My body is clay,
mold me as you desire.
This bedroom is the kiln,
I’m ready for the fire.

It wasn’t until this year that I started keeping alcohol in the house at all times.

A year shy of thirty and I finally figured out what’s needed to survive.

My mistake for thinking you cared…

I

guess

you

go

down

on

everyone

for

breakfast.

On some days,

I feel strong enough to backstroke through the most treacherous of seas.

Other days,

My weaknesses tell me to open my mouth and inhale as the waves come crashing in on me.

Love is both my best friend

and my biggest foe.

An ally and an enemy.

A blessing and a curse.

A drug that leaves me both healed

and yet feeling worse.

The entire room is spinning

and I’m not sure where to point the blame…

Was it that 4th shot of whiskey

or your lips continuously summoning my name?

I’ve been asked countless times if I am

“afraid to fall in love again?”

Quite the opposite-

I’m afraid of never falling in love again.

So, here I am

treading this vast, desolate sea.

Eyes toward the horizon, searching…

for a lifeboat, an island, for anything.

Surrounded by mirages

providing false hope.

Trying to decide if love is

even worth staying afloat.

When you ask me to communicate my feelings for you,

my mouth becomes weak.

My tongue is still bound by previous lovers

who did not care to hear me speak.