There is something special in the way he holds my hand

There is something special in the way he kisses my forehead

There is something special in the way he rubs my back

There is something special in the way he holds my stare

There is something special- and it’s simply him.

I don’t think we let a good love die.

It faded sure. but it didn’t die. It’s very much awake. Clawing at my bones,

but it wouldn’t be different ***.

because how could it be different when our conversations became nothing but comfortable silence. Neither of us could make it work anymore.

and we didn’t know why.

so I guess we just wait to suffocate a good love, and hopefully let it die.

the gods should plead to her
because few things are more majestic
than the way
her back
curves
and her hips paint effortless lines down into her thighs
creating hearts
and the kind of shapes I could get lost in
until the quiet of morning
and the echoes of night

don’t tell me
What Penelope would have said
because that is not my prophecy
not mine to claim
because for all the suitors
and waiting
I would’ve set fire to the world
for the thrill of it
in a claim of vengeance
and spite
maybe burn the present
they so desperately desired
so utterly sick of waiting
for the potential of his love
his life
to come home

I started screaming more
god not at anyone
but just out loud
to the wind
to the sky
just because

Because I could
and I should
and I can.

so I will.

A constant
constantly in motion
I thought meant constant speed
constant weight
constant thought
but that you treat
as if it’s at rest

without any external factors
and we know that’s not possible
But more than that
I don’t want rest
not that kind

so I spend my days
learning that a constant
May be constantly in motion
but varying speed
Changing weight
adding friction and moments

that bring complexity
a little joy
and hell a lot a pain

but god do I refuse for me to be stuck
in a perfect swing
of constant
predictability & rest

she isn't with me, and im going to do something about that now.

I can’t anymore
whether it be time a cross or sea
the fog makes it impossible to know
just where to leave
the words
for you
from me

I think
sorrow and bittersweet must be friends.
Having habits of meeting for a couple glasses
where they can laugh, but only through the tears
the best kinds of laughs really.

they must sit.
having affectionate nicknames of *******
and darling
playing the game repetitively

but still they sit
together
sharing drinks and discussing the weather
feeling lighter but as heavy as ever.

those nights
where you just know
like an addict
you’re itching
stretching out fingertips
heart aching
hoping maybe for a stimulant
or just a numb
whatever’s closest
but my hands stay against my sides
tucked
because
you know the itch is far more satisfying
than anything in arms reach

As I sit
Stationary
      Crowded
        and Tired
I find myself
Running
      Freely
       and Leaping
After you

I wanted him
like a man drunk wants cake
not at all then suddenly starving

I needed him
against all reason
and every crash of the wave

I loved him
watching as then sun drifted into the horizon
Reaching for the moon

Only to miss it
And hopelessly

We both tried again

it is just
so exhausting
to finally put the masks on the table
only to realize
you have to put them back on
in a way that you can still tell it’s me
just
without seeing me

a child’s trust

as they trust jump into your arms

could never be sweeter than anything

except maybe how you smiled at me

leaning against the doorframe

like you could see

forever

to sit
slow down and actually pause
in all of the things
is so utterly painful
for months
but oh my god
so so worth it

In the quiet mornings
And the passionate evenings

I love you

In the tear soaked laughter
And the tongue stuck gnerfs

I love you

In the lazy afternoons
And echoing snores

I still love you

Because I am me
And you are you

So I will stay
Waiting for you

love when the colours start actually working together
and as she snuggles herself closer
maybe to protect
maybe to watch
and the easel unfolds
and songs are repeated
as the creative starts to come out of her shell

he played with my hair
as we talked
and I swear I could spend hours listening to him ramble on
like he isn’t the first person I peek around the corner to see his reactions

and they looked at me like I had another head
when I shrugged
because I don’t find that he speaks slow
he speaks
with intention, waltzing between heartbeats
or checking his steps
so I can catch my breath
in between the murmurs of mine

I love you, but you could never love me like I loved you.
Because you loved her like that
And her
and especially her
And I will never capture that smile for me
I can never have that piece of you for me
Should I be this sad?
Falling on the floor like Éponine
Reaching for a blind, foolish love
Where the reality of the world comes crashing to the ground when he no longer warms my bed

Or maybe I’m just jealous
Going green trying to envelope myself in her scent and her colours

What must it be like
To know a love where it has not been shared
What must it be like
To know a love without them?

I can’t seem to keep my socks on
you know
they move
wiggle down
and I have to
pick them up
why is it that’s tolerable for socks—
but for humans it’s not?

It’s almost like dust settled.
routine suddenly happened after spontaneity ran out one morning to grab some milk.

and we're both pretending like it'll be right back

I want to lie

but really, I  miss that first year
the way you held me with adoration and curiousity
call me selfish but those moments
where you put everything into showing me how you felt
I miss the smiles we both held
when we didn’t know better

the laughter and kisses and god the innocence in it all

I revisit those days
like a loved book
stained and loved and torn
still a little warm from the last time I held it

pretending like those chapters
Were all those characters ever knew

sometimes my bones forget
that being an artist
being a creator
is not having the ability to create something beautiful
to be marvelled at
it is simply
the cry
the urge
the fire so deeply churning
to produce
to recapture
to create

the letters drop carelessly from her lips

wait
not carelessly

calculated

waiting for prey

like a wolf under sheep skin

Today was a funny day
I couldn’t stop hearing that prime numbers poem in my head
Where 59 loves 60.
And it made me laugh.
Because after the third run through I was curious what you would’ve made of it.
It dulled the ache in my arms and legs as I fluttered around changing my surroundings for the sake of someone’s whim.
The rhythmic sigh of my coworkers as the plastic tore and the heels of tired people grind the ground.

I couldn’t decide whether you were 60 or 59 or maybe even 61.

I found my favourite jumpsuit
and i got a new shade of lipstick

doing my hair differently
in a way that makes me smile brighter

and I’ll entice a dance or two

who’ll let me be spun around
till I finally nail it

and I’ll buy them a drink — because they helped make me burn a little brighter

each day at a time

to realize on a cellular level my body was rejecting you

because I couldn’t do it for myself.

he got me flowers

just because. or maybe not just because, but because I asked him to.

but he got me the ones I actually liked. and paid attention to the way I smiled.

he got me flowers. and I know he wouldn’t hesitate to set up a reminder,

to get me more

Sometimes
I lay
And wonder
If liars
Are the only ones that speak truth

Sometimes
I lay
And wonder
If singers
Are the only ones who are mute

Sometimes I lay
And wonder
If I ever loved you

I’m stuck

Between hating the love stories where they didn’t fit but “love overcame it anyways”

because why did we play with the pieces that couldn’t fit together and pretend it didn’t matter

avoiding conversations like they were distant future things, intangible, and uncondensable

and as I sit here, rooting through the leftovers of my processing
I know my grief simply overshadows the joy for a moment
Holding space for the lost piece of me, I am happy, and honoured you get to hold.

but grieving her nonetheless.

So I’m stuck

pretending like I won’t always, on some level, be trying to put the pieces together

cause  “love overcame it anyways”

it felt good today
crying after the third mile
enjoying the sweat
the heat

winding down to the sounds
of a home
and a quite loud snoring puppy

But besides the point

it felt good today
finally

some nights I wonder
in the space between the stars
and popcorn ceilings

if you are thinking of me

if we both reached out at the same time,
to roll over
and pretend
we don’t know
how right it felt

but I guess it doesn’t matter
at 2:39
as I remember the comfort
that seeped into my bones
the second I felt you lay down with me

but I guess it doesn’t matter
if you’re thinking of me
anyways

The painter does not worry
About the sculptor being buried

The painter simply sees
That to carve a throne may be his trade
But The crown is not carved with his name

This throne and it’s duties were simply not yours to carry.

I can paint all the clouds in the sky, and I may be able to hold them too

But atlas is there for a reason

As I am here too.

So as I paint all the starry nights in the sky

And you move mountains

The sculptor must see

The rock cries too.

its funny

to break for someone that is not yours
for dreams you did not have before

but i cannot spot picturing

Those little hands
as they stretched out for me

with all the trust in the world

and the way your smile
made me see
as we giggled

how there could be more

if you say me before you
tucked in your bar
would you have approached me?

I wonder what slice of me you would have seen
and the one you wanted to see again

To cling to a pillow
A curious thing
In love
Anguish
Anger
Or pain
A curious thing
To cling to a pillow

I thought you were engaged
she told me

I laughed, no not really.

wow have you not talked since?

I laughed, no not really.

how are you doing?

I laughed.

no not really.

don’t mind if I do
crawl into your lap

seeking the comfort of familiarity
and knowing where the coffee cups are

and the way your sheets feel curled against my legs
and my back against your chest

but
I know we’d mind

so don’t mind me

I like the way your name feels
dragged across the nape of my neck
leaving streaks of you to be remembered by

But I prefer the way you kiss me
down the embers of being
and the crease of my spine

for all the songs that speak of lovers bathed in the whispers of moonlight or wrapped in the sheets of sunshine
the glimpses of your eyes
will be whispered across generations
regarding that lover of mine

i just wish i could spend most days

discussing the use of colour. or the way humans can capture such emotion in things that do not breathe, but steal my breath anyways.

i wish i could spend most days

looking at the abyss, the way he holds her. the way she holds him, his hands curled up to her head ready to press her in further, just as much for protection as it is for his own need.

i wish i could spend most days

telling you that Rodin's kiss really doesn't showcase love the way Paolo would have done everything all over again, to be with her. But that doesn't change the way he wishes she didn't meet the same end with him.

to lust, to need is one thing. to lunge for a kiss, aching, like it might be stolen from you.

but to love. my god to love, to cling, to cherish— is quite another. To protect, to honour, to know pride means nothing if it means i get to hold you. to be anything you need me to be.

i wish i could spend most days

discussing the way he so clearly loved her. and how she loved him.

You caught me smiling and you thought it was for the world around us
in that moment,
I failed to tell you, that I was smiling for you.
Because of all the world in this earth, you are the world to me.

You asked me what made me happy
And I couldn’t sum up the words in that moment
To tell you it was how the red sun flashed across your eyes, lighting up your skin, setting your face aflame in golden light.
I couldn’t give you the colours or words
In how I loved the way the sun perfectly shaped to your face
Your nose
And your eyes

No language, no movement, no colour will ever be able to express the beauty you posses  

As You caught me smiling for you.

I would like to sear that memory
Of my shaking legs
and our running noses
into my very being
because the way you laughed
retelling me of my mortifying murmurs  
was the best thing I had ever heard
And the way your shoulders shook
and your head leaned back
as I reeled laughing into your chest
was that kind of moment
as the shower head kept us warm
that feels like ‘it’
where your effortless lean
and grin into the iced tea
was a moment I want forever
so I could laugh with you once more

I hate nights like now

when I can hear the sputter and puttering of the rain
as it goes about its way
and I am left
thinking back on many nights
where I was out immediately
against a heartbeat and grumble

feeling a safety I haven’t known since

I used to be able to taste
your wonder

Between holding my bikini, cold beer, and hyper fixated on dives

I used to be able to taste your wonder
on the tip of my tongue

drunk on your smiles and perfected lies

I used to taste your wonder

but then
you stopped drinking
and I guess so did I

god it’s like walking through the ashes of my home
finding all the pieces I no longer can pretend work for me
or even fit
collecting ashes even though they slip through my fingers
over and over

so how do you cope?
you know…
figuring out what ashes I want to smear across my skin
who she is
and who she’ll be

i just know what she won’t be
as i sift through ashes of me

if it was my turn to stand up
but I sat down
who do you look to first?
those standing before me, or those sitting behind me?

when i told him about you,

about how safe you made me. smiling while i expressed all the ways you made me realize life was worth all the time and relationships, squeals, and terror, messy open mouth kisses, and doing the thing scared!

i was reminded that you were, and always will be, exactly what i needed- right then. and i just hope,

i was exactly what you needed too.

it’s the way a random song comes on
and I can feel the flicker of your hand
wrapping around my waist

Tucking a thumb into my jeans
an echo of a laugh
bouncing off the skin

leaving me
breathless with a button half undone
the wind taken away
with those echoes and grins

god I hate feeling again

wished we talked more about wanting to be kissed

And how it is so very different when comparing to  wanting someone to kiss you.

missing a home you cannot visit
a place no longer yours
tenant openings start to show
as the weather changes

and some viewings could happen
or have

but the leaves still blow
out the door

and she sits empty
for all intended purposes