I don't expect you to understand
Why I recoil when
You extend your arms and hands
Why I brace for impact
Within the trajectory of your touch
It is warm,
and I am cold.
It is wind,
and I am stone.

Give them to me.
All the pieces of your broken heart.
Give them to me.

I'll take them.

All the rough-hewn misshapen bits of your shattered dreams.


Give them to me.
I will take them.

Give them to me.


They are wanted here.


All the parts of your misspent childhood. All the regrets of ticking seconds behind you.

Give them to me.

And we will build a cathedral. A stained glass window of who we are as tall and as beautiful as it should be.

Let me have them.

And we will make a mosaic that stretches as wide as the sky. Showing every color your heart gained from the bits and pieces left on the ground.

I will take them.

And forge a sculpture of how beautiful the ideas are that we cast out in our failings and we will cast it in our failings.

Let me have them.

And we will ***** a monument of all the small things in the shape that you remember them.
Towering. Looming. Striking. Beautiful.

Let me have them so we might bind the words said and regretted, (or worse) left unsaid in leather and call it scripture.

Our Psalms. Our Proverbs:

“The tip of my finger dangles like my tongue. Wanting to touch something beautiful.”

“If it were not for him, it would have been us.”

“You were all my brightest colors.”

“I wish I were more like you.”

“I wish I were less like me.”

“I am sped.”

And we will read them at dawn like litany.

Stretching our voices to the corners of the universe. Asking for the wishes you make when you are scared. Or alone. Or both.

That we may take them.

And make a blanket.

A blanket to cover our childhood and let it rest at last.

I will take them.

All the parts you no longer want.

Give them to me.

Because they are what make us beautiful.

Give them to me.

That I may forge them into pitch and feathers and craft mighty wings.

That I may take flight from your worry. And soar on the updraft of your misconception.

Give them to me.
I will take them.

Because I would rather burn like Icarus than to have never dared to fly.

Genuine smiles no longer come easy.
I've been robbed of my light.
Something must be wrong with me.
The lines have blurred of what's right.

Things that once would have brought joy, I now look at with disdain.
This pessimistic heart of mine has grown more through the pain.

My parents aren't my heroes that come and save the day.
I've come to long for times when I can get away.

I just want to go home, though I don't know where that is.
The childlike perspective on life is what I really miss.

~

Clouded scarves of winter skies
Woolen wings on tempered sighs
Nature wears her white disguise
Mounting on the field

Laced along the bitter cold
Futures that have been foretold
Endless phrases painted bold
And our lips are sealed

Frozen links of glistened feel
Piled deep as to conceal
Left alone in what is real
Bracing for the storm

Though inside a fire roars
With the one that I adore
Let it snow forever more
Love shall keep us warm


and when there's almost no memory that will remain
with the harsh sting of 80 proof
running poison through your veins,
all i wish to be is your drunken text
because my name on your tongue is all you had left