I was ever an occupant.
Their soft green glow isn't necessary to still my uncertainties.
When I close my eyes,
I smile when the still-frame of your face arrives
I can wiggle my toes and cling to my blankets a little tighter
Wishing, longing it was you in my arms.
No more holding back my love for you
With the dam of Bee Arthur's and Betty White's voices.
No more counting the number of breaths until I fall asleep.
No more,
Because somewhere outside my cheap mini-blinds,
Under the same moon and stars
There you are, living a life where you love me, too.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 11:43 PM UTC