Dropped my last quarter into the bottomless well.
All my secrets keep finding me at the surface.
My wishes must have too much weight.
I wait for the echo to let me know we reached rock bottom.
I’m a rising flower in the concrete cracks.
Life that continues to grow where it shouldn’t.

This night is painted in pastels.
The colors still stained on the tips of my fingers.
The blending of bodies still tattooed on my bed where you left.
You whispered to close your eyes.
But I have never been more awake.
You asked me if I ever practiced breath work.
Marrying your lips on the outline of mine.
Every move instinctual.
A love language we both have forgotten but is now muscle movement.
Your breath filled the places where all the love once abruptly left.
Turned the hollowed-out chest of mine into a room of butterfly’s.
I breathed a wish of a lifetime into once single breath.

To be seen for the first time;
Your palm pressed firmly against my cheek but I felt it radiate in my chest. Watching your eyes gazing the horizon of my pupil. Getting lost in the breathless moment of our desire escaping. I don't think there are enough thank you's to be said about that moment. By now I would have already created an extended fantasy of this night turning into a lifetime, but not this time. This moment shall be pressed like lilacs in between my journal just as is. This time I don't pray this road leads anywhere other than where it actually ends. I could have said I loved you in that moment but I waited till after you left & just told the universe thank you. Thank you for whatever this transforms or ceases to be.

How can all the cities be filled but yet the world feel so alone?


Sometimes the desolate feelings swallow me whole. The other times I'm reminded of the vapid space between me and the feelings of meaningful connections I miss. It sometimes makes you feel unlovable - a desperate cry for recognition. To be felt in a way that says, I see you clearly. Text messages unanswered lead to late night sobs trying to remember I can't be the only one missing humanity and feeling less than here. Depression creeps over in the next room to let me know I am not alone in this. Social media has a twisted way of reminding me the world still turns even though mine has stopped spinning. Some days I just want to say I am here, maybe just existing but I am here. Ready to tell you I miss you. Ready to hold your hand; any hand that reaches back out between me and spaces of my heart that feel like an oblivion. Ready to do life in a way that says I'm happy to be here, to be with you. To be in a moment that feels like I am finally once living again. To be in a space that says your presence is felt. To be loved for the sake of just loving. I once read quote that said 60% of Americans report  feelings of loneliness... For just a second I feel a slight relief in the pressure. That I am sharing something with someone for just a moment. That selfish gratefulness is all that hangs between me and nose.

I am not alone in this even though the cities are filled and once again my apartment is empty.

I attempt to speak the truth without giving myself with it.
That’s the hard balance between being honest and being transparent.
Its always a white lie teetering on the story of who we use to be.

Sometimes I still hear the snap of the belt against my skin.
It's why I still flinch when a stranger steps to close in proximity.
My heart often rises in a flight of birds.
Just trying to escape the cold rush of December.
It flutters trying to keep up with registering between fight or flight.
My feet often start running before I.
Often mistaking a pen dropping for a bomb.
Regardless I am gone before I ever arrive anywhere.
Half checked into a place I can never just leave.
My milestones are the intermittent fasting between therapy sessions.
We often talk of the stuff we carry;
but leave the pages blank on the things we must live with.

The truth is I don't want to be a lingering after thought. A space that fills void. An unattainable purge of what you have been lacking. A comma in the break of a sentence, I've been in to many situationships to idealize anything less than romantic. To many almost & could have been something's. It's like a reflection of the sun but the heat never dissipates close enough for me to know it's real. The existence of it leaves my soul aching in hunger even though my belly is full. Maybe that's the difference of it, getting high off sugar and the other endorphins. One the body can sustain, the other just a flicker of a high that last as long as the burst of affection. To be desired is a supernova of lust. It's a star that burned out centuries ago but the light still fools you into believing it's present. To be loved is like the moon and all of its phases because even when the moon shows up in parts, you know it's wholly still there. Still yours. Still will rise again tomorrow.