And this.
This is what
it could
be like.


                                                                                                   And this.
                                                                                              This is what
                                                                                                    it almost
                                                                                                    was like.

this is what my heart
                   looks like:

           it is            geometric
                                       and angular
           there are                      dark corners
                                                        a­nd sharp edges  
But sometimes in the
sunlight some of my
sides look so
bright

god, did i want to be home
         in the home I thought I found
in your crystalline eyes
clouded only by wisdom

                alcohol ******* and ***

where i always sought
                                        comfort
          ­     in your chaos

you left a bruise on my lips
the first time we met.
                              A crash-and-burn type of
                                         introduction.

you left a bruise on my soul
the first time you left
                               before I realized I was leaving
                                                     too

those bruises all
            have yellowed
            and healed.
Sometimes
                   I still feel
your chaos clawing at my bones

It breaks my heart
                                that you're still hurting
                                and that I'm still hurting
                and those crystalline blue and greens
      have retreated into the fog, again.

Stop relying on those straight lines;
They won't guide you home at night.

A moment of clarity shrouded in dusty
                                                           white--
                    It is not light,
          but a suffocating device
come to strangle you
               *(but that's exactly what you'd like.)

Nostalgia is a man I have memories with,
                                    but no knowledge of.
He is a tree rooted in mystery
with leaves that shade
         the hungry mouth of a river
         malnourished--
pale skin stretched over tendon.
Release
palm upturned in offering
always offering
even with nothing to give.
Nostalgia
                 never learned hatred,
                                                       but bitterness
cold winter biting at smoking hands
bony fingers raw and red and reaching
                                                        ­             out out out
for empty air

I've got bluebirds
                               nesting
                     in my ribcage
I'm afraid I won't let them
                                             out.
But I know they should be free
to come and go as they please
               (because how else will anything love you?)

I wish i could fold myself
into the sounds
                           that your tongue makes
and exist in the
        fabric of your skin,
                   all silk and porcelain.

Instead, I am the ringing in your ears.

I'm thinking about hands again.
                                               I'm thinking about
            how yours are big
            and mine are small
and how yours fit
                                nicely
                     around my throat
mine claw at your back
and i gasp
                                                        …fu­ck me

And I'm thinking about your steadiness
                           and my shakes
        and about how we both create
                               universes
with just our hands
                 and our lips
                         and our teeth.

I'm thinking about how
          my hands would like to find yours
in the dark
              and rest in it's spaces
                             under your ocean
              of blankets,
    like an empty glass waiting
to be filled.

there is an entire
                   universe behind
          your eyes
i wasn't aware of
until you said my name
it woke the
                    stardust in my bones
formed nebulae       in my brain.
i don't know      which magnet
you
       stir
             in
                 me
but i am pulled to you
by the iron in my veins

he was being he
and I was
                 being
                           I
Stopped his world for a second
          Run
from what you love
                   Run
from what loves you;
It's only nostalgia now
       and nostalgia is  
                                   my favorite word.
Cleanse my faith
               of your proud sins and
Be human.
God,
          please be human again.

I mean
      that I am trying to tame
      the wildfire in my heart
      built on the Embers from a
      domesticated bonfire
      during a winter many springs ago.
      i thought i had stamped it
                                                         out
                                                      out out
I mean
      that I am not trying to run
      i'm just trying to move
      in a different direction
      the scent of a breeze caught my nose
      and as i am a red tailed fox
                                                       i follow
I mean
      that sometimes i feel like
      my dreams are much bigger than me
      but even if i am a ladybug
      i am still as big as the
sea.

I should have flowed
                         like the ocean
         but i only know
how to
            drip
                    like a
                              faucet
And I should have told you
that when you kiss me,
                         it feels like the sun:
           Warm
        and Sweet
And that my favorite ones
         are on my
                     back
when you think
                            I'm asleep

I can remember
                   placing
my hand on your barrel chest.

A prayer to a God
that, maybe, I've never known
for the ability to be
                          soft.

I kissed your eyelids awake
              willed them open
                           to see the warm brown
               coffee mugs behind.
I want to drink from you and
                                                   keep drinking,
             and inhale every ring of smoke
                         that rises from your lips
because the universe inside you
is beautiful,
             crystalline
             with biased clarity.
I wish you would be
                               part of me,
                                            cannibal galaxy

I like to stand in the rain
and feel it's hands and feet against my face

And I like the feeling of mud between my toes.

It's like a personal baptism;
A rebirth more holy because
                           it came from Earth, to Earth.

And I like to hear your voice.

It calms me when I feel restless.
A quiet understanding between two people
like leaves swaying in the wind.

I imagine it is your fingers in my hair.

I want to clarify that
when I said I wish I could
share every thought with you,
I didn't mean that
I am not ashamed
of the tiny terrors
and transgressions
that trespass my thoughts,
but that I am finally willing
to be responsible for them.

Perhaps I am a cactus.

              Perhaps,
there are needles
                              protruding
from my skin
to prove how soft
i really am.

                            A saguaro,
                   only hollow      
      by the birds                  
           who make nests      
                          in my chest.

Perhaps,
               I will flower
once the rainy season is over.

I will drink deep of this muddy sorrow
and my skin will swell
warm
          and green
                            and well nourished
by the sky.

Perhaps,
                it will be
the most beautiful
                 blossom anyone has
       ever seen
and people will travel
                                                      mile­s
                      just to
                                      admire.

Perhaps,
        ­        they will wonder
how my flower
                came from such a
spiny
thing
And Perhaps
                        I will tell them.

I've been
     trying
     to find
            words to describe
the secrets
            of ancient bones
            hidden within this temple
in which i've made my home.
Perhaps if you took the time
to study
              the walls I call
                    my skin
               covered with
graffiti & hieroglyph,
You might find
                           some
                                    greater
                ­                                 truth
obscured by
my own lack
of knowledge
                         on where
                               and how
                         to begin

So maybe I'll start
                                 with the
                                 original
                             big           BANG
Detail
every moment
of recorded history
that lead up to the exact
                                  explosive moment
when our lips met for the first time
and i slipped
into a new    
                        universe
                          where­    

I only want to fill silence

           with your                             
                                                    name

you looked in the mirror
and saw someone else's eyes
hiding behind your own.

you felt shattered
when you saw him last
but you were stronger

like you'd been tempered
with distance and distraction
false answers in the stars

and you were the tree all along
branches just hearts strings
connecting you to sky
and you still weathered well.

I've seen
               Jesus
               at the bottom of
                          whiskey bottles.
We've talked
                  about the universe,
                                    and death,
And he's given me the whole speech,

                        And I decided I'd better just
Sleep it off.

You feel heavy.

        Like there is something
                 Tangible
in your sadness
                           And you think
       you're so dark
but I'm not sure.

                  You dumb your profound.
                                                       ­           Your heart feels
                                                           ­           like thunder.

                         You are Rolling;
                                 Disaster

                                          but
                                                 not

         Destruction

I am not made of metal.
It does not take
             immeasurable strength
                                           to put       cracks       in me
I bend
                  and I
break
                                 and I
do so quite easily.

I am not ashamed of this.

                                              I will no
                                               longer
                                                allow
                                               myself
                                                to be
                                          the iron bars
                              You think guard my heart.

I will flow like river,
And sway like branches of trees.
                   I will dance,
and you will see
               I am not this unflinching thing
you have created me to be.

That I have the privilege
to know a true goddess
Who walks among us,
and carries our stones too,
Is the sweetest honey
made with gentle care
by the buzzing universe

Sometimes, I simply feel
compelled to share.

Don't be discouraged
                when you feel
Too Big
                at home in your own body.

Be Big
and be aware
                       the stars light the universe
                       the same way you look at them:

In love and in wonder of the night sky.

I saw the Earth once, and fell in love.
I wanted to be named dirt.
You laughed, called me mud,
But I love all things that hold up the sky
and You forgot that one is part of the other
and that I am part of everything.
I remain,
                both dirt and sky
You
       disappear with no name.

i find echoes of your existence
in ragged coffeehaus and empty wine bottles
and i swear i can almost taste your sweat
when i drive home
             down university to southgate.

it's easier to pretend during the daylight hours
but at two in the morning
                                             when the stars kiss my eyes
i swear it's you
                          and no matter how many times
                          i wash my blanket
i hear you call my name
                                          from the folds of its fabric.

I look for traces of me
in the smoke stacks bursting
from your mouth,
                              in the bottom of empty wine bottles
                              and the vapors rising between sips.
I look for reflections of me
in the crystal
from around your neck,
                              in your blue-green eyes
                              and empty spider webs.
Some small chemical amount of me
must be left on you, somewhere
                              although your skin cells have shed
                              since we last met.
Your muscles must remember me
like whispers in your hair
hands touching in the dark
unfolding me from tree
when I thought I was queen.

Remember the last time you kissed him.
                           His hands unmovable mountains
                                  when they were first malleable
                                              and laced with stardust
Remember his eyes were the color of stone
So when you pick up pebbles at the beach
You know which ones to hold.

It's as if my body were the ocean.
Eyes of constellation,
                                     I wonder
                     what it was like
       the first time you
were so in love
It hurt.
Did you bend an break
                at your bough?
a shipwreck more beautiful
                       because unmovable
            and your blue skies clouded
Some beautiful substance, you are.
           Sometimes it's a burden.
                  Others, it's poetry

I was watching the constellations
                                                     fall
high above the atmosphere
         your telling words were
                      disappearing into

I wish I could have snatched them out of the air
and kept them safe with me.

a calm just as much for yourself,
as for anyone else.
Remember in the sweet breeze,
you do so much for others
just by humming.
and Remember that you, too,
get enjoyment from it.

1.
Look in the mirror and practice
saying I love you until the words come out
sounding like the song birds you heard
while washing your body in a river
that looked like glass before being shattered by
waterfall.

2.
The muscles in your cheeks will hurt sometimes
when you smile too much,
but remember that ache when you are feeling lost.
Even happiness is hard.
Keep telling yourself it is worth it.

3.
Scars and bruises cover your body
like a map to remind you
which falls hurt the most,
and that you stood up again.

4.
Grow flowers in your bones
so that you aways have a gift to give.
Sometimes, that gift is yourself.

somedays, Love is like an empty driveway. sometimes Love is a grizzly; when it wakes, it growls at you. sometimes, Love is a full moon. Love dances with You and forgets its claws and gnashing teeth. sometimes, Love doesn't know that its bites aren't supposed to hurt. but sometimes You don't either, so you forgive. sometimes Love is a cat that scratches and comes back purring. You don't fault it for being that way. Love is not easy to understand, but at least You are always willing to try.

The Knight arrival is good news.
He says "Carry
                 with you what you must,
but remember:
for what you cannot
                 Carry,
                 you will gain
                 that much more."

The moon has a cycle;
                                      she says "You
will always be what
You
       have always been,  but
that doesn't mean you can't be more"

It will come with time.

Dear New York,
          I think of you often.

Dear New York,
          In a parallel universe,
                  I am holding you tightly,
but in this one
       I am only grasping
                                        at empty air.

Dear New York,
          Do you read
the love letters I write you
          in my sleep?
                                     Do you sleep at all?

Dear New York,
          I hope you enjoyed your coffee today,
and that it was not bitter,
                                            if it tasted like me.

Dear New York,
          I hope it tasted like me.

I wish I had words to describe the fire you've set beneath my ribcage; the way it began as kindling, and the way it grew into a dull roar like the pulse I can hear behind my ear drums. It is a steady beat that breaks the monotony of silence in the late hours of night. I can pick out half-memories in my mind that tell me I was aware of you always.

It feels like hope when warm sunlight kisses my cheek: a quiet kind of thing that whispers and never shouts. The way hands seem to find each other in the dark and ache to fill the space between each finger with another's.

I want to explore with you; to trace the outlines of a map on your skin and follow those lines to all the places we've never been.

I want to learn the history rooted in your bones and recite it like my favorite poem. I want to know what makes you grow and where your gravity is centered; how words taste as they form on your tongue and how they look like art when you speak, because when you speak you move mountains in me.