It takes time
It is hard to explain to them
that you are not easily adjusted like a roadsign
you can't just push away the hands cribbling over your back
remindind you that you are not like them

It took me 6 months to open up to a friend
It took me 1 year and 5 months to accept, that I had fallen
It took me years to tell myself that THIS is not the end
It took me my entire life to remind myself that life is better than
leaving to be in the world above

It took me 12 years to realise I had anxiety
It took me none less than a week to realise that I had a problem
It took me many tearful years to realise I was not the problem
It takes me forever to adjust back to a life worth living in a world
where I always believed I was the definition of the word "problem"

It took me 12 years to decide that I should fix my broken pieces
It took me 1 year to realise that this is not easily done
It took me painful deeds to find something other than a knife that eases
It took me the realisation of lies to realise that being lonely was actually
okay since all my friends with masks had gone

It's still taking time to find the places for my pieces I repaired
It's still taking time to tell myself that I am worthy of being happy
It's still taking time to take back the confidence that disappeared
It's still taking time to fix my broken self and begin to act alive
and remind myself that it is okay to sometimes still feel ******

So when they tell me "Get over it"
I now know, that it will be yet another thing
to take the time, and though they don't get it
I won't let them make me hurry my life to begin

Because it takes time

You breathe my name into
your chest, letting me settle
like dust into your bones.

Tethering me to this moment,
eyes fierce, burning as vibrant
as tiger lilies in a vengeful sun.

Your fingers burning holes in
our sheets, leaving remnants
of their disgust in my scars.

Even to this day I cannot stay
up for the sunrise, I find your
taste infused on my tongue.

And I'm still left to wonder if it
was Lucifer I saw in your eyes
or the gods that condemned me.

Innocence is the days when
I thought that monsters
lived under the bed rather
than slept right beside me.

It was the times I feared
heights almost as much as
I now fear brooding stares.

Back when I thought
passionate love was the
only kind worth having
— that I now wish for a
lover who loves quietly.

Innocence was thinking
danger was an ill-advised
adventure, not a man.

It was admiring a tornado
heart and not realizing the
damage it would cause.

i still remember the nights
spent tracing her lips, looking
for meaning in their cracks.

(shrunken spines, curling
lips and cosmic eyes.)

she'd kiss away my fears,
paint them black and blue,
distorting memories until
they became meaningless
lies dripping so easily off
her tongue that i'd soon begin
to mistake them for truths

(shrunken spines, curling
lips and cosmic eyes.)

Untouchable, she was the
kind of beauty to keep you
transfixed, swirling skies,
killing time, the crescendo
building up in your head
until everything just
suddenly
               goes
                       blank.

she was shrunken spines,
curling lips and cosmic eyes

i loved her, i hated her,
i still wish i could see her
without the memories
lying breathless,
clouding my gaze.

There is a soft meadow golden
where there now stands oblivion
wild mustangs comb the hard
dry grasses after a long arid winter.


In the distance, wood smoke
from a silent fire that crackles
'neath a hungry touch.


An aubade's warm hand reaches
from the silky horizon to touch love
gently upon her shoulders and roam
the hills, and dusky valleys of the
paradisiac dawn, as it stretches each stone.


...and soothed; by palpebral stream;
each bend a lover's nape
endlessly explored by endless wait
to greet the welcome rise again.