i stared at the milky way
through the keyhole of your front door
my nose itched
at the linger of stardust on the floor
needless of a space suit
i stepped right through
waving goodbye to the earth
and entering this room
where exists no calendars nor timetables
where we’re made of constellations
no need for labels
realized the earth was a ghost town
at your existence's sight,
no city has a better skyline
than your body laying down
and while the clock on earth swallows up time
chasing the sun as it hides
i am floating with you now
in a heavenly ride
through our celestial silence
so eyes closed
blinded by your cosmic light
i read your skin like braille
most absorbing story anyone could write
i fell for your stars too far down
to be fearful of your night
so i confessed i was your satellite
i will follow wherever you guide
in a supernova you created me
didn't need to give me adjectives
and as your blue and my green collided
a new earth for us was provided
the end of the universe will come
the night your eyelids don't close beside me
the cosmos is curled up inside of us
it's the chaotic beauty of galaxies colliding
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 12:25 PM UTC
I miss spelled you're name purposely.
You're always there when I need you urgently.
I don't think you realize the impact you have on me personally.
5,474.7 km away yet your still by my side.
Thank you for listening through all the times I have cried.
or even confessing to you when I have lied.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
Maybe the end of the universe
does not lie in an explosion
or a hole that breathes black,
maybe it is right here
where stone benches reside
and the raindrops taunt like pesky little children
waiting for you to see them,
loud enough to mimic the silence
loud enough to sound like sorrow.
Maybe this is the end of the universe—
cosmic loneliness.
The stars are in a bitter drink
and the sun lies anywhere but within you
and your moon—why do they say that? To the moon and back?—your moon is a rock in your stomach
and only the fingers of the almost rain
weighs you down on dear, old Earth,
washing you off your tears.
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 10:26 AM UTC
your words exactly:
"i believe our paths were meant
"to intersect,
"but not to sustain.
"to touch,
"but not to cling.
"to meet,
"but not to unite. "
and i still love you,
despite.
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 10:25 AM UTC
. it rides everything
~=~.~=~.~=~.~=~~=~.~=~.~=~
it pulls me in the morning and doesn't let me get out of bed
it keeps me from flying away when i don't want to be here
it makes me fall for pretty strangers and their promises
it lets my fingers drown on my thoughts as i write
it lets senseless words drop from my mouth
it forces people to not dream too much
keep your head on your shoulders
and your feet in the ground
it lets things break
it lets things
die
yet
all those days
that sink and lay
with time will make sense
because gravity rides everything
~=~.~=~.~=~.~=~.~=~~=~.~=~.~=~.~=~
everything falls right into place.
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 3:12 PM UTC
june reminds me of
the calm before a storm
& the calm soft of your fingers
wisps of smoke out the window
shivers on my legs after the river
watching bokeh headlights
with dreamy eyes & a violet sky
cold sheets & loud fans at night
soaked shoes through the sprinklers
vaseline on my lips that i passed onto yours
the ivory scent of your laugh that still lingers
it reminds me of worldly things that now seem out of world
it reminds me of a past yet awaiting life
a blurry memory of who i am
it reminds me of you
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 6:46 AM UTC
i saw it in the warmth of your hand when you played with the soft cold of my fingers. i smelled it in the short distance you kept between us every time we talked; in the way i forced myself not to smile because my mouth, so close to yours, didn't want to show that it wanted you. i touched it when my loud, black-out drunk cries were calmed by your quiet presence while sitting in the bathroom floor. i heard it sing when you called my name from down my window or when you showed me your favorite song. i heard it mourn when you told me that you liked her. i tasted it in your burgundy voice when it whispered that you were sorry and never meant to hurt me. i knew it was love when i forced myself to smile because my watering eyes didn't want to show that they wanted you.
i knew it was love because every time you kissed her i couldn't help but stare and wish i was blind.
i knew it was love because i wrote thousands of poems about you hoping one day you would jump out of the page and be here with me, until i realized your name didn't even jump out on my phone anymore.
i knew it was love because when my mind wandered around you it felt like a perfectly stacked box of cigarettes filled with every moment we shared and all i wanted to do was smoke it all until each cigarette burned out and faded with the thought of you.
however i knew it wasn't love
because the way you glanced at me from across the room can't compare to the way you contemplate her so religiously.
i knew it wasn't love because i wanted to be loved so badly that i accepted the smallest crumb and called myself full.
i'm glad it wasn't love because my name was a wooden ship that would simply break if i forced it into your bottle glass heart.
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 4:09 AM UTC
days handwritten in blue and white,
nights that smell like a past life,
the moments on which i rely
to glance back when i feel deprived,
and i know to be grateful means to remember
that no matter where i go
days will always have sun
and even if i change, i'll always have me
in the night there will always be moon,
yet no day or night can be complete
because i'll never find another you
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 12:24 PM UTC
We could make leaves jealous of the way we are f
a
l
l
i
n
g.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 10:01 AM UTC
you are
the peace after wars
the calm after storms
and everything
insanely beautiful
that shapes after
a tragedy
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 1:04 PM UTC