if your heart is one
mine is one too,
if you are a machine
than i am, too
dont stare at me
slack-jawed, if you can comprehend
that
you
are
flesh and blood and thought
than i am flesh and blood
driven by thoughts of you
there is one thing
and that is you
and i am that one thing
as long as you are too
if you are a child
than i am too
if you rest,
than i will too
you are light,
i am when i am with you
in you i see me,
in me you see you

The sun beats down on my body
But I don't care
Because here there is love
There is peace
There is hope
We play cards for hours but never get bored
We climb trees because it makes us feel alive
We skip rocks because we like to think we're good at it
We play music because it makes us feel whole.
And I realize that I'm in love.
Not with you, not with today,
But with the sun, and the sky, and the earth.
I'm in love with being alive.
My hearts feels full
I have no blood in my veins. Just peace.
The way I always wanted it to be.

if you need to talk,
call the scrap yard.
ask for the girl
who sifts through debris
and finds spare parts
that can try to replace
your failing ones.

I will answer
to whistling teapots
and accumulated newspapers
if you don’t have time to call;
drinking gasoline so I don’t fall asleep,
and oil for stability.

if the things I find
cannot help,
I will relinquish my function
so I don’t fail you too—
the sum of my parts
could never make a whole
as lovely as yours, anyway.

I saw a man
walking up to a cart
full of empties
and wondered:

will he walk
along side it
like it’s his first love
or push it
like it’s a new born
and I wondered
which is really
sadder

you told me to be levelheaded
because symmetry is what makes a beautiful face.

instead,
I will touch my stomach
to the bottom of the pool
so you can’t examine me
without being as low as I am.

if you still want to see,
meet me in the deep end—
we can have a toxic tea party
just you and I.

maybe,
when I finally float to the top
you’ll say
my sense of foolishness
is what you’ve always
loved.

dad,
build a chapel
with her bedroom’s burnt floor
and mourn every February
for her.

I can see the shadow
from her window
reflecting in your eyes and
the matches she lit
in your therapy.

has the ash on her body
from that night
come off your fingers yet?

I will continue to shed skin
until I remind you
nothing of her.

The trees will eventually
turn into cracking spines;
let me show you
power
and the strength
of his backbone.