i am learning to love myself
like he never could
and darling
i can feel flowers
growing from my scars
reaching for the sunshine
of my new found smile

s.s

maybe i'm just not used to
being kind to myself
not used to being
held or kissed or wanted

but something about the
way you touch me
makes me think that
years spent by myself
were preparation to
make me appreciate this

appreciate you
and the way your hands
fit around my legs
and settle on my back
how your lips run
down my neck and
our bodies just
fit together

"**** we make
a cute couple"
one of us says
every time we walk
hand in hand by a mirror
"where shall we go on
our next date to make
everyone jealous?"

and we laugh
and let sarcastic
comments run out word
by word between kisses

i'm not used to feeling
this way
part of a bigger picture
no longer a lone wolf
i'm not used to feeling
wanted

but something tells me
with you by my side
i could most certainly
learn to live with it

i spent the winter thinking
it was all a lost battle to me
until the leaves came out
shrouding the world in green

they say every
rose has it's thorns
but i've got a gizmo
to strip those off

one little ray of lost
sunlight found its way
through the ceiling crack and
now there's something
blossoming inside
my shriveled heart

notes scribbled in
sharpie on paper cups
and a kiss on each of
my freckled cheeks

vague shapes in
milkfoam and learning
to accept love that i am
not used to holding onto

i don't feel like i could fly
don't feel like i could dance
but i could tuck a fern behind
my ear and grab your hand
and we could skip
up the sidewalk

and like i could plant kisses
on the faces of everyone
who i have ever cared about
push them into that beam
of sun and watch the good
feelings begin to sprout until
one day our faces all flourish
into something no longer
dry and hopeless but something
more like smiles and cheer

they say to bloom
where you're planted

i say just have the strength
to make it through the
dormant phase and when
life begins to slip back towards
warmth and light the blooms
will find their way to you

somehow
some way
keep the flower
inside you alive

your car doesn't have
a cd player
which is a little unsettling
but i don't really mind

your hands remind
me of my dad's

i want to wear dresses
play taylor swift
spray myself in
citrusy perfume
and paint my eyelids
a shimmery pink

when i'm with you
i feel safe

i'm not convinced
that soulmates exist
but i am convinced that
we pick up people on
our way through life
and some of them just fit

some people are habit
can't remember a
time without them
and some people are the future
what could be instead of
what's always been

you're art in the foam on a cortado
you're a peach drenched in
heavy cream and limoncello
old overshirts and amaretto

you're champagne
and i'm the idiot
who intentionally
calls it "sham-pag-nee"

you can see through the
espresso stains on my
hands and arms right
down to freckles over scars

even if i slap myself to wipe
the pleasant look off my face
at the end of the day
you'll still think i'm cute

and when you say things
like that i start to feel all
gooey and underbaked
like a fallen cake with
cinnamon buttercream
melting down the sides
perfectly and
unabashedly flawed

i am selfish and afraid
and you don't seem to mind

so here's a toast to
letting someone new
into my life for
the first time
to allowing myself
to be vulnerable
and happy even if it
might be a mistake

because goodness knows
you're sweeter and softer
than i ever dreamed
someone could be

the sun is creeping towards
the horizon under the trees
and a sliver of moon is
all that remains of night

my chest
is tight
with heavy
dull twinges

and though i always
long for things to break
up my monotonous routine
a funeral on a thursday
morning in spring was not
exactly what i had in mind

yesterday was recycling
to the curb and while i
ripped apart boxes a
staple stabbed my finger

the sight of blood only
increased the palpitations
under my skin and i've been
trying to forget it for twelve hours

trying to forget
what's coming
ignore the sense of
gloom pooling around
my ankles and the anxiety
wound round my wrists

i just have to make it
through the morning
into the afternoon and
then i can tell the racing
thoughts in my head to
stop what they're doing

and they will
obey me

would it be too much
just to ask for a hug?

i fell asleep last night
buried in sand on a
soundstage sunset
all maroon velour and
puffy yellow cinnamon
maple leaf squares

the gold and rose
shimmer my eyelids
were made of ran
down in sweaty
rivulets that dried
into fairy freckles

and i was neither
happy nor relaxed
and yet i was
content

drinking silver wine out
of a deep brown glass
quietly and bitterly
warming my twisted back
until a white robed
bedouin breezed in
on a gust of his own
cool half of the desert

shook me to my feet
and told me that the
blissful gauze over
my minds eye
couldn't last forever
and i had better
catch a camel before I was
consumed by the night

so i handed him a yawn
with a ribbon round it
said that it was not my
responsibility to know
the history of the
ceiling fan by heart
rolled upon my stomach
returning to happier dreams

and still the bedouin
could do nothing but
stare through me with
sun bleached eyes
that pulled my bones
out through the skin
of my back and turned
them whiter than the
moon before the night
had even clambered in
on top of dewy skin
and blushing cheeks

and i drifted away
on an inflatable raft
into the night where
nothing could hurt me

it's a perfect morning
sun flickering through spines of
bare trees onto grass and gravel
thick layers of frost covering the car

the perfect kind of morning
where if you shut your
eyes tightly and angle your
body towards the light
the world is so bright it leaks
right through your lids

and when you point your
face towards the sky to
let your hair blow back and
taste the deliciously cool air
it's impossible to decide
if it's april or october

but either option
is a good one

waking up
eyes puffy from
snatched sleep
and anxious
excitement drawing
your insides awake

tablecloths
jars of coffee
big smiles
bouncy feet
too much
nervous energy

things are different
things aren't ideal

but things
are still good
even when things
are bad

and how is that?
because i make
my own ****
rules now

and if i say things
are good
come hell or high water
things will be good
regardless of whether it's
april or october