I know that I have loved more
than I have loved less.
And I have slept through nights in
unsure places;
written letters just in case.
And I have woken up with just enough promise that the earth had to still be turning on its axis.
I have lived through days that I
thought wouldn’t exist.
Futures have become pasts and
moments I thought I would never reach
have been held in my hands just long enough.
I have trusted this vessel of a body to
keep me upright even when my
knees have collapsed and even when
my voice has rattled in my throat
like a warning sign.
I have seen nothing and I
have held onto everything and I know
that I have loved more
than I have loved less.
Sep 12, 2019
Sep 12, 2019 at 5:47 PM UTC
when reading of icarus i
cannot help but fear the crushing weight of king minos combined with the over-zealous
wit of daedalus.
for icarus was perhaps too prideful;
met with a moment of weakness;
adrenaline coursing through his veins;
and a sheer loss of control
blinded by the highest point of the sun
in a blooming sky.
perhaps even he failed
to head his father’s warning
as the burning wax of his wings
melted upon his shoulders.
yet king minos sentenced daedalus
and too his son,
who later fell to the fate of his father’s own design.
not once
but twice.
not once,
but twice -
but twice,
but twice a child
returned with confidence
to his father.
and the ringing in my head still continues to be that the child is not to blame for
the sins of the father.
the child does not carry
the sins of the father.
so it goes that in the end
daedalus was granted athena’s wings ever-soaring.
perhaps in grief;
perhaps in empathy;
perhaps by the grace of a woman’s forgiving touch.
but icarus still drowned in the spring.
and the ploughing of the fields
remained uninterrupted as his scorched
waxen body fell into
the jowls of the sea.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 6:00 AM UTC
lately,
my heart
has been louder
even in echo than my head and
i am here
trying to navigate the oceans between
too much and not
enough.
looking ever-closer to where i think
the peaks of mountains
can be measured between fingertips;
measured between dividers;
backed by a steady needle’s weight.
a sea claimed Bering
through a marshy coastline
lit only by oil and torch -
where buoyancy can balance
treacherous watery routes and
rough, shaky hands can trace the
pulling of sails through knots
towards the exhaling light of an imminent shore.
though i am unsure of the differences between finger-lengths,
am i holding back
because i cannot accurately predict
the pulls of the moon;
the swells of tides;
the seasons of rough storms?
perhaps even the spark of embers against my heaving backbone -
and what of the humming gears of sentience
in my chest?
am i holding back because
what i lay in permanence always meets
a spray of waves?
the crash of undercurrents against the breath leaving
your lips? -
currents that unapologetically meet
the rise of the earth and the
curve of your back
forcing the Weems
to stretch for topography that maybe even my knees cannot lock against.
go down with the ship,
i will swallow the grasp reflex that builds
in my throat and in my palms.
a million times over i will meet the breaking of every tensile structure in my body
if it means catching your swell.
and like the greek merchant’s ship cast deep into the dead sea’s belly,
i will be overcome with every ounce of your pressure
even if every time
i am fated to lose the rise and fall of my lungs to salt water;
to a watery grave;
to knit sheets and a sailor’s prayer;
a promise of ever-lasting life.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 2:59 AM UTC
i would have let you
make me into poetry
given you a map of my skin
taken your fingertips to my lips so you could push your thumb to my teeth
and guide the love letters from my throat
up to dance upon my tongue
leading every word to rest
gently upon your neck.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
i swear my heart mimics
the crescendo of the ocean’s tireless hum
and i am overcome with both solace and grief in knowing that my own rhythm will fall in defeat long before the waves ever stop crashing into the shore
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 10:22 PM UTC
lately //
i’ve been making a noose of my own heartstrings //
but my father is a fisherman who taught me that the best knots don’t slip //
so i carry a bowline in my pocket for security and a tangled mess of forevers on my sleeve.
But I’ve also been tying anchor bends since i realized my grip was not equal to atlas’ shoulders.
And what a cruel paradox that is //
to think that a god can carry the earth beneath our feet but our hands // molded from clay and mud in the same image //could never be enough of a last resort to anchor our hearts in our chests.
so the loophole here,
so to speak,
is the anchor bend knot //
but! //
you know what’s funny about loopholes actually?? // you see, they were made to allow arrows to be shot from an opening // but the structure of that opening prevents counter arrows from being shot back in.
such an invention is why it’s always been nearly impossible to storm a castle’s wall and my, // have many a noble men fallen at the feet of such entrances.
so nowadays, i carry my trusty bowline //alongside the endless loopholes of those old-fashioned anchor bends.
however, I’m sure you know that the bowline is regarded as “the knot of all knots” right? it’s good for tying just about anything without give.
but the first time i ever went sailing // i learned about the round turn and two half hitches. this knot is pretty cool because the more tension you apply to the rope, the tighter the knot will get //
highly reliable for most things.
i guess the irony here is that // i am personally, most identifiable with this knot.
i don’t really ever use it. i am not a sailor or a fishermen. but i do have a really bad tendency of fastening myself to things that have a lot of pull.
the tightening tension of it
is similar to the mythical 13 knots in a hangman’s noose and what an incredibly genius stroke of engineering.
to think that the masterful art of knot-tying comes down to the basic idea that a knot will hold under tension is simply and utterly graceful without fault.
but here’s the thing;
as soon as i learned to tie a knot that won’t slip,
i taught myself the hangman’s knot:
a knot that essentially slips, but still holds merciless tension around its victim.
i’ve been tying nooses with what causes me the most pain.
with what bleeds the most love //
but as the one and only descendant of my father, the great fisher king,
i am starting to learn that if the knot slips,
you cut the line and start again.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 10:14 PM UTC
Is chaos really
Attracted to chaos?
I found love in serenity.
And it's daft to think
That I,
A hurricane,
Could be attracted to
The eye.
The stillness,
The calm.
The confident,
The independent,
The strong...
But I,
A never-ending causality,
Can possess
Love for
Absolution.
"Forgive me father
for I have sinned,"
I stumble breathlessly on my admission.
"I have found mercy."
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 1:41 AM UTC
And by all that is holy,
I will take Adam's rib
from my chest telling God,
"I am not made from man's image."
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 2:49 PM UTC
Kind eyes, you are hollow.
My chest caves in with every word.
"I love you" weighted on each end.
The inhale sharp with longing,
forming words I hardly know.
And every exhale brings you back to me,
every ending circles you around.
I don't recognize the words.
"I love you" hinders on safety,
while we border urgency.
Our arms grabbing what we have left.
Desperately pulling ourselves back up.
Drawing us together again with every
"I love you,"
paired with every
"I'm sorry."
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 8:39 PM UTC
You are Monday mornings,
breathless; exhausting.
And I,
I am hues of blue,
shades of red;
deep and sunken in.
You are the stream of light
peeking through my curtains
beckoning to me:
*"Wake up tenderly.
The sun will not wait
for you."*
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 5:33 PM UTC