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 measured time in heartbeats and length
by how far your fingers traced on my skin.
Time passed like sultry summer nights
and length was as far as the night stars
that kept us company.
Every second was one I tried to keep safe
instead of cherish.
I wish you’d still wrap your hands around mine
as tight as you do your morning tea.
Because you are my pulmonary veins,
carrying all the broken parts I give and
returning them alive.
Reviving blood as dense as lead,
warming it like the sunrise I used to feel you in.
But now I can only battle eyelids that drop
like anchors near shallow shores;
trying to find the footing your eyes once gave
(still give).
And you might call me a liar,
but it felt like forever to me.
I still measure time in heartbeats
but length by how far
you feel from me.
And right now time moves
as quick as early mornings,
and length is farther than I’d like.

I feel like handknotted lace
and freeze dried flowers
and burned cedar
rising into the air
praying to be taken
I am still trying to drink every last drop
still trying to sweat it all out
still trying to sleep it off
still
still
still
I want a “finally"
I want a finish line
I want arms outstretched
and reaching
like vines
like crawling ivy
to grow on this house with the ancient white paint chipped by hate
I am so thirsty
I am still so thirsty

He pointed a gun at me,
      not to any place in particular,
He looked at me,
      with a smile that would befit a greedy king.
They shot me,
      in places I wouldn't die from.
Then he took me,
     and tried to force himself into me.
I smiled then,
     and laughed as if it were fun.
He was taken aback then,
     because I had shown him,
       what he had become.
I even kissed him once,
      and the passion in his mouth
          told that he thought he had found his one.
....
Then that girl walked in,
    unaware of the folly that had begun.
The one with small hips,
        and a disconnect from he base chakra,
                 that she insisted she had.
That is why she saw nothing amiss,
         in the scene that lay before her.
Then her other side kicked in,
         like a bad cut displaying the side effects
               of a life of imbalance and self deceit.
And she wanted him for herself.

      ....my god this girl is going to get us both killed.

I demanded she leave,
       with a force in my voice she would never know,
she looked at me as if I were selfish...

        ....maybe I should leave and let her stay -_-
                                
                   ....no, this has to end.

When she left,
             he returned,
                  and I layed back down with him,
                           and held him like his mother never did..
He met the mother that day,
         when he was pulled through the void,
               he returned back home,
                    and was held the whole way.
Then I was left,
       sitting alone and naked on the bed,
               with the warm Light
                     of the spring day
                          shining through the bay windows
                              to the East of Enlightenment.
                                     silently pulling the stray bullets,
                                                   out of my soft flesh.