When I was a child
I got told my heart was the size and shape of a fist
so I grew up using it like one.
The masochism I have developed
caused an opening for something destructive
and you slipped right through it.
And unable to deny your sweet prowess
I granted your re-entry without hesitation.
I threw words at you
praying to god they'd hit you in the torso
because your empty chest cavity
needs to be filled with something.
My words bounced around in your ribcage
until it cracked one of them
and flowers sprouted out of it
allowing a place for the words to rest.
Wrapping my arms around your body
feels a lot like a snake killing its prey
because you don't see it coming
and when it happens,
I squeeze you until you give in.
If my heart had knuckles
they'd be ****** and bruised
not because of the beating its taking
but because it's trying to break free from my chest.
Every time you're near
it won't stop fighting my ribs
and now I get why it's called a cage.
My heart is an untamable creature,
relentlessly fighting for what it wants.
But i'm learning to forgive your ribcage
for being closer to your heart
than I ever could be.

[I saw his round mouth's crimson deepen as it fell],
Like a Sun, in his last deep hour;
Watched the magnificent recession of farewell,
Clouding, half gleam, half glower,
And a last splendour burn the heavens of his cheek.
And in his eyes
The cold stars lighting, very old and bleak,
In different skies.

your sadness is not
beautiful, but your
scars are gorgeous

they are epics across
your skin that tell the
story of how you, just like
all great heroes,
survived

we're alive too
too alive to die
and we're in love all the time and my sister says life is a movie
and every movie has a love story
and life is about love

which is why I
will starve my ribs to Adam
will return to dust
will Eve your lips, the darkest hue of moon I've ever met
insomniac hips guide constellations to lucid dreaming
constant smoking and distraction
we gather in sheds and houses

in shreds the ways we forgive and forget
and weigh decisions, the weight of responsibility nagging at my shoulders
ripples of anxiety
curdle in my throat
it is Thursday
i let an infant pull my hair
i rub your sick back

I miss my blood/ my brother
detained
by four walls of injustice
know
one
knows
the
truth

but I
believe you
and now your family
in various states of uncertainty
holds the threads of stories that you weave
stolen money and crimes against humanity
repossessed cars
bottles of liquor
sisters in law
above the law
held up by the law
interrupted
interpreted
and moment we spent was precious,
we laughed and were normal again
the satellites in yr eyes
who knows what they've seen
what they choose to believe
their is such madness in our blood
it runs
thick and rampant
galloping in our genes
and we
live for a living
you alive even when you dying all the time
swollen tears/dynamite boot you/hungover father/ surprise maker of cigarettes and smashed porcelain
born again/seventh day sinner/ come clean out the water/ baptized coffee
working class hands hung the rhythm of the drum in my chest
the tornado of my soul

too big
energy contained not mine anyway
for you i would unlearn so many consonants
i would forget to speak in sentences
for you make moonly gestures
move me to guessing in 14 degrees with ward of the state AWOL passenger seat
spill yr worries sister
we are not alone tonight

you are so much of my blood when i forget what we are made of
we come from the same stardust
however toxic

my throat is a forest fire,
a burning map that never leads to
'the depths of virginia'

your hands are made of water,
icy cold and haunting and
I don't know what else to say except
"please"

I sometimes think that we should have a history book
rewritten with our names, because I'll be ******* if
we are not rewarded for the way we forget about our past

I WONDER IF WHAT WE TALK ABOUT AFTER MIDNIGHT
HAS ANY IMPACT ON THE WAY YOUR HEART BEATS AND IF
IT DOES IS IT WATERED DOWN BECAUSE OF BEFORE
AND I WANT TO KNOW IF MY WORDS HAVE THE SAME
EFFECT ON YOU AS YOURS ON ME AND I WANT TO SWIM
in the James River and forget how to sway my limbs around to float

this is not a love poem
this is not an "I miss you, come back" poem
this is a confession
this is a love letter
written on the palms of my hands because I know
you'll never get over how badly they shake

maybe I'm confused or lovesick or homesick
for a home that can only be found inside of warm chests
but I needed to write this for someone, for myself

maybe my questions don't need answers,
maybe they just need to be heard.