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Sag Jan 13
I have a habit of overthinking
hard as I try I cannot stop the growth of a thought
once the seed has been planted

(I remember driving to the city once
we wanted to take my niece and his nephew to the aquarium
the kids asked about the blanket of vines and leaves that formed wall-like structures on both sides of the interstate
we told them about how it was an invasive species from Asia, and that it spread all across the south and engulfed whatever plants and trees that originally stood there
the whole hour ride they sat in the backseat,
shouting "kudzu!" every time they spotted it out the window)

Sag Jan 13
some places beg to be written about
the lighthouse at what feels to be the edge of the world
has always been one of those places.
the desolate trees stretching up to a gray sky, a birds nest resting, teetering at the top of a bare branch
the clouded water revealing nothing of its depths
the fog so heavy - it doesn't linger, it lives there
forcing quiet introspection
demanding stillness
from those who squint through the gloom

at other times, astonishingly, the landscape transforms
monarch butterflies migrate en masse and flutter on the milkweeds
the sun sets, a tangerine looming over the saltwater marsh
tiny ***** dart into their holes in the sand and slowly poke their way back out when the coast is clear

In my memories of this place
I am always looking down at myself, on my bike,
coasting down the winding road that leads to the tower for miles,
keeping up with the kid on his rollerblades weaving across dotted yellow lines
All-seeing, in the act of storytelling,
As if I'm one of the woodpeckers perched in the pines
written about the St. Marks Lighthouse near Tallahassee, where the book Annihilation by Jeff Vandermeer takes inspiration from
Sag Nov 2020
remember the poem i always said
i'd write about that light
house well here it goes
ten months later
and certainly not as romantic as id

ok ok so
i'm the lighthouse
(of course, you should've predicted that one)
oh oh and
you're the boat thats never coming home
(of course i should've predicted that one)
some days its sunny and if i squint
reeeeal hard -
hand over my brow and thumb on my temple

i can see the shore!

other days the fog is so
so grey
so heavy
i cant see the hands reaching out to hold me

but frankly, i'm not sure they're even there anymore
Sag Jan 2020
I tried to be strong for you when your mom died
We cried in the car in the driveway next door with all of the lights off
I held your hand up to my mouth and kissed it
We sat in silence and sobs for a long while before we were ready to go into my own moms house
I hug her tighter now
I wonder if you wish it were the other way around
I know I would find it hard not to

I see her in your stubbornness
Your silliness
Your vices
Your voice
Losing her is like losing a big part of you
Like losing a big part of myself

I wanted more years with her
But for now I’ll water her ivy and always wear patchouli and watch my mouth when I want to say “god ******” and maybe dance a little more in her honor and make grilled cheeses with mayonnaise instead of butter and sit outside on my porch more often and make sure you sweep up your crumbs that I know you are tired of hearing about

We can’t gang up on you anymore like you always claimed we did, I laughed every time you told me I acted like her in little ways, I just liked being on her side
I liked her being on my side

I’ve never felt more special in my life than knowing and feeling her approval and love for me

I want to be the woman she saw in me. I want to prove her right, that she knew all along there was no one else out there for you, besides me,
for me, besides you.

I know in my heart that there was not a more special woman in this world.
I wanted more years with you.
Sag Sep 2019
when you bump me in the kitchen I want to cry at your touch
and I don't even know what I want when you look me in the eyes
I watch your back as you walk past me, tears welling while you grab another beer
I wish I could make you laugh but frankly I hate the sound of it now, knowing I only hear it booming from rooms I'm not in
I sit in the dark rooms of this unfamiliar home waiting for you to turn the light on, open the blinds, to sit next to me.
Maybe just us this time,
maybe just my words filling your time.
Is it wrong to crave hands, any hands, any eyes, wanting to be on mine?
Sag Jul 2019
I told you that everything you touched turn to ash.
I saw layers forming, soot, embers, and flurries burying all of the things I treasured.
I was afraid I'd get buried beneath them, too.
I blamed you for the tightness in my chest, my inability to breathe, my crawling skin, and scattered mind.

but a few equations and excavated truths later,
I realized all along it was me.
Like a slow leak, going mostly unnoticed, except for a few small signs, that eventually would lead to an explosion that would take thousands of years to recover from,
I spread this, this disease, seeped into your lungs and skin,
stole your good days and pleasant thoughts,
filled them with my fears and malice that I didn't know were possible to feel anymore,
didn't know were hiding, fragile and waiting to be triggered, inside of me.

if we're talking Chernobyl, maybe you're the fire but I'm the core.
Sag Jan 2019
It all starts to get a little heavy the longer you hold it.
I'd like to set some things down, free my hands.
Little by little.
Trivial first, then the troubles.

He wore a name tag, which just so happened to rhyme with mine, and after handing him his coffee, he asked what it was.
What compels a stranger to ask for your name?

I feel so vulnerable with my hair pulled up
Like people are peaking at the back of my earlobes through the blinds and I can feel the warmth setting on the nape of my neck like the sun shining through them
I want to wrap my curls around myself and hide..

Did you hear the one about the school teacher who won the sweepstakes to be on the space shuttle Challenger, the one that exploded seventy three seconds after take off and disintegrated, littering the ocean with built up promises and reminders, palms holding faces whispering
"don't let fear hold ya back"

Every January people pray that this year, this year!, will be better than the last, and I feel good admitting that none of mine will ever be as bad as the year the girl broke my heart, my parents broke up, and my first semester of college left me broke. Rock bottom was eighteen years old and wishing they would stop coming.

I'm know you still have fantasies about the girl with eyes the color of the plants she nurtures, how maybe she was the one that got away, how you wish she still wrote to you. It's getting easier to brush off as the time grows. I guess everyone has that person, the idea of them never leaves your heart even if the opportunity has.

I have twenty one voicemails I haven't yet listened to and I'm just - not.
I know somewhere at the very bottom, your voice is waiting for me, asking questions you never really cared to hear the answers for.

I have stored memories that I have never once shared with any one because of how badly they hurt me. I try not to carry the repercussions around with me. I try not to worry my future self by sharing the past with my present myself.

I've always been a collector,
of wine corks,
grocery lists,
small cut outs from magazines,
of sparse compliments you give in passing,
I hold on to every one and still wonder if you think I'm pretty.
I'm still trying to figure out
why I don't accept them in the moment,
how to.

Words come as easily as sleep these days,
usually not at all.
I try to quiet my breath and stop the sniffles so that you don't worry about me, mostly unsuccessfully.
I am always curious as to why sometimes, you'd rather not know what troubles my mind.
Don't ask, don't tell.

I'll let you quietly love, if that's the language you know.

Do you check up on me like you do with her?
Search for my name,
hear my name
with the same ring to it.
I know I said earlier that it's getting easier to deal with the fact that you still have this looming ******* love for her but you know what, it's not.
Not at all.

Sometimes I feel like I'm seventy three seconds away from exploding, disintegrating, littering the world with my broken promises,
the reminder of my failure to survive the pressure.

But don't feel bad.
and don't ask, I won't tell.
I'll let you love silently, if that's the language you know.
I promise I'm not as emo as I sound ??????
Maybe I am ????
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