you came rolling in like thunder

with your lips parted and wet

like the leaves on the trees

even hours after it has rained


a hurricane

of the greatest proportions

There’s a soft sound to it:
the way your bare feet touch the floor,
or the way your hair falls into your eyes,
or how you sigh right before you fall asleep.

There’s an eager emotion to it:
the way your mouth quivers after a kiss,
or the way your eyes look as you lean in close,
or how you push your body into mine.

There’s a fleeting feeling to it:
the way your keys jangle as you walk out the door,
or the way your toothbrush never stays more than a day,
or how you’re too kind to wake me when you leave.

There’s a rare reality to it:
the way your phone lights up with texts from her,
or the way your voice sounds telling me you’ll be late,
or how you haven’t been around in weeks.

She wants to love intimately
To feel a mess of hands
Run up and down her back, thighs
And through her hair.
She wants to feel hands rise up
Her shirt and cup her *******
To feel at home in the arms of
Someone new

And yet she lays so very still
Alone in the early hours
With a red face and dry eyes
There is no one by her side
And her thoughts overrun her

She wants to love intimately
And yet she no longer knows
What to feel
No experience, no expectations
Just a mess of hair
And bedsheets
As she lays alone in the dark

(2/21/17 || 12:24 AM)

Having a million
Stories to tell
But lacking the
Proper words

Having a
Brilliant vision
But unable to
Paint it

Wanting nothing
More than to create
But the motivation
Is absent

But we try
And we try
Again

I want to do
nothing but good.

But when doing it
for me,

There is guilt in
being selfish.

When I was younger, I used to think I was going to be a Star.
Under a spotlight where everyone knew my name...
I was five.

Now, I want shadows and to be as far away as possible.
Hidden and far from consequence,
And even further from myself.
Where my name is not a name,
But just another word without any true meaning.

When I was younger, I used to think I was going to be a Star.
Now, I want to disappear.

I should have jumped overboard when I had the chance.

This is just a boring sadness;
a low-lying, flat sort of sadness,
just a grey sea on a drizzly day.
There’s nothing major going on here,
nothing monumental, nothing tragic.
It’s all just a bit blue round the edges.

This isn’t an explosive sadness,
it isn’t a torrent and it isn’t rock bottom.
It’s just a boring sadness that hums steadily
and it’s fine, really. It’s fine.

It’s just a sort of storm globe sadness,
willing to become tempestuous when shaken.
The waves rush, lightening darts, thunder bellows,
but it all happens behind glass.
And it’s fine, really, because it settles itself quickly.
The sea goes flat again and it’s fine.

It’s just a monotonous sadness,
the sort that makes life dull and hopeless.
It keeps you in your bedroom
and it ticks off the years and still,
you’re in the bedroom,
yet to have your first kiss,
your first heart break,
your first night out,
your first airplane ride,
your first concert,
your first car,
but it’s fine, because it’s a sadness
that comes down like a fall
of paper snowflakes and it’s fine.
It’s all fine.

It’s just a boring sort of sadness,
so you watch other people’s misery instead
and you wish you could spare them the pain.
You become a twisted sort of sadness covet,
a sadness thief, stealing sadness that isn’t boring,
stealing sadness that seems worse than your own
And it hurts you and makes you feel worthless,
all these bungled attempts to rob sadness
but it’s fine, really. At the end of the day, you’re fine.
It’s just another bit of boring sadness and you are fine.

I cant tell you how much the hush hush hurts,

the gaps,

[the deliberately left blanks]

the silences that make me scared of saying words out loud.


It's the switching of meanings that does it,

all the tip toe awkwardness

the swift, unconscious side steps.


It's the whole long stretch of silence,

the whole deliberate

accidental

hush hush of something I never even knew the name of.  


It's the casual,

forgettable

drops of slights

that I'm still turning

over and over.


It's a hush hush never intended to be malicious but

the quiet twists and tears

and so I can never tell you how much the hush hush hurts

because the silence keeps me hush hushed too.