i want to be held, i want it to be patient
i know i've lost myself a hundred times before
won't you hold me in the pain of stagnation
and let me weep a hundred times more
i look at my face and i barely see me
i'm not the person you loved
i'm not the person i want to be
she's tired
she's tired
9h ago
Jun 3, 2026 at 12:59 PM UTC
feet dangling from the side of our bed
diagonal orientation as soon as i fled
plastic cups and eco straws
coffee with the top inch sipped off
horse barn and philly jawn
feed the earth and **** your lawn
eyeshadow and lined lips
***** hair, tulip tree picnic
laying me down
lifting me up
carving the lino
stamping the cut
music from the eighties
the unironic listening of yung gravy
where stem meets art
where i go to fall apart
my rock my doe
my love my jo
May 22
May 22, 2026 at 11:42 AM UTC
in the fourth hour
of the early morning
my wakefulness
is met with your sleepy stillness
your lips, puffy and pink
dimly illuminated by the
lights of the city,
creeping through our window,
unapologetic.
your eyes create crescent moons
your cheeks, gentle mountains
your unkempt hair
spilling over your pillow
wild and free
you are a work of art
i extend my hand to meet your face
allowing myself to indulge in
the warmth of you
stroking your cheeks
running my fingers through your hair
in your ambit,
the passage of time
is no affliction
it is a gift. it is heaven. it is everything. there couldn’t possibly be enough, time.
enough time.
enough time for you, for me, for us
enough time.
to touch your face,
to watch you as you sleep,
to hold your shaking hands,
to miss you even when you’re not far
to call you on a long drive
to sit together in the stale cool air of autumn
to sit together
in pain
in laughter
in sorrow
in joy
in uncertainty
in forgiving
in understanding
in love.
Feb 11, 2024
Feb 11, 2024 at 8:41 AM UTC
there’s a certain peace
that comes with our noisy little apartment
west of the city, still within its bounds
a chirping bird, the bell of the trolley
a siren wailing in the distance
wind rustles through the leaves of the shingle oak outside our bedroom window
brown and crisp, they’ll likely hold on till spring
light peers through our window, facing east
illuminating the plant that was carefully placed there
every day, waiting, for its moment in the sun
I turn to face you.
you’re heavy and warm
lips pursed ever so slightly in your slumber
stirring
as our little cat tip toes
around your head,
looking for a place to settle in
I lean my weight into you
and I am met with the warmth of your touch
molding my body to fit the shape of yours
as you indulge in your Saturday slumber
the trolley screeches against the tracks
as the bird continues to sing it’s tune
my cat finds herself settled at my feet
and I, entangled in you.
Jan 13, 2024
Jan 13, 2024 at 9:48 AM UTC
maybe it’s the societal overload of dopamine
that make moments of stillness so stale, so dry, so unbearably empty
like a clap and an echo in a hollow auditorium
shouting into the void, met only with a reflection of me
Longing for connection
Hand pressed against a pane of glass
ear pressed against a corded phone
in this prison of my own creation
Jan 11, 2024
Jan 11, 2024 at 2:36 PM UTC
chacos
messy bun
brown hair
brown eyes
baking a pie
holding hands in the grocery aisles
contagious laughter
an amazing actor
the kindest smile
the warmest cuddles
playing the bass
kissing my face
reading hallmark cards
petting her dogs in the yard
giving me an encouraging squeeze on my arm
May 27, 2019
May 27, 2019 at 12:42 AM UTC
the thought of that white dress
with laughter and love surrounding me
used to give me a feeling inside similar to that of
laying atop of a warm fitted sheet
covered with a freshly tumbled comforter
pulled from the dryer just for me
but now it just feels like
crawling between cold sheets
dark and alone
i fall asleep
Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 5:06 PM UTC