I remember
when you were young and wide eyed
excited at the possibility of the world
and afraid because it was all so big and you,
you were the smallest creature in a forest full of monsters

still, you had big dreams and wanted
so badly to write something
so unique and profound
something to make people understand you
understand themselves
see that we are all one
know that we all bleed the same
slippery shades of water color
even if the canvas is is different

Fear is an ugly thing and overshadows
and overwhelms, *******
the life out of life
and the colors out of the rainbow that
is supposed to shine overhead and keep
the bad the things at bay

it crawls into bed with you at night and
keeps you awake, drilling
everything that is wrong
straight through your skull and
into your soul like a
woodpecker, never ceasing
never letting you rest

there is so much that is so hard
to comprehend and make sense of
and it is so much easier to let the fear
take hold of you, wrap it's fingers
tightly around your neck
a noose growing ever tighter, strangling
while you struggle until
you have no voice left to speak

It left you choking
out fragments
and run-on sentences into a journal
that no one would ever see
that still makes me burn when
I flip through those pages reliving
the story of my life that you wrote
all those years ago

I remember
when you thought that no one could see you,
so you lived your life like a child
jumping up to see over the counter,
making make-shift ladders out of whatever
you could find so that you could grasp
everything that always seemed so far above your reach,
losing yourself so easily
in a sea of people
because they were so big
and you were
nothing

You words are a time capsule
that bring me back to a place when
when we stared at each other in the mirror
and curled our tiny fingers into a fist
wanting to smash the glass
because
we were ugly

But my words are a time machine,
my gift to you from the future

You are small still,
but the world is not as big as it used to be
and nothing ever comes easy
but your dreams are coming true,
you did not give up despite
believing so often that you would fail and
you are making a difference

I am afraid
because
everyone is afraid, but
I stand in front of the mirror
young and wide-eyed,
excited about the possibility of the world
and when I look at you now, I know
that we are learning to love each other
finally.

I.

First it’s a look shared through the glass
A window between us

The feeling that passes through me
When I watch him explain the impossible
And make it look easy

Then it’s the wondering that overtakes me
Behind the counter where I’ve lost myself in thought
Surrounded by books that won’t tell me
If he’s thinking of me too

It’s the ache that comes from longing
To hear the sound of his voice
But I’m too scared to call
Unless I’m already drunk

It’s that feeling in the pit of my stomach
Everyone calls butterflies, but really
It feels like too much, just so much

It happens when you start to fall.

And it’s a slap in my own the face
As I hide deeper inside of myself
Because he is beautiful
And I am all sharp edges

He is enough
But I am just not ready

II.

I always find myself going back to you
When I imagine how I wanted it to be
And what I wish I had said

It’s so strange to be here
So many years later
Still wondering if it was you all along

We shared this kiss once
You and I
Once of those steamy
Spur of the moment
You only live once type of deals

I know you remember it too

My heart hurts just thinking about it because
It was always such a blur of wrongtimewrongplacewrongsomething
Between me and you

I guess I never stopped being too scared to call
Unless I was already drunk
It’s been years since I heard your voice
But I am haunted

Everyone always asks, how'd he do it?
A rope, a gun, a knife?
I always give them the same answer
His true cause of death was life

Mouth agape
Wisps billowing
Drunk howling
Running man
Two step
Electronic pulsation

Eyes fixated
Silver glamour
Wet pout
Hands reaching
Hands grasped
Lights flashing

Hands dropping
Lower back
Smooth talking
Expensive cologne
Neck kisses
Uber ordered

When the agony
of dawn awakens
me.
I think of
drinking
***** to arouse
the muse from
her slumber.
But I don't;
instead, I slam
three cups of
coffee, hoping to
jolt the old
***** from her
lethargy.
If the caffeine
doesn't do the trick,
I grab a few of
our favorites:
Bukowski,
Neruda,
and Dylan Thomas.
I pace the floor
and read out loud.
Eventually, I feel her
begin to stir.
I yell,
"Is your fickle *** ready to work?"
And then the real day begins.
I know this sounds crazy,
but the muse and I
wouldn't have it any
other way.