i can't do most of the things I used to
my sensitive stomach is now back to the state it seems to belong in
tied in never ending, always tightening knots
4 hours, 3 hours, 2, 1, half an hour
I go until im numb and nearly collapsing
eyes glazed and burning feeling as though
they'll crack at any given moment
because I can't do most of the things I used to
a hot cup feels like it can destroy me
but the stinging and lovely burn seems to reside in me
like something that was meant to be all along
old habits do die hard, eventually at least
but now I know what the decay can do
it simply brings out whats even worse next spring

I’m so afraid that
I’m going to spend the rest of my life
Searching only to find
Artificial second-hand versions
Of that feeling you so violently
Pounded into my chest

i'm taking a class on persian poetry
i don't speak persian-
my taste in poetry has always been
more bukowski than rumi
a little too western, a little too crude

but then there's you
with poetry flowing
at the tips of your fingers
and the edges of your heart
you read poetry
as if it were the bible
making every word
sound holy and every
sentence more scripture
than art
and when you recite
it's like thunder
and ice
it's fire with
just enough passion
to burn for centuries

you're the hafiz
to my plath
and i never quite understood
your language but
i loved it any way
and i tried to speak
it but my words were
always
too western, too crude
and yours

yours like a burning candle
in the middle of winter
it's a small light
but enough to keep me warm
and the darker the night
the cooler the weather
the warmer the flame
that burns bright

you were my ferdowsi
and khyyam
and i was still somewhere
between woolf and
dickinson
their worlds made sense
to me more than
persian passions
that i always wanted
could almost taste
but never swallow
but you feasted

i'm taking a class on persian poetry
i don't speak persian-
*but it brings me one step
closer
to you.

i have days
when i need you
more than
ever before.

call me when you miss me -

you said

- call me when you miss me -

tell me
how do i tell you
that i do not miss you
i do not need you
i am happier without you

but

the comfort and the
heart of someone who
loves you
really was gold
and i miss the way
i had someone to hold
and the sound of your laugh
(the real laugh, not
the fake one you did
in public)
is sweeter than the
sound of my favorite song
and my favorite song
is always going to be
the one that sounds too good
to be true
because the last time i listened to
it
i was with you

so tell me
how do i tell you
that there's just
this longing for having
someone
who
loves you?
and it's selfish and cruel
but it would
be really nice to just
say hello
and hear the familiarity
in your voice
when everything here
is so **** foreign
and i can't speak the
language of love to them
or the language
of home.

winter break of 2016 was
the best time of my entire life
and the 9th of june
is still a wonderland in my mind
and the rest of the days
are like shattered glass and
broken minds but
it's okay sometimes because
right now
as sick as i am
as broken
as torn
it would just be nice
to say hello

- call me when you miss me -

you said

- call me when you miss me -

i don't know what that's supposed to mean
i don't know if "missing you" entails
romance part II
or starting something new
but between me and you
that's just not something i want to do
would it be too good to be true
to have someone
who didn't always feel so new
i want something old and torn
something frayed and worn
something made of the same
skin that is mine
something that
doesn't make me lose my mind
something
a lot
like
home.

- call me when you miss me -

you said

- call me when you miss me -

stars shine so bright that
we can see them from
millions of miles away
so someone please
tell me how I didn't see you coming

we used to laugh at how
your hair would get in the way
when we were kissing but now
I'm tearing my bed apart
frantic
to find just one strand
to remind me you were real

a thousand moons
condensed into
a single drop
of silver.

your eyes
hold
my world.

it's okay to want home
when everything is just so foreign