When my past comes to visit me,
it isn't a smack in the face.
It gradually creeps up,
wrapping itself around my body,
engulfing me.
It knocks down all my feelings
and throws them away,
making room for itself.
My past is not a welcome guest,
but it's hard to kick it out.

A new flower only blossoms with water
and rigorous concentration.
Good intentions just aren't enough these days.

You're in bloom,
your pistil rises and grabs the sun
like a new promotion.

Mine lies on the top shelf of my closet.
And sharp mahogany corners
don't bring me closer to any answers.

My kindred, my barren love
some meaningless God,
voided by logic and chemicals-
I have been told to plant my roots
within their soil.

They have been told to reach for me
just outside of arms length.

Absence doesn't make use weary-
it reveals to us the vast pastures
within mahogany boxes-
it manifests the bittersweet drought
I have swallowed like a jagged pill.

I watch you bloom in violent meadows.
I concentrate by daydreaming.
This way,
when blood fills all the small spaces,
the guilt won't **** the minerals
from vibrant, naïve roots.

Loving you was
the veins full of
Percocet,
Bad decisions and empty words.
Used our pasts to cure our presents,
Or to numb the pain
Enough to make it to sunrise.

Loving you was
The liquor lies we told
That burned my throat raw
When they asked about us.
Silent swears and repentance.
"Tomorrow."

Her eyes had cast down,
burning into the tiles below,
I didn't know white linolium flecked with black spots could be so interesting.

But to her they were.

To her it was more important,
to prove how much I meant,
by showing interest in a
dirt smudged walkway,
over sharing a passing glance at me.

You once called me your luna
Your moon
Lighting your path in the dark
Always hovering
Watching over you

You are my sol
My sun
Bathing my meadows and oceans
In the radiance of your light
Raining nourishment and life

All I have now are the lonely stars
Consoling me with their cold stares
A bitter substitute for your smile
As I await the breaking of dawn

How I loathe these vigils
Whose arduousness I forget
The moment our eyes and lips meet
And light floods my solitude anew.

Even those
with
the iciest blood
and
the bluest hearts
still have
moments
where they wish
there was someone
they could wake
in the middle of the night
and whisper
"This has happened to me
and it is not ok
and I am scared."