you are so cool
writing poems that dont rhyme
with imagery
hyperbole
and similie
to tell perople whjat your terrible life is like.

The sun was fading, that day.
I was folding laundry. It was winter? A winter sunset.
Chilly blue sky, highlighted with bits of faint, warm, coral clouds.
And i sat on the biting granite counter, nestled in cottony heaps
Cuddling with shirts and sweaters; simply feeling.
Perched in the laundry nook,
I knew things without knowing them.

Everything was glazed peach;
everything is okay.
Everything was okay, and everything will be okay.
Even with the moments of the not-okay,
the ones that plague us during the
In-betweens,
We find our okay.
And perched in the laundry nook,
I knew things without knowing them.

It swam through my arteries, gifting life to each cell
Within my cell of drywall and tile.
And with everything,
I loved you.
And with everything,
After all of the not-okay.
Sometimes i still find myself feeling
That love.

it creeps in through the corners
through the places where walls and ceiling meet
where the floorboards creak
and drafts of icy breath stroke your neck.

it creeps up through the carpet
through the the places where rugs cover the old oak floors
where grandmother's crocheted mat is getting worn
and little dusties hide from the harsh daylight.

it crawls out from inbetween your teeth
between the lips and tongue and the molars that fell out
and now the dry, empty cavity of your mouth
hangs sallow and barren.

falling for someone

is it meant to kick you down
cut you up and bruise you
coating you
in a
shiny coat of red

pain mixes with emotions of love
hides behind words
feelings
actions
contorting itself into pleasure

blame others
it isn't your fault

but

only your blood
comes out of

your body

when you,

fell.

your laugh is truly contagious.
people can say thats a cliché,
yet its not at all that way.

when you smile at me
I cannot help but smile at you
last night thats all we'd do.

each joke, each glare, each smile, each stare.

Its in my mind I choose to ignore .

In my heart last night is what I'm longing for.

*******.

There have been enough poems written about love.
And plenty more written about heartbreak.
I have indulged in the composition of both,
Roped into a reckless dance with the whipping wind
and the insanity of the heart's desires.
While engulfed in my emotional fires,
I have never felt so cold as I do now.
Poems about love, poems about heartbreak,
I drink them in and regurgitate the meaningless words.
Beauty: colorful, soft, bright, airy, ephemeral, blissful.
Batting of the eyelashes, scintilliance of the mind.
Pain: sharp, dark, throbbing, unforgiving and relentless.
Collapsing of the lungs, aching of the soul.
These are the empty images, sensory details that crowd
the screen and saturate the dreamy, inspired writer.
Those that love the hardest
Shatter in the most violent manner.
I am sick of a community
Founded on toxic vulnerability.