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The Willow Oct 2017
I should be furious. Livid. Railing against the heavens.
Instead I feel a quiet peace in my heart that is so soft,
So content.
But my head wants to cry my face off.
Where is the truth?
Where is the end?
The Willow Sep 2017
He was dusty blue and molten pink,
Unabashedly himself, and yet still unsure.
A healing soul surrounded by broken hearts
In a world that dares not say, “We have seen the enemy and he is us.”

“I have three poems, and I’m not even sorry.”
When he finished, he raised his arm in the air,
And the definition of regality changed its meaning for me.
The only person I’ve ever seen with my eyes
To encapsulate its meaning
Was this blonde beautiful man
Whose eyes kept contact like a held hand,
Whose slightly breaking voice when reading echoed the nights of crying that
Kept him so soft.
We exchanged puzzle pieces of our soul with the trading of words,
both mouths pressed to the same mike at different times,
At one point in our lives it was the vessel giving CPR
Keeping us alive
But now, as effortlessly as a sigh,
We draw in those who are unsure
They aren’t quite what others make of them.
We live to perform
Our souls are too massive to keep to ourselves
We must share them on the stage
So those afraid
Can breathe

*When I was a kid, my favorite colors were blue and pink,
The colors of a pink lemonade sunset, I said.
During those specific lucky sunsets,
It seemed like the sky was burning itself in the sweetest fashion,
So that the earth could have a taste of how strongly the atmosphere truly loved him.
The Willow Sep 2017
I want to live forever in my love for you,
Reside on the bridge of memories tying
One beautiful moment to the next.
But I cannot know when the future will bring more,
So I sit, and for the moment,
This bridge, this love,
Is enough.
The Willow Sep 2017
I went on a first date.
We went to Taco Bell and then to a lookout spot.

This was the exact same thing that
He and I used to do.
(one of these times I looked over at his eyes, Taco in hand, our favorite podcast playing with the cities lights below, and thought, what a wonderful moment to call home.)

It was so much of a coincidence, that I didn't
Know how much I should read into the fine print of serendipity,
Or if it is only a black line with no words at all.

And as I was driving home, I couldn't help
But feel like, I wasn't really missing him,
As much as the color blue.
What his soul meant to me.
How a part of him, while caging me in anxiety,
Set me free.
Sep 2017 · 297
What am I waiting for?
The Willow Sep 2017
I am waiting for the future
To lean down
Whisper softly into my neck
Whether or not I should keep
holding my breath to see
If your random texts will ever have
more substance
Than air
Sep 2017 · 214
If you care enough.
The Willow Sep 2017
To you,
I probably still sound like silence,
Words coating my throat as I hold them back,
Afraid they aren't what you want to hear.

Are you aware of the pages and pages
And pages
I've scraped and coughed and saved
From my throat

The thought of you made me gag and
Out came poetry, far enough away for you
To not hear, but close enough to find
If you care enough to look.
The Willow Sep 2017
When you’re lost in your head, please
make a sound and
I’ll come find you.

I don’t want you to have to loathe
yourself anymore. I don’t want you to feel like you’re incomplete
or inadequate
or upsetting people by being exactly
what you are.
You’re trying to find your superpower but you already have them.

Would you like to hear?

You can silence my mind that has been running my whole life with just holding my hand.
You can make me laugh and not care what people in a store think when we’re playing tag.
You can make me feel safe when I fall asleep next to you.
You can make me enjoy rap.
You can make me not ashamed to admit I like you, every weird thing you do in public is
endearing, and not an anxiety attack for me.
You made me love people again.
Sep 2017 · 249
The Willow Sep 2017
Please God,
Turn my screams into song
So he may hear my cries
through his own language.
The Willow Sep 2017
You think you are the only one you hurt
By calling yourself trash
An idiot

You are not.

You hurt my hands
They are reaching out to you
You have put up electric fences
But I still try to reach out

You hurt my heart
There is a place carved for you
The outline of your blue face is buried there
Please, don't be afraid to look out again.

You have my breath
For every day
I pray to God that you may be
That you may see your beautiful blue and orange soul
And unapologetically
Wear them around your neck

Every day.
Every day.
Every day.
Sep 2017 · 154
You're like an IV to me.
The Willow Sep 2017
You've been dropping into my blood all day
Slowly and consistently
But where is the drip coming from?

I can't tell if it's medicine
Or venom.
The Willow Aug 2017
When the thought of you hits, it does so
Like a tsunami,
In the middle of the day, mid-conversation
With someone.
My eyes fill with a storm,
My fingers tap like I'm playing the guitar against my fingertips,
I have checked out from people words.

Some joke,
"Where's the fire?"

Don't you understand?
He doesnt have to touch me
Doesn't have to speak to me
To make me think that when he was 20
He used to wear as much color in his clothing as he could
Two bandanas around his neck as once,
And nothing felt more right to me than
This bright boy wearing the human eye's equivalent to this inside of his soul,
No matter the loudness.

And all he wears now is black.

I can't forget that.

So you ask, where's the fire?
He is gone now.
All that is left is ash.
Aug 2017 · 129
The Willow Aug 2017
I've said
I love you
In my head so many times,
I have calluses on my hands
From reaching for something
That was never there.
Jul 2017 · 602
You remind me of the rain.
The Willow Jul 2017
It poured today. Lightening
Making the sky simmer.

Not unlike the way
i smiled
And laughed
(I glowed)
Around you.
Jul 2017 · 181
When my poetry grows toxic:
The Willow Jul 2017
I write poetry to have proof of the past,
To create action towards the unchangable,
To keep the past alive when it needed
To die.
The Willow Jul 2017
And if you feel like you're just a shadow
of who you once were,
even shadow puppets can tell stories
and still live in a dark room
with only a flashlight.
Jul 2017 · 198
Healing for myself
The Willow Jul 2017
I am not a candle
Conveniently lit and blown out
When it is needed for a moment
To discern the objects in the dark.

I am the eternally burning sun.
The Willow Jun 2017
the amount of love and care you give a person does not directly equal to the amount and speed to which they heal.

It is a cruel and frustrating truth, but true all the same.
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