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I hate that you look at the galaxies
and are overwhelmed with a feeling of
dull insignificance,
because if anything,
you are not just a speck of dust scattered in the cosmos.
you are the very substance
that this universe is thrilled to be written about.
you are its incandescent gas,
you are nuclear fission,
you are a galaxy's lifeline,
it's reason to celebrate living in the darkness,
baby, your every breath is intergalactic motivation,
that if you were to stop smiling
I'm almost certain that a star dies as well.
and in the magnitude of spectacular phenomena this universe will never cease to offer,
somewhere out there,
I promise someone notices.
some late night mind ****, so raw, so rough.
When I said you could think of me as your therapist,
I meant, could you leave the room and I’ll make notes?
Allow me to turn
Watching you leave
Into a profession.
Mind you, I’m pretty good at this job.
There’s the creaking of the floor panels
Under your converse,
The jingle jangle of car keys
In your back pocket,
And the death-like glow of light bulbs
Seeping through the door hinges
Of when you exit.
But you didn’t notice any of this.
You hardly broke a sweat.
On the other side of the room,
My tears are stars
And the sound of your departure
Has me painting
On my cheeks,
Turning my chest into steel
Until you’ve convinced yourself
That God locked this heart in a cage.
Don’t worry (I know you don’t),
I am built for this,
For your soapy self
Slipping in and out of my life.
And it will happen again.
I have my notepad with lists of
Heartbreaking theories and
Scientifically correct ways
Of sending you off.
And when I will,
Know that it’s just
What every good therapist does.
The first sentence is a line from the book ‘No Object’ by Natalie Shapero.
My friends
Write of lovers they miss
I don't.
I write
Of a knight in shining armor
Who has
So peacefully rescued me
It pains me
That in these next few days
Away from his embrace
I am left
Staring at his weaponry:
Hot dog pillows
With them,
He's won many battles.
But now I'm back here,
Locked up in this tower of
Unfinished requirements.
The essays
Have destroyed the stairwell.
Lab reports
Have blocked up my doors
And he left me,
Sleep left me
A damsel in distress
With caffeine and homework
Running in my bloodstream.
I peek out of my window,
Stare at the ground below,
Still not a sign of Sleep anywhere.
My friends
Write of lovers they miss
I don't.
I write of one I miss
Every night.
What has hell week done to my poetry?
I'm pretty sure
Eyes glaring
At the surface of my soul
Isn't supposed to feel
Any less like a stabbing to the heart.
But it does.
You have cupped
My burdens
In both of your hands
And sprinkled them over
The driest corners of my mind,
Watered them,
And let them grow
Into something lovely.

I'm pretty sure
That every hiccup of an
'I miss you'
Isn't supposed to
Cause my blood
To blush warm.
But it does.
You toy with words
In the best way
Making sure each syllable
Is coated in
Silky persuasion
And I try,
Believe me, I do,
To let them sink
Into this heart,
You've called beautiful
Far too many times.

I'm pretty sure
Your lips have quivered
And tired of
Grinning encouragements
And whispering warmth
And uttering
'I love you's
But they haven't.
For this, I am pleased.
And this fluttering thing
Residing in my chest
Can't find a way out
To tell you,
To thank you.
The falter of her step
Will trigger a
Mini tsunami.
There still is
The sound of gravel hitting stone
Brick upon brick;
Beautiful noise, too.

She'll cause the world to
Stop and stare
Either way.
Is that you?
I knew that smelled familiar.
It's your heart again, isn't it?
I can almost imagine it
Helplessly perched
On the palms of your hands.
It reeks of heartache.
You should really get that checked.
It means
You believed in a boy again.
And I don't know
How those lies
Made it's way to the port,
Hopped on a ferry,
And voyaged to your bloodstream,
Making it's way to the arteries of
Whatever it is you have left
In your hands.
But it's fine.
Don't blame him.
Don't blame you.
You're both
A lot quicker than your skin expected
You have cuts and wounds but
Don't panic, I've got the thread.
It's time for the stitches.

What happened to your hands?
Did you play with fire?
Did you test the waters and were they hotter than you expected them to be?
At least
You know that love
Was never really a game of trial and error.
The realest kind only comes around
About once or twice.
And I know your hands
Liked to fiddle around with the idea
That it would only be him.
For a while it was.
But that fire was extinguished.
And it's nice to hope that some flames would last forever
My darling, you deserve the sun.

What happened to your eyes?
They don't sparkle how they used to.
I know the sight of him
Knocked the wind right out of you
And lifted your spirits so high
And filled you up with enough electricity
To power that spark.
But the opportunities to gaze at him
Are only so temporary.
Things only glitter
When they're exposed to
The Light.
So, better fix those eyes on the
One thing
That is eternally bright.
Trust me, when you do, the tears
Will evaporate from your eyes,
Making everything clearer,
And the world will start to make sense again.

What happened to your ears?
You've pierced and stuffed them with
All the wrong syllables.
I know those phrases and letters
Sounded like a good idea for a while.
Maybe you heard them at the
wrong time.
Maybe they were never meant for you.
I know how it stings.
But uncover your ears because
There are people who still want to tell you more
Beautiful truths.
You must listen.
The sight of the word "people"
Makes you wish I meant him.
But my darling, I can only
Assure you that there is someone
Out there
Carrying all the right words
In the pockets of his hoodie.

All you need to do now is
Be still.
You are a princess.
For a while, you've kept your head down
And your crown
Is slowly slipping from it.
But a day will come when your heart will
Heal from the lies,
Your eyes will sparkle,
Your hands will work again,
Your ears will only hear songs
And it will all be because
You waited.
Let me tell you, my darling,
True love is more than worth it.
Keep your chin up.
You can't miss it.
I shouldn't be writing spoken word pieces at 2 in the morning but this is dedicated to someone special to me. Someone as beautiful as her needs to know she deserves only the best.
I remember when you told me to
let it go
The words slipped out of your mouth but never did you let pride slip out of your fingers
I know, because every syllable still stings
The surface of my heart.

Mr. Building, you let go.
Allow the wind to blow against your hair and
create wrinkles on your clothing
But never let it
Knock the dreams right out of you
I believe in them and never will I
Even stutter those words to you
Me take your hand and help you carry those burdens
Don't ever drop your ceramic hope,
Cling on to your glassy aspirations because dreams
Are made of fine china
So precious
So fragile
So so so beautiful
Please don't let  your chin fall to the ground.
Lift yourself up,
Because the world deserves to see
How tall He's built you
But prove to them
That when the earthquake comes,
You height's got nothing on your
And if telling me to let it go
Is to break me back into concrete,
Then by all means demolish these
Stories and hammer through these
Because every broken window
Is worth seeing you succeed.
It'll hurt me to the very ground,
But your standing tall
Will help me recover.

I remember when you told me to
let it go
Your breath smelled of coffee.
I can tell you've had a rough night.

And maybe
Just maybe
you spent
those sleepless nights
Deciding whether you should
Let it go, too.
It's late and my mind only knows how to speak in metaphor.
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