He was a soul
crafted by Jupiter:
limitless,
wild,
and always  
searching.

I am a soul
crafted by Mars:
driven,
unforgiving,
and unyielding.

When you shunned him
for discovering
our existence
our meaning
our joys
our sorrows,
I watched
for years
and years,
a fire inside
my blazing chest.

Now, I hold the scythe
in my hand,
untouched by the flames.
I hold your fate in my hands
and watch the flames
consume you
as you await your retribution.

today marks
day 903

903 days
since you’ve left.

the first day I met you
I was tiny, barely a
fragment in this universe.
You held me
and shouted,
“She has my eyes!”

days collected together
just like a dusty library.
the memories we had together
are now ink, written and
unwritten.

how can I fit
8,035 days of admiring
your soul
learning your ways
into 78,083 pages?

yet I hope
that I got it right.
the way your heart
adored the small creatures
that purred
and deferred
your pain.

the way you
radiated joy
every time
you heard thunder
echo in the distance,
lightning splitting the sky.

the way you
carried the 10 of Wands
for days upon years
and released
finally…
this lifetime.

here I hope
that one day,
all of our days
will be held
in the hands of those
that were made
from the same
stars as us.

du bist auf einem himmelhohen Weg,
und ich kann nicht folgen.
Die Vögel singen,
und du bist auf dem Heimweg.
ich sehe die Vögel,
die deine Seele empfehlen.
ich vermisse dich,
aber du schläfst im Frieden.

simple acts of love -  
given to me . . .
makes my chest swell
with despair.
when it’s given to me,
i can’t understand it.

i want to stop
checking my body,
wiggling the door ****,
counting the fatalities,
searching my symptoms,
and asking for reassurance.

i want to be able to leave,
not doubting
that i turned the straightener off,
that i shut the toilet lid,
that i locked the door.

i want to be able to sleep at night
without tapping
the doorknob
to make sure it's locked,
or else someone will break in.

i don't want to
be scared
when i see the number 13,
or be unable to
wear a certain sweater
without the fear of being sick.

but instead of staying habitual
i have become avoidant.

We are nothing without the Earth,
But Earth is complete without us.

You make me sick.
Defying the truth
And congratulating
The deaths.
You’ve ignored the signs
And said it’s ******* fine.

How many more will it take,
Until you’ll actually care?
Bodies will pile
Beneath your feet,
But the real killer
Is their blindness.

They consume every word,
Bow to their knees and blow you,
Violently risking safety
And hitting freedom in the face.
Since when was it
The American Way
To **** security?

I have no sympathy for them,
The ones who claim
An article of clothing is oppression.
Their guns will be fine;
No one’s taking them away.
But there’s another killer
Who could infect their cells,
But they don’t care.

I’ve never laid eyes on you before.
But I’ve felt you.
I’ve felt your rumble,
bellowing against the walls
of my house.
And I’ve heard you.
Your lonely howl
sighing against the small window.
And you’ve taken away my sight;
The way you ****
light out of a house,
a deep cry filling the air.
Yet the worst is
that even in the dark,
I can smell you;
toxic fumes billowing
in the humid air.
& As you came at night,
the only sign of you
was your roar,
the shattering of wood,
and each light
dropping in the city.
You may be beautiful,
but you left behind
violent demolition.

I don’t know what you are,
where you’re from,
but I know what you want.
You want to rip my chest
from the inside out,
you want to force
my limbs asleep,
a tingling
that hurts every move.
You get off
when I sweat through my sweater,
my heart pounding in my chest.
You love to see me
start to shake and cry.
You never call me before you come.
You always show up unexpected,
at night, when I’m alone,
or when I’m in public,
just merely trying to get by.
You love starting a fire in my chest
that is so hard to put out.
You love making me feel like
I should be scared every minute.
But one day, I won’t let you
start that **** fire anymore.

right now,
i’d rather stare
into a black hole.
it could swallow
my anxiety away
and take me with it.
this place we call home
will soon be unbearable
to look at.

terrestrial
matter
breaking A
         P
           AA AA R
       * . •
                T
                    • . *
we will never learn.

he wears a black suit,
but the white button down
is stained
with all the damage
he’s done to you.
he smiles
when you see
all the blood.
but what he
doesn’t know
is that you’ve
collected all the evidence,
each laundry day.

the desert air was dry,
scratching his throat.
he stood at the end
of the road,
squinting in the sun.
he saw red in the distance;
the color of his lover.
he closed his eyes
and held out his hands,
waiting.

his lover pushed back
his red hair out of his face.
he came up to the ghoul
and wrapped his arms around him,
whispering to him that—
that this time was the end,
that this time...
he wouldn’t be able
to follow him.
he brought his hands
up to the ghoul’s face,
and kissed him hard.
a kiss of poison;
a kiss of goodbye.

and then the ghoul
was left...
standing alone
under the sunshine.

scariest part
is the thought:
am i really here?
please touch me,
let me know i’m here.

reminds me of you,
breathing life
into the trees.
rain drops
remind me of you,
nourishing flowers
and brightening grass.
you shine in the windows,
warming up someone’s soul,
waking up the passion of a soul.
you shower over souls,
cleaning them of dirt and sorrow.
 
you worked hard in the spring,
bringing life to decades of history,
passing down the jewels in your eyes.
you were relentless as a spring storm,
never stopping,
always nurturing the flowers in your life.
you payed close attention to the wilted,
the rotting, and the forgotten.
your gentle hands
healed the sick
and fed the hungry.
 
bright as sunlight,
you sung to those you loved,
knowing the importance
of saying those three words.
i always woke up happy to see you,
peeking in my windows,
and wrapping warm arms around
me when i was cold.
you baked me sweets,
marshmallows and peanut butter,
each bite warming my soul.
how could one ever be mad
at warmth that followed them
everywhere they went?

I wish you were here.
It’s the darkest time
of the year,
and I need you.
Your house is
empty.
Your flowers
are gone.
I used to be able
to run down next door
and see you.
But now I can’t.
I can’t even step foot
in your yard.

The birds refrain
from cleaning
their feathers
in your yard.
They come to our yard,
looking at your empty home.
They used to love your home,
and you loved them.
But they peck at the ground,
unable to find any sign of you.
They chirp for you,
calling out to you,
wanting you to feed them again.
But if they can’t come to your home,
how will they be fed?

It’s dark in the night,
so neither I
or the birds can find you.
I will wait for you,
even though it’s years
away.
I will bring you flowers
every birthday.
But the birds can find you first.
They can fly up to you
faster than I can.