Love and fear, two things I carry here
A ****** emblazoned with a logo of love
In the form of
A giant red smear
I wonder who you were
if I would have let you be
If you’d been clever like your dad
or liked writing as much as me
I’m waiting on some profound realization that it’s not as bad as it seems
That I’m waiting to be the best mom I can be
Be a better person for someone that comes from me
And it’s my body, my choice
to rob myself of joy
To imagine what you’d looked like in the face of other little boys
Maybe I choose to yearn for a faceless little girl, when her dad’s hair gets damp and curls
And maybe it’s my body, my choice
but I’ll always wish I’d known your voice.
Sep 26, 2021
Sep 26, 2021 at 12:20 AM UTC
The last gave me Tuesday
while she had Wednesday
Now weekends are for me
Each day is a page in the catalog of who I think I’ll be
Do you want a good time girl
Or
Someone who will agree?
Mar 31, 2021
Mar 31, 2021 at 2:25 AM UTC
here is my church
here is his steeple
he opens me up
we are the people
praying at the altar of your feet
Mar 25, 2021
Mar 25, 2021 at 3:29 AM UTC
spun like a vinyl
you’re the needle laid on top
I’m titled for you
Mar 14, 2021
Mar 14, 2021 at 11:09 PM UTC
His hand grips my neck
Steady like a steering wheel
Tell me where to go
Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 7:18 PM UTC
Healing isn’t linear
But it is until it’s not
The sailing is always smooth until you capsize into a sea of cold currents that take you anywhere but where you need to be
But I carry you with me
Are you the boat or the sea?
Feb 2, 2021
Feb 2, 2021 at 4:43 PM UTC
The road not taken
I’m basking in your presence
This map leads to you
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 10:40 PM UTC
Burning in a sweeter version of hell
Your skin smolders, growing into a fire that I didn’t mean to start
But suddenly I’m a pyromaniac that’s coaxing the flame
I know I’m to blame
And I know what they say
But I want to get burned
With my moral compass leading south
And your jaw pressed to my mouth
This price seems so small to pay
Jan 22, 2021
Jan 22, 2021 at 4:03 AM UTC
he lifts my shirt over my head and the way the material billows reminds me of a white sheet being pulled off of old furniture, as if to protect it’s antiquity from the harsh effect that the world has to offer
his gentle touch does not falter
Jan 20, 2021
Jan 20, 2021 at 8:46 AM UTC
Beginning breeds loss
This path continues to curve
Still I will follow
Jan 7, 2021
Jan 7, 2021 at 12:43 AM UTC