i always seem to be sitting
in the middle of intersections
like a traffic light that hasn't
hung itself yet, always
seem to be waiting in the
middle of the ghost town
of where our love was first
built. there's a hospital
down the road where the
waiting room chairs are
much more morbid than
the hospital beds and
every electric heart rate
line sitting on the screen
of the heart monitors flatten,
make long beeping sounds
like an alarm clock, like a
wake up call; they make
long beeps like the ringing
i hear inside of the phone
when i call the owner of
the voice mail i've seem to
have made a home out of.
they took every place
we kissed and turned it into
a church that closes on
Sundays and holds a choir
full of people that lost their
voice in their own war. i've
been in the line for the
confessional for about two
years now because every
time i go up to say how
badly i want you to feel it
back, i let the girl wearing
your t-shirt cut in front of
me. the sidewalks only
seem to crack when they
remember how it felt
when you walked on them,
when you gave the ground
its purpose. one of these
nights the traffic lights will
come to their senses,
drop into the intersection
and crumble right next to me
because it's not like they have
anything to stop or at least
slow down because this is
a ghost town, & nothing is coming back.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
You may not have been birthed in the soil,
and granted,
you will not blossom
when spring melts winters wake
but inside of you
grows a thousand gardens
full of exploding stars.
You are of the earth
and your ashes
have been constructed with stardust,
and set free with the wind.
So you may not have a pretty face,
and your body may hold stories
of too many moonless nights alone.
But if you reach inside,
you will find a forest
for a ribcage
and a restless ocean heart.
So don't ever let anyone tell you
you are nothing.
You are a galaxy
holding a million different planets,
and my dear,
that is not nothing.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
i feel like maybe if i keep writing,
no matter this distance between us, you'll hear me.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
11:16 PM
each time i attempt to sleep, each time
i try to push and shove the thought of you out of my head, i fail. miserably.
1:27 AM
every moment spent with you engulfs my brain. every smile, every laugh we shared, the time you first asked if you could kiss me. an ocean full of memories i'm drowning in.
2:01 AM
i realize my days and nights have lingered on for weeks now and still you aren't here, nor anywhere near. still you are away. still you are there. while i remain here, in this bed, hopelessly missing you. hoping wherever you are, that you are hopelessly missing me too.
2:33 AM
i realize you'll never be here.. ever.
2:47 AM
my bed feels so empty and i can't stop tracing over the place where your body once filled the empty space. keeping the other half of my sheets warm.
3:13 AM
you've managed to make it through another night of running through my head. i keep scratching down things that will allow you to escape my brain and rest on my pages, but i stopped, because i got jealous of the pages, and wanted you to rest in my arms.
6:39 AM
the sun is starting to peek through my blinds. his eyes now opening, waking up to kiss the horizon good morning. i prepare to close mine, forcing myself to sleep, and imagine kissing yours goodnight.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
When the lights go down
We look at each other
And you follow the curve of my face
Before your lips make one of their own
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
1049
Pain has but one Acquaintance
And that is Death—
Each one unto the other
Society enough.
Pain is the Junior Party
By just a Second’s right—
Death tenderly assists Him
And then absconds from Sight.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
The day you broke
I knew.
I was asleep in a bunkbed
in a campground that was all too
silent.
I woke to a thump I had heard
on the roof
and I thought
maybe it's ghosts
maybe it was hers.
That camp was meant to cure
my selfishness,
I had lost my freckles
my lungs
my calluses
it was meant to find the forest
as a new health because
I couldn't keep my shoulders back
far enough to help myself
It reminded
me of your slouched posture and
crying together
on piano benches
The day after Jess died
I hated her as much as you did.
I found out through a facebook post
and climbed the nearest
mountain.
stumbled over rotten logs,
ripped my pants
trying to get a cell phone signal.
you didn't answer.
I cried for an hour
because I was 300 miles away
and I knew you were too.
I am sorry that I ever
let my mind wander into the
darkness that hers fell to
because I know that
that could have been me
3 months before
but you helped me not to.
When I was trapped
by darkness
you were my lighthouse.
Singing with you
is the best I ever feel.
The air that awakens my lungs
at the exact moment as yours,
gives me the clarity I
was searching for
in that campground
I hope you find it too.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC