this is a reminder. sweet one,
your heart does not beat too loudly in your chest.
does not take up too much space,
does not mistake the moonlight for a streetlamp
when you hold your lover's hand
soft and intertwined
drunk and kissing your way home.
this is a reminder.
your heart is not a machine, is not
a second-class citizen, is not
the color of a bullet hole, a gunshot wound
against a rainbow flag;
this is a reminder. sweet one,
your heart is too big for your body
too tremendous to be
encapsulated within two arms and two legs and
ten fingers and ten toes and
when you kiss, sweet,
carry your hurt like the orange lillies
in front of my childhood home
planted by my mother and
the way she gave more
than she could give. give.
this is a reminder:
the only time
your heart should feel too loud in your chest
is when your fingers are finding her's
or his, or their's,
intoxicated by that moonlight,
a will to live against every clenched fist
finding harmony in disharmony
finding your way
to your orange lillies.

i. the curly, green-haired
leo with the cry-baby tattoo
on her left calf; fish net stockings and
loud guitar playing and
menthol cigarettes. driving through
the park at 9 pm, ***** shots,
the white house with the a-frame roof,
hugs that made your heart feel as warm
as she did

crying as i left my room again to be
intertwined with a girl who did not love me, but i wanted to;
months pass, lonely car rides with
one-sided conversations and
seven years gone,
quiet disconnection
that made you feel as cold
as i did

ii. brown eyes, brown skin,
round glasses and chicago streetlights.
holding each other close on the subway
lakehouse parties in the beginning of spring and
pisces season and tarot readings and
soft kisses on the train.
holding hands at the aquarium,
sweet poetry and calm and
a sense of oneness that made you feel
important

hurt for the third time
a panic, a loss
i held their heart in my hands and
let it fall
harsh
unimportant
i still carry the guilt on my fingertips

iii. short hair. freckled cheeks, i
fell in love with the way the skin
crinkled around her eyes when she smiled.
an apartment, a home built
around our lips touching
wrapped in blankets on the couch,
dense smoke and her hand on my leg while she
drove. chinese food and
waking up against her chest and
laughing so hard
my ribs hurt

crashing. her anger withering away my
heartstrings; pain and
crying alone in the bathtub
moving away
drunk tears on the interstate
punching my thighs
in place of the way her
words made
me hurt

You see, she rose like a forgotten dream
And I was witness to her, the loudness of a whisper
The beauty, the strength, the frailty
The fragile words that failed me
Her pale skin echoed in my mind
And since then she has never left
Not a second of her will ever leave
Her softened lips and fingertips
The most sultry of melodies

You see, she rose like a forgotten dream
The flower encased within a falling star
The soft definition, the piercing tenderness
An oasis in a desert of duress
With every eye saying the very same thing
Hearing each footstep as if they’d sing
Such wordless wonders were her everyday
Her sweet perfume littering the room
My love, my hope, my arisen dream

At times - the mystics eat the stars
and burst like supernovas. Becoming
wisdom itself. At times - the poets find
love and forget about poetry. At times,
the philosopher falls into death, begins
to calm their running thoughts and rest.
At times, we have to let them. Life is
only worth living, when one does live.

blue eyes, say yes

Why is it, that no one sees what he says is true?
Why is it, that they do not feel a moment of the truth?

What is it they say?
Once a cheater, always a cheater.

What is it they believe?
Sometimes, maybe the twister has a moment bereave?

Why is it that he who defends her, is the one accused?
Why is it that when she's at fault, he the one who's bruised?

Why is it that he loves her so much?

Why is it, that she's never enough?