As long as
we hold freedom
captive in our mind.

I've got midnight eyes
and she's got sunrise.
My horizon tries,
but it just can't break free
from dusk.
It dawns on me.
Just my luck.
Wish upon a star
but it won't change much.
She deserves a galaxy,
a constellation's touch.
The best that I could give her
is a distant light
and such
is not alright.

[ARH]

I can sense the distance thinning.
New horizons.
Old beginnings.
Flooded feelings from sinking
glaciers within me.
Distress in the workings of my mind.
Signs of the day.
Signs of decline.
An inside joke
between my heart
and my brain.
Have you ever felt the same way?
Maybe all this tearing apart
will lead to something better.
Or maybe,
maybe I'll just forget her
eyes.
Her hair.
The way she laughs.
The way she cared.

The way the ice even got there.

[ARH]

I dremt her to be perfect

A person filled with every expectation I want her to fit.

She did. I kept dreaming.

Because perfect doesn't live here.

We live in broken.

It is welcome and praised around these parts.

We are real. We are complete. We are together.

In two days my first book of poems will finally be published.
Although extremely happy, proud, and relieved; I'm also very sad.
Sad that my hearts' secrets are no longer secrets- sad that my book, my relationship and my love is finally resolved,ended, and in my past. It's also exhausting because it may be taken in the negative light and avoid all of the love. Or perhaps I will be judged harshly by my peers for being vulnerable and honest about my heart. I'm publishing it with positive energy and hope for well received thoughts.
However, no matter the reception, I will keep writing- it's in my veins and in my heart.
I can't keep apologizing for who I am- as I am no longer ashamed of being myself.

and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it