I have discovered new changes and cravings that loving you has brought me to realize
One.
The warmth of a blanket is different from the warmth of a body and I would rather freeze to death in your arms than cover myself in fabric
Two.
As a child, I used to dream of red clay being palmed into shape
Into mountains, wind washed, carved to life
I think of loving you this way
Though it is only a childhood craft medium I can make something beautiful out of  it
Three.
I will forever be compromising myself for you
Though I know it is stupid to endeavor being well adjusted to something that is broken
But all I really want is to be what you want
Even if it means digging holes in myself
Scratching old roots out of my veins
Planting new gardens and flowers of your particular liking
Four.
Loving you is like walking across the street when you know it is not time yet, the crimson lit palm telling you that it is a time to stay still, never listening and thinking, maybe they'll stop for me today but they never do and you end up wrecked each time
Loving you is going back every day, already broken enough so why not test the waters once more
Convincing yourself that there is something different about this time
Five.
Though you are so beautiful, your smile is a light in the dark, your kiss is venomous and I know you are not good for me but there something so enticing about swallowing a poison that taste so sweet
You are a deceiving medicine that will only make me sicker
I have discovered new changes and craving that loving you has brought me to realize and these are only a few out of the many that my mind holds captive, I hope to tell them to you one day

This is an indispensable love that has tied itself to me
Handcuffed my tired wrists to its strong pull
It is luring me in and I am trying to convince myself
Maybe I can walk away from this before it is too late
Before I am completely bound
Before this small cuff turns into chains
Love does not let you see it adding more custody
You will not realize the urgency until you cannot move
And I feel as though, maybe looking at you too long
Can cause a ******* that I will never escape from
And I am not sure if I am ready to be bound to you
While you are still bound to her

Loving you is the closest I have ever felt to flying
Yes, of course, I've been on an airplane and have jumped on a trampoline
I have had short lived experiences of being airborne
But loving you is long and drawn out flight
It feels as if the hands on my clock have arthritis
Like a bottle rocket pressing between my lips
Counting down the seconds that pass exceedingly slow
Waiting for the explosion
For the collision of my lips to yours
I have been waiting for far too long it seems
But maybe time is yet again using me as a martyr to prove that it does not care for your disposition or circumstance
Time only arrives when it knows it is needed
Time is never late or early
I am soaring through this love with only me, myself, and I
And I am waiting for the day where you believe that you too, can fly

Someone stopped to tell me that I was beautiful today
A complete stranger, someone who crossed my path for a second but decided they could not leave satisfied without spilling out a compliment into my lap
I wasn't sure how to pick it up at first
I smiled and said thank you, combing a piece of hair behind my ear, trying to hide the timidity in my posture
Thank you, to whoever you are

I want to write about my grandmother's hands
And how they have performed through life
Maneuvering with wooden spoons as steam permeates into her skin
Worn and wrinkled but still beautiful
Scrubbing stubborn leftovers off of glass plates
Tucking in weary children in dim lighting
Crawling into bed, gripping the end of the covers, pulling them over herself, keeping warm in winter weather
Wrapping herself up, placing her hands under the cold pillow
These hands have mirrored warriors
Marched like marines, held other hands, they have been kissed
They have been clenched into fists
They have been burned by aluminum pans
Slaving away for her family
These hands only want the best for you
These hands have wiped away tears
These hands have trembled at what they could not prevent
My grandmother's hands are still at work
The longest career imagined, laboring through the world
Layering themselves in survival
Her hands have experienced life in many different ways
And I will continue to read them like a story book
Until they go cold

More and more people each day give up on trying to be happy
It has become a tedious chore that many no longer want to do
It was something you would add to your to-do list for the day
"Be happy," it reads
And each morning you wake with coffee too hot to drink
And a vague memory of last night's lust toward sadness
It will baffle you how morning is not that much different
The sun is out, it is a brighter landscape but your body is still in the closet darkness
Eyes that narrow at any source of light
It was never like this before
And, as every morning, you think back to that feeling
Where happiness would sweep over you and you did not have to look for it
Before "Be happy," was written
On a list