Planning the last date
Similar to planning a funeral
Instead of ordering lilies
I plan on ordering kisses
How many are enough
I know I’ll cry
We can’t stay together
For fear of resentment
I don’t want to use empathy
Like the siren uses her song
Love must be organic
So I grieve
I’ll read Neruda until I get over you
I’ll play Liszt until I move on
But I’m afraid my eyes will tire
And my fingers will bleed
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 2:33 AM UTC
*A spirited moon
'neath furtive glances,
anguished of despair
looked upon hushed
entangled constellations
and heeded a warning,
for he knew well of lavishing
recherché intricacies,
mattered naught how exquisite
nothing lasting could come
of liaisons's effusive grandeur,
'tween clandestine stargazers*
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 2:28 AM UTC
Do not act surprised.
When you treat your friends like ghosts
and they slowly fade.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
I woke up in a fright.
I don't recall last night.
Was I with my crew?
Maybe it has to do,
with the ****** laying to my right.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 2:11 PM UTC
My parents grew up in a town
that everyone drove through
but no one could remember the name of
and the trees grew in perfect rows
like city buildings.
It was a place that had one school with every grade,
one diner that everyone drank coffee at,
and one church that everyone went to
no matter their beliefs.
My parents grew up in a town
where the tombstones outnumbered the people
that hid behind wavy seas of green
where no one can see them
unless you need to place flowers on the mounds
for your own sake.
My parents grew up in a town
where the number one place
for a crime scene
wasn't a dark alley
or ****** bar
but in your own **** living room.
My parents grew up in a town
where tragedy arose like clockwork
yet was always treated as a surprise
solved with
light, feathery words that held
no weight
like a band aid that always
seemed to get ripped off.
And the best way to talk about solutions
was to keep your mouth shut.
Ignorance is the speediest way
to keep your town perfect.
You had to hold on to your own ideas
and choke the others out.
My parents grew up in town
where you could only see the surface
decorated with smiling faces
worn like masks.
and what lies beneath
was only shown to the human eye
when it was too late.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
I'd describe you as
the pale yellow haze before
the coming rain storm.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
I want to wake up
to the richness of your voice.
A voice that looks like floral petals,
smells like fresh rain,
and sounds like the warmth of a
crackling fire.
Your words are light
yet fill the room
so that it swells like your chest
when you breathe.
And once our eyes
lose their fatigue,
we'd open up our rib cages.
and pass secrets like warm bread
while giggling under the blanket
where no one can see us.
We wouldn't need to go
and look at the night sky
because the Christmas lights
would be the stars
and you would be my moon,
shining in the darkness.
I never want to leave your arms.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 12:49 AM UTC
Maybe it was the way I told you.
I rolled my sexuality off the tongue
like sweet milk and honey.
Saying it so casually
I might as well have hands stuck
between pockets of worn in grey sweatpants
complimented with a deep v that goes
down to my belly button.
I said it like the spoken version
of a sticky note
written with my best chicken scratch.
I guess I didn't say it with any more girth
because I felt like I didn't have to.
The picture in my head was
like a short silent film from the 1920's
that only needed two cards
to show what we were saying.
The first saying "I'm not straight",
the second saying "Okay."
Okay as in that's totally normal.
Okay as in I'm happy you've found yourself
Okay as in I'm glad you're comfortable with your sexuality.
Okay as in not a celebration or a witch hunt.
I was not expecting what came after.
Telling me that I was just trying to fit in.
That I didn't know myself well enough.
That I'm a liar.
That I can't be attracted to every gender.
That I'm selfish.
That I had to wait for the "right man".
Comments pouring onto me like a cold shower
entering old wounds
that stung with every syllable
and you got mad when I wanted to get out of the bath
Of course I would get upset
with words trying to make me
disregard the day when I found myself
after long nights
of locking myself under bed sheets
feeling confused and not knowing
how to answer questions I'd ask myself in the mirror.
In someways I don't blame you.
You didn't hear the past in my voice.
You didn't hear the storm
only the calm winds.
But it still hurt,
because these bitter words
flowed from the people
who were supposed to love and support me the most.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
If I were leave tonight,
write poems for me.
Let your words go out further
than I ever could.
Use them to create
elms with branches that curl
in all directions
so that birds can grab to them
like you grab onto your heart.
But when you do,
squeeze out your thoughts
onto paper to keep in touch.
Don't treat your emotions
like a distant neighbor.
If I were to leave tonight,
make sure to explore.
Find new things
to expand your mind
beyond fence posts
set up by yourself.
Look under ever rock
and read about lies beneath.
Let your surroundings be
your greatest teacher.
If I were to leave tonight,
make sure to find someone
you care about.
Treat her like you've never met
a person such as she
Beauty never touched your eyes
until you met her
She makes oceans
move with lips
and fingertips.
Sail them with her.
And hey,
even write a poem for her.
Let her know you care.
And if you leave tonight,
I will do the same,
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC