you cut my heart up, let it bleed
over you mon amour.
We’re in stalemate of love,
your wavering indecision,
I want to shove
it away, put a lock on the pain,
cross your name off my lips.
What is there left to gain
with all that disconnection,
the distance stretched between us,
and you, filled with trepidation.

How many times do I have to say that I’m not okay
before you start listening with your heart instead of your mouth?
Your heart, once warm to the touch, protected by briars
and a sphinx, though I thought them unreal.
I’ve tried to solve the riddle, to think it through, to answer right,
but your heart remains closed off to me and I sit through the night,
wondering how we got here, to this point of isolation.
Your mind is closed, heart unreachable, words sparse,
and yet I think to break down these walls, climb them,
push through them until I’ve found you in the
center of it all.

I’m tired, the kind of tired that makes you want to curl up and
forget the day.
My blankets, soft, warm, green,
will heat me up and soothe away my fears.
I’m tired of watching you beyond the glass,
it’s frosted with distance, indecision, and
loneliness.
I see your figure though the pane and want to call out,
bring you in, give you cocoa, and fall into a pile of ease, and
natural love.
Fall back in love with me.
Leave the cold and come back into my arms, I’ll keep you
from the world,
and we’ll hide away,
warmed by wood and fire.
You'll stay by my side,
my love, my life, my happiness,
solidified.

Take away my pain, peel back the layers
of aged, crumbling paint.
I’m not in the wrong here, but my heart cries
tears and shreds itself up,
a bomb I never thought active.
Take away my pain,
your love was my warmth, my haven of light,
but now the shadows creep in
and the rocks pull me down.
Take away my pain, that of my naïve heart,
the one that loved you unflinchingly
and is taught to love you still.
Take away my pain,
you made the choice, wavered in love,
take my pain and give it
to the ***** in your bed.

tension lies beneath this smile,
a nervous energy fueled by too little sleep and anticipation of the future.
music helps… sometimes. writing is barely an escape.
these legs long to run, arms long to strike.
left hook, right uppercut, elbow to the face.
enemies only i can see.
a scream is withheld, scorching my throat with its intensity.
my lips are bruised, but not from your mouth.
troubled by my own fears, anxiety.
i itch to move, as if that will shake my troubles,
i could sprint for the exit, but they’d lash out,
coiling around my ankle, yanking me down

There should be a word,
for when you read poetry,
or when you write it,
and the feeling that follows,
or leads.
Sadness tinged with longing,
shot through with love,
trailing fatigue, and
overhung with a rawness of true
emotion,
I want a word for that.

I said I love you,
you, I love you more.
But what you don’t get is that there’s
nothing more
than loving the one that you adore,
even as they tease their skin with the
sharp points of a blade.
I will always love you more,
more than reason, more than is safe.
You’ve captured my heart, soul, mind
and I could never walk out that door,
no matter how many
tracks cross your skin,
no matter how many broken promises
of newfound strength float into the air.
I love you more.