The other
night I was
                                        greedy
              ­                          selfish
                               ­         muddled
and I didn't know
how to say
                                       "I need you
                                        wrapped
             ­                           around me
                                        because I've
                                        been having
                                        trouble sleeping
                                        without you."
in a way that
wasn't desperate.
But desperate is
                                        what I was
                                        what I am
                                        what I will be.

I knew I promised I’d keep writing,
I don’t break promises,
so I’m writing,
but you don’t know that.

It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,
it’s only that the leaves started to fall,
and I started to fall in love with old flames and blades,
so I asked God,
if He would please,
put eleven deadbolts on my heart,
and then toss the key in the Thames,
just so I could save myself from you.

My heart is healing
and soon won’t need such protection.
Don’t worry, He can craft new keys,
and don’t even think,
not even for a second
that I want anyone but you
to slowly take off the locks,
one by one, slowly,
one, two, three…eleven.

I promised I’d keep writing,
and I’m writing, and please just know,
that even though the keys sunk to the bottom
of the river, don’t even think that means
I didn’t try eleven times every day
to rip the eleven deadbolts from my chest
just to get closer to you.

I am a lighthouse
       or so I’ve been told
where few ships have sailed
in to find guidance.

I have been waiting
for a vessel to see my light
for a captain to come to shore
for the tides to wash up
        something more than
        a seashell
        a jellyfish
        an empty bottle
                with love letters drenched
                in tears and seawater
                (I couldn’t tell the difference)

I am a lighthouse
Please remember me
in the storm
and on cloudless nights
       when all the stars are
       irresistible in their glory
Remember me
as the place you come home to
Where you can let yourself in
(feel free to put your feet up)
and lay your head back
and let out a sigh that won’t
        be whipped away by ocean-saturated air

I am a lighthouse
in the middle of nowhere
Ships have wrecked themselves
on broken boulders that line my body
like a jealous widow, like a marked territory
Few have made it through.
None have ever stayed.
But my lamp is still burning
and my tower stands tall
and I will guide your journey,
        even if it means pointing over there
        when all I want is for you to stay here.

When I was fifteen I started kissing
every single boy who held my hand,
because holding hands was simple, innocent, lovely.
How could anything but gentleness
come from a boy who just wanted to hold my hand?

My biggest fear used to be
failing to see the beauty and goodness in the world,
now my biggest fear is failing to see the world
for what it is, and trusting people
that would, without remorse,
run rusted, ragged, knives
through my ribcage.

I don’t hold hands with boys anymore,
because I refuse to redefine what it means
to hold someone’s hand,
so instead,
I’ll redefine myself,
and my lovers,
and redefine who is allowed
to hold my hand.