I’ll read you poetry,
even if you don’t want to listen.
I’ll bring you flowers,
even when you say you don’t want them.
I’ll collect all the pieces you dropped
on your way from the front door
to the bedroom,
even though you told me
to leave them where they were.
I will bring you tea in bed,
and extra blankets on soft Winter nights
when snow gently covers foggy streetlights.
I will love you on days
when the Sun is too lazy to show its face
and I will love you on days
when you are too weak to show yours too.
I will love you on days
when your ears are ringing
and your fingers are numb.
I will love you on days
that start with the letter “M”,
or “T” or “W” or “F” or “S”
or any other letter that has or will ever exist,
and I will love you on days
even when you feel I shouldn’t be able to.
I will fill your cracks with grace
and stitch your wounds with everything
that I have left.
Please trust me,
I promise my hands will be steady,
even though they shake
when you reach for them.

There's a faded scar on my right shoulder
from three summers ago,
two more on my left from this winter.
One on my chin from the pavement
that got the better of an 8 year old
who couldn't say "no",
and another on my wrist
to remind me that metal detectors
no longer find me empty.

It's alright that you left,
but please don't act
like I'll just be okay again.
I don't heal well,
never have.

I tried to drink deeply of the sky
the other day,
but lately I’ve been short of breath.
The air around me isn’t good enough.
The air between us isn’t good enough.
It’s too safe.
It isn’t pure.
It isn’t full of stars
and sunlight.
It doesn’t hold oceans
or forests
or peaking mountains.
It is air that is 2 weeks past its expiration date.
It won’t do.
I need more than the air between us,
I need the air inside your lungs.
So I will remove it with my own,
as you give me stitches made of honey
to sink into the cuts along my tongue.
I will carefully remove every last bit of it,
as it is the only thing that is keeping
me from drowning in the sea that
tosses within me.
It will keep me solid when my bones
start to evaporate.
It will fill each chamber of my heart,
pass through my lungs, and return again;
continuing to refill me.
I need more than the air between us,
I need the air inside your lungs.
No other air will do.

Writer’s block does not exist,
there’s only uncreative writers,
and those who don’t care enough
to care so much.
As the former,
I will write this in my quietest voice:
I am okay,
I am okay,
I am okay.
Few would care to know,
fewer would care if they knew.
But it is the truth,
and I am in no business
of making truths I cannot keep.
I no longer write with tired eyes.
I no longer think with shaking hands.
I am no longer transparent,
or translucent,
or opaque.
I am okay.
I know this because I woke up today.
Simply that.
I woke up today,
and I am not empty.

"Your future holds endless opportunities."
But what does a bent piece of paper
inside a crooked cookie know about
all that you are.
You are sunlight
and morning dawn
and cloudy skies
and gentle rain
and the perfect distance
that my feet must swing
in order to not step
on the cracks in the sidewalk.
Don’t act like you haven’t tried it either.
We both have;
tried to keep your feet moving at just the right time,
when you want them to, where you want them to
and not any time or place before.
But maybe I’m okay with not knowing
where they’ll take us now.
After all, sidewalks are already paved,
we just need to walk them.
Maybe that slip of paper was right.
Your future holds endless opportunities.

And your love,
tied like an anchor to my heart,
keeps sinking me deeper into you.

Some nights I’m not filled with words,
I’m just filled with so much of you.
You’re making more space in this ribcage;
it was always saving a spot
for your heart anyways.
You give the moon light to reflect,
and I swear the stars would fall for you tonight.

I leave the lights off whenever I get home now.
My eyes don’t care much for looking around these days.
My heart was never big enough to get lost in anyways.
They say we haven’t seen most of the ocean floor,
but I could tell you all about it right now.
And that’s okay.
I’m not okay,
but I’m okay.
Even the sea must let go sometimes
and trust that its tides know where
they must be.
Even the waves know it takes time
before they can be free.
I don’t need light to see that darkness
knows how to wait patiently.
And I’m not scared of the dark anymore,
since I’ve realized that it’s just a part of me.

Open up your canyon lungs
and let me breathe like I am living.
I have forgotten what this tastes like.
The sky is awfully quiet,
like it has something to hide.
Dig up your bruised knuckles
from those sand-filled pockets.
We will rebuild the sun.
I sink my teeth into forgiveness
and it pours out my mouth.
Overripe;
I always wait too long.
Foolish, to keep important things
in drawers you never look in.
So I’ve dug up the front yard,
there were directions here somewhere.
Do not look at me like the stopwatches on our hearts
are the same.
Mine is counting up.
But forget that I left the front door unlocked,
this is a postcard from where I am visiting.
I hope it makes you hopeful too.
I’m sorry I don’t say things I don’t mean.
You are the ocean,
and I never know where to put my hands.

You keep canvases in your ribcage.
I know you do, I’ve seen them.
They might be dusty and a little bit torn,
but you’ve still kept them all this time.
You’ve still kept them in hopes that someday
someone would come paint some beautiful
masterpiece with every last one of them.
You’ve kept them hoping that they would
one day burst with cherry reds and
sapphire blues so that you might hang
them in the empty spaces inside you.
But I’m here to tell you there are no empty spaces.
Believe me, I’ve looked everywhere.
There is nowhere to hang those future paintings
because the pine green bursts from your eyes
and the whole spectrum of living color
flows through your skin.
You fill the growing cracks inside of me
with carefully selected tones from your palette,
and you keep stars held in their place
with glowing moonlight from your fingers.
So I’ll remove each canvas from inside you
and plaster them with pieces of what you’ve given me,
only hoping they can turn out as beautiful as you.
I am no painter,
but I will try.
No work of art comes close to the expanse you
hold in just one finger,
but I will try.
My God I will try.
And you will keep these finished frames
as reminders that there is nothing
as beautiful as you.

Shallow relationships exhaust me.
Unpack the bags under your eyes
and let me stay a little while.

raindrops
only fall
when they can
no longer
be contained
so
I guess
they’re like
the words
flowing
out of
this loving heart

I’ve gone through uncountable cups of coffee
over the past few months,
but none of them ever quite taste the same
as the first one I’ve had.
Sometimes not enough cream,
other times too much sugar;
always without you
on the other side of the table.

Sometimes I take the long way home.
I hope you don’t mind.
It’s just in hopes of spending a few more
minutes with you.
And I take every chance to switch
into the right lane, just to steal
a few extra glances when you’re not looking.
I hope you don’t mind.
I’ve cracked open my ribcage and laid
every piece of what’s left on the table,
even if it’s not much.
I don’t need you to put me back together,
I just need you to be okay with
broken pieces,
fragmented statements,
incoherent whispers.
We don’t need to be fixed.
We just need to grow.
And how can we grow if there are not
cracks in our minds and gaping holes
in our hearts?
I think your pieces are beautiful.
I would like to hold on to them for a while.
I hope you don’t mind.

Here I am, looking up causes for headaches
at 1 am
when I know it will always come back to you.
My hands found the bottom of the ocean
as I cleaned old movie tickets out of my car today.
I can see your honesty from here.
It took my composure on its way out the door.
I’m not bitter anymore.
I’m just tired.
And I’m tired of being so tired.
I’m sorry you didn’t stay.
I’m sorry that I apologize
for all the times you didn’t.
I keep forgetting these things
are not one-sided,
and so,
I’m sorry I gave you everything
for nothing in return.
You tasted like love,
and I was parched.
Still am.

Every piece I find
draws me deeper into you,
and my shaking hands refuse
to know exactly what to do.

The tides are like your eyes,
always moving but never leaving,
and my head’s below the surface
but somehow I still keep breathing.

The first time I saw you
I couldn’t look for more than a moment.
Now I always have to look at least twice,
and that’s still not enough.
We get lost at least three times whenever
we’re together, even if we spend the whole night
on the couch.
*(It took four days for me to gain the courage
to ask you if you would like to spend
an afternoon with me, even if it was not that day).
I need at least five seconds to find my footing
after looking into your eyes.
It took me six tries to come up with
something good for number five,
and I’m still not satisfied.
I skip the seventh step down (not counting the top one)
on my basement stairs because it’s the one
that creaks the loudest on yours.
We spent exactly $8.00 on the dessert we ate
fifteen minutes before Chili’s closed and $2.82
in late fees for the movie we returned that night.
Nine hours is a lot of time to spend
looking to my right, expecting you to
be in the passenger seat,
even though I know you aren’t.

Today we start again,
because 2 am does not define us.
Because sore hearts and even sorer eyes
will not shape our hurting souls.
And for every night we spent alone
the sun still rose each morning.
So today we start again.
As reluctant,
as scared,
as weak as you may be,
today we start again.

I’m letting go of all of it.
Or maybe it’s just seeping out.
Melting through my fingers,
dripping into letters,
pouring into words.
I’m losing parts of me,
but it’s the only way
to lose parts of you as well.
Because you still
live inside these hollow bones,
you still haunt these pulsing veins.
And when I think that you’re all gone,
I still feel you in the rain.

I said I’d always be honest,
but I lie right through my teeth
when I say that I’m okay.
I guess it’s kind of like
how you said you’d
always want to stay.
I am constantly on a steady diet
of “goodbyes”, “farewells”, and “let go’s”.
At least I’ll never go hungry
with everyone always leaving.
I’m tired.
My head refuses to sleep.
My hands are never steady.
I used to think scars
were things that couldn’t heal,
but now I understand
they’re just reminders
of all the love that I could feel;
even if the vacancy sign
on my bones flickers dimly.
Memories keep clogging my veins,
inconsistencies have clouded my vision.
I’ve learned that honesty is relative
when words can change their meaning.

I think the gaps in my heart
are slowly shrinking.
I think the wounds are healing.
I think the old man at the back of the bus
will be happy again one day.
The memories will fade where you once were.
The ghosts in my head will go away.
My hollow bones will one day be filled.
I’m not afraid to make mistakes anymore.
You didn’t matter that much to me.
It was easy to let you go.
I don’t miss you anymore.

I took my time today.
I walked the way I used to walk with you,
not worrying about where the next step took me.
I missed two buses.
I got home half an hour late.
Or early.
It doesn’t matter anymore,
everything is relative.
Next week will be this week.
Yesterday is already tomorrow.
I’ve always heard that time is cruel;
too quick when you want it,
too slow when you don’t.
I’m not really sure what to think anymore,
because it’s been three months,
but I still think about you every day.

These words aren’t about you.
They’re about the person I let rent space
inside my heart.
They’re about the times I wished I could go back
and say to them, “No it’s okay, you can stay longer
I don’t care if your payment is late."
Because having you there was enough.
But these words aren’t about you.
They’re for the person still hiding behind these drained eyes.
These shaking fingers.
These weak limbs.
And I’m still not sure which is better;
to feel everything at once or nothing at all.
Because sometimes it is both,
and you are the gushing waters drowning my lungs.
And sometimes it is neither,
and you are the words I wish I could take back.
We always left so many of them unsaid,
letting our bodies do the talking.
But now I wonder how many conversations
we’ve had with each other when we
thought we were asleep.

I woke up with a headache again today.
This time because I knew
you didn't want to stay.
It's strange how words repeat themselves.
And no matter how much I thought
it couldn't all be for nothing,
I guess it was.
But that's okay.
I'm used to this place.
At least I know I won't
ever let anyone else in again.
It's just easier than losing
something you never had.
How foolish of me to think
I could ever be what you wanted.
You'll always deserve oceans;
I'm sorry that I am only rain.
And no matter how much I give,
I will never be enough.
You say you don't feel the same
as you used to, and that's okay.
At least you love me enough
to tell me you don't.

I close my eyes.
There is a home inside here somewhere.
I remember.
It sinks slightly to the left.
My knees are covered in mud.
The trees have pushed into the living room,
sunflowers are rotting out the woodwork.
I have grown awkwardly into the floorboards.
They remind me that is okay.
I forget.
It keeps me full,
all this emptiness.
The windows are all open.
The hinges let go of every door.
I learn.
Trace the outline of each frame,
hear the echo of hollow footsteps:
"Love more,
love more,
love more."
I have never been here before.
This is what it must be like;
beginning.

I want to go back to the very point,
where you lost everything you had.
Where it all lay broken and strewn 
in front of your weary eyes.
The point where you were beyond saving.
The point where you stopped caring.
The point where nothing you did
could keep it all from crumbling.

I want to sit next to you.
I want to feel your shaking hands.
And without words,
I want to tell you
that it will all be okay.

We let our legs hang off the cliff,
swinging high above the sea—
Sitting inches from disaster;
oh, how much peace it’d given me—

you don’t watch the moon and stars
half as much as I think you should—
please don’t worry about the clouds
a little rain will do you good—

//

I am the books you’ve never finished,
the pages left unread.
I am the corners you’ve left bent,
and all the lines inside your head.

I am the fading, crooked spine,
with the slightly torn cover.
And when all the words run out,
I am what’s left to be discovered.

The early morning is a different world.
One where deep, even breaths
and songbirds keep it alive.
Where drowsy fingers drag across wooden tables,
and warm palms grasp flowing, ceramic hearts.
One where if you listen closely,
you might just hear the deep sigh of
the walls, as they drink deeply
of the morning sunlight.

I’m still searching for the ground,
like I’m the dust and you’re the shelf—
I try to remember a knot is just
something tangled in itself—

Your eyes replay the times
our weary, shaking fingers crossed,
like the wrinkles in your skin
hold every memory we’ve lost.

I’m looking for it again.
I’m looking for the place that feels
as right as 2 am in the middle of the street,
underneath the soft glow of the street light,
right beside the drooping willow
and calming dark forest.
I’m searching for it again.
Because the breeze against my face
reflects the spot along your chest
where my head and your heart became one.
Where all that was left of me came undone.

If your heart engulfs the ocean,
and your hands become the shore,
then I’ll rest upon the grains
until I become no more.

"Hold this for a second?" you said
as you handed me your heart.
And I still keep it safe,
even though it fell apart.

I’m still trying to forget you,
it might seem strange to some;
your voice still haunts my dreams
and every time I still go numb.

I know you’re still a mess,
and sometimes you wish I’d speak less.
I’m sorry I’m not silent,
my best words are birthed in weakness.

remember all
the winter
nights
we spent
alone?
my hands
would
not stop
shaking,
and it 
wasn’t from
the 
cold.

And if I lie as still as I can be,
my thoughts are still as violent as the sea.
Reliving every broken moment,
with flowing pen and bended knee.

These waves refuse to stop their crashing,
no matter how desperate my plea.
I feel the murky water splashing,
I feel it brush me so gently.

I swore I’d point your ship towards harbor,
knowing that you’d leave me behind.
But now I wish I led you farther,
to where peace and hope align.

These rugged hands will feel the warmth
as they move slowly in the sand.
Before I untie the raft I made,
and drift out just as I had planned.

And if I lie as still as I can be,
my thoughts are now as quiet as the sea.
As every shipwrecked vessel passes,
I make my home in the debris.

sometimes
your smile
spoke
more
than
words ever
could.

only
your
heartstrings
keep me
from drowning
in your
lungs.

I was
left
at the
seashore
of your
eyes, 
where
your
breaths
became 
the waves.

these lungs
may be 
breathing,
but I 
still think
I’m deprived.
just because
this heart 
is beating
doesn’t mean
that I’m
alive.

I’ve realized why my veins are blue,
I’ve known it for a while too.
All the blood that’s left my heart
is now returning, missing you.

/
there’s no strength inside my bones—
but there’s no weakness in these tears.
your breathing may be soft—
but it still stifles all my fears.
/

your eyes, they stared and asked me
what was going through my head—
(dear don’t fret, please let them rest)
some things are better left unsaid.

The pen inside your mouth writes
words of [love], and of despair—
It glides along so gently,
with its ink that is the air—

But now your words are fading,
and they drift away from here—
I wonder if they’ll reach me
[right] before they disappear—

we’d [l]eave before the sun,
I’d take y[o]u gently by the hand—
ne[v]er lost, but always wandering,
drifting through lik[e] grains of sand—

I’m sorry
if I
look 
empty,
I only
know 
how to
give 
everything
I have.