you,
the song i put on my tongue,
the poem i whispered to my pen,
the love i breathed in my heart...

Tired Minds,
Tired Eyes,
And tired lies.

he asks
when will it open
what, i asked
your heart.

he says
i brought hammers but
i fear it might hurt you
i said
soft, love. soft hands.
soft touch is enough

he says
kiss me
you won't have
to open your legs
just your lips, nothing
else
no, touch me soft

he tears my heart
and licks the inside
i moan
because my tongue is
tied

he touches and touches but
i won't come
i won’t come but i still
moan to keep him
occupied

im afraid the wolves
might come
i tell him when it's all over
that night the moon was too loud

so you trust me?
he asks
like howling wolves
we lie, crying
and as the dusk came he
covered me in his arms

in the morning i woke
to see the bed empty
only stains of the last night
in the bedsheets

i was afraid the wolves
might come

Misunderstood
Unchangeable
Unstoppable
Miraculous
Beautiful
Belie­ver
Fragile
Friend
Loved
Same
Her
Me

Don't fear the pain,

use it,

keep it there,

beside you,

and maybe,

just maybe,

it will give you the words to say in a poem,

or the notes to play in a song,

for sometimes

it is flying with what hurts,

that gives us the colors to paint with.
                                                                                        Jon York    2018

Here, of all places
Now, of all times
Me, of all people

Tell me, will I live to tell my story?

it’s days like these
where even you,
you— my fallen angel,
my solace,
my everything,
can’t even lift the rain cloud.
it’s days like these
where even you,
my Atlas,
can’t carry the weight of the world
away from my shoulders.
-a.c.b