prophet tongue with
stabbing perceptions
i gave him my name
while in bed.

soft white curtains
though still chamber thick
cold steel hands
and the room sliced into pieces
by morning light
but haunted by night sounds
crept into open wounds of the heart

chills.

his hand
resting on my thigh while he snores
summer bruised and adventurous
though callous youth
with his unbandaged scabbed knee
skating last night.

moment forgotten in the carride
but a stone monument staring
at me on the kitchen counter.

And now theres really nothing else that remains
I ripped the bright orange post it
In half and it was as if smoke clouds
Confetti and wisps of suns bursting into flames
Floated from the pieces of the page
After I crumpled it in my hand
As though the curse, or spell
Had at last, broken free.

I emailed the prettiest brightest email
I could muster up.
My room mate showed me flurry of messages
Celebrating, lets not acknowledge
The obvious
"If she wants to go, let her"
One of the girls replied
So I did
I went and I went and I went.

Nothing now remains
I'll wash off all the residue for the final time
Tomorrow morning
A day to grieve, comprehend
I almost burnt up all my chicken tonight again
But I saved it at the last minute
We drop money on ****.

I think a lot of the reason I held on
Was to feel less alone
In this unfamiliar, vast city.

But I embrace the strangeness
But its really not so strange
I'll return to my old stomping grounds
Happily, without you by my side
No need to compete or make sure
You like or see my face on social media
A hundred and two times
Because I'm back to doin' me.

So eloquent
You once said in response
Brilliant
Too brilliant for my own good
All that remains now is moving forward.

My heavy burnt and bleeding wings flap
One by one, we lift ourselves off of the ***** ground
The ground that caught me in lack of self worth, shame
And we fly like
I fly like
Without looking back.

I'd love to curl up with you tonight.
Feel you next to me.
Learn the pattern of your breaths.
I'd love to cuddle up in a blanket and watch
the sun dip lazily behind the mountains,
the golden rays reflecting your soul,
the breeze playing with your hair.
I want you to tell me the meaning behind each tattoo
and talk late into the night about life's important things.
I want to fall back, and look at the stars,
and as I look over at you, wonder how you're not up there with them.
Fingers interlocked,
souls dancing under receding moonlight.
Your presence, reflecting the world.

How can somebody be as beautiful as the poems they write?
I have no idea, but **** you do it well.