your presence
is the biggest gift
you have to give

to anyone
ever

including
you

we carry so many things
overflowing with memories
begging to be buried
how can I walk on this heavy
how can I let go of these suitcases
stitched to my fingers

where is the seam ripper for this baggage
where is the end of errant beginnings
when does the scene cut to diamonds
white fences and entire weekends
without tears

when can I not be tethered
to this old steel toed boot
I take a few steps forward
and it kicks me back on my ***

the heart I crave, the love I yearn
the swears I’ve sworn tongue tie and lie
and I’m back again, in your arms
wondering what is salvageable
wondering how much of me
will get to the next round

when will I be a snail
and not the shell

though the face in the mirror
has seen horrors
leaked tears

I am more
than those moments
I still can’t quite shake
though I’m not shaking anymore

I am walking forward
even when it’s a demoralizing procession
of eating pavement and picking myself up again

I am working on forgiving myself
for those egregious errors and casualties
strewn along my route
in and out of hell

I am listening
to the voice that shouts
that I need to dig up the dark things
to let the light inside me out

stopped talking to me
for so **** long

I started looking for it
in everyone else’s mouth

maddening, descending
a downward spiral staircase

and at the bottom
there is a dust-frosted trunk

packed to the brim
with love letters & promises to me

reading them feels like
voyeurism into another world
another time, another — dream

I know some of my come-trues
want to come through

if I can just stop trying to be
and allow my me

to me free

i’m glad someone is effing me this hard. tattooing finger trails along the spine of the universe.

just break me.
i don’t pretend to know.
i just puppet words and try to say
the stupid unsayable.

which is all so, sooooo....

much.

you know.
it is.

staring down stars
seeking signs inside the fire
I can't tell the color of my own eyes
anymore

just the bright whites
staring back into mine
flitting above the smile
that I struggle to give

where, who, what, when

why.

the Q’s transfuse into
plasmatic stew on spun plate
overfloweth

af.

seriously, the W’s
bend me over without even
a hello

with a mental drip
slick down my cerebellum
and sticky on the stem

I can’t remember
what this poem’s supposed to be

but it’s not important
and neither are we, just —

coagulate stardust frolicking
stitched in the mystery

(on repeat)