When every other thing in your life has shattered
and you are a shell of a person and all you do
is call me at an ungodly hour to be alone,
you don’t have to say hello. You don’t have to say
anything. Let your sadness speak its lengths
through the silence that permeates through our phones.
I’ll stay on until you fall asleep, or I’ll come to your place
and hold you until you find your breath again.
I’ll wipe away the tears for you, but I won’t tell you
not to cry. Sometimes crying is the only thing we can do.

When you’re tired, just look at me and
give me one of those exhausted smiles we share;
I’ll carry you home and undress you.
I’ll fold your clothes to the side, tuck you into the covers,
and read to you while caressing your hair.
Don’t worry about snoring or moving about
while you sleep; just get your rest.

When you’re furious and all the world has done is
disappoint you, I’ll hang from a doorway and be
your punching bag. Don’t be gentle with me.
Yell until your voice splinters and you punch your knuckles raw
and stomp until your knees give out from under you.
I’ll lay you down and ice your hands and give you tea
for your throat. I’ll hold you as the rage turns into
anguish and frustration and all you can do is tremble.

And even when my actions are futile and
all my words do is come crashing about your ears,
I promise that I will at least try for you.

All your wounds heal both inside and out.
I will always be here to soothe the burns.
I will always listen to your rants and ramblings.
I will always have a hand for you to hold.
I will always love you; everything that I have
and everything that I am, all that that I ever will be,
is yours.

Always.

I roar with a bravado
that echoes throughout
the deepest caverns
of brave souls

yet with every time
there lies a risk
of my own reverberations
shattering my heart

I am fragile glass
fashioned into
the fearsome form
of a lion

I have been chiseled at by
Father Time and Mother Earth,
carved away by my pains
and my worries.

I am no façade;
there is nothing ornate
about me designed to
hide something heinous

I can shatter
just as easily
as my mother’s
prized china set

But I roar on
even as I chip away;
my joints creaking
and my body scorched.

Do not mistake my
scratches and cracks
for weakness,
I have demons of my own.

I walk this ground
with the hope
that my roars,
in spite of my fragility,

will instill a sense of hope
into all of you
with glass hearts
such as mine.

I know you don't do well in the cold or in the rain;
You scramble around trying to save your hair
and you jabber nonsensically in the cutest way,
you shiver and you mumble and your hands and nose go cold.

But that's just a temporary, mundane blemish
on the beautiful temple that is your body,
one that a jacket can guard from, or a towel can wipe off.

But your heart, your fortress of a heart, is what I worry about.
I know it hurts too, I know all too well that it does.
I know that sometimes, you sit in a sea of blankets and warmth,
but your heart still aches with a horrible chill.
I know that although you may be sheltered,
it sometimes feels like your heart is stranded in a downpour
and your fortress cracks sometimes.

I don't know how to tell you or show you that
I will stand in a hurricane to hold an umbrella over your heart,
I will build you a home and a hearth to warm your bones,
when all you feel is broken and numb
I will hold you and kiss you until
all of your beautiful puzzle pieces are put back together.  

So don't mind the rain, sweetheart.
I'll always be
an umbrella for your heart.

To whom this may concern,

I forgive you.
Even if you haven’t apologized just yet;
maybe you never will.
But I have held this hurt in my chest for far too long
and I don’t want this rotting away my naive heart.
I’m writing this with cathartic desperation and a patience
that only comes from being angry for so long.

I want you to notice the first sentence I wrote earlier.
“I forgive you.” Note that I did not say “it’s okay,” or “it’s all right."
There’s a distinction between what I did say and what I could have.
I said that I forgive you. When I say that,
I acknowledge that you have wronged.
You have hurt me and we both ought to recognize that.
If I’d said “it’s okay,” I would be subtly telling you that
“whatever you did, it’s okay, it’s all right.”
I didn’t say it’s okay because it’s not.
Whether or not you come to terms with it
is not my business anymore.

I hope you find yourself within these words
and make peace with yourself, and I hope
you don’t make the same mistake with another individual.

Without Wax,
Someone Whose Scabs
Have Only Recently Become Scars

*P.S. I may have forgiven you
but that does not mean that I trust you just yet.

We’ve always
learned in school
that if you were found
to have written
something that
someone else wrote
(even unintentionally)
you would be
reprimanded.
But even then
I've always wondered;
out of the billions
how could I
possibly
be so unique?

I’m awfully homesick, but

people always ask me the wrong questions.

It’s always
“Where is home for you?
Where do you go?”

The thing is,

“home”

isn’t a “where” question to me.

There is no mere
longitude and latitude
that can locate home for me,
my home is not cemented into the earth.

Home is a “who” question.

Who is home for you?

Where there ought to be brick and mortar there are bones,
where there should be couches and beds to rest on
there are arms open to embrace me.

I find home in no establishment of carpets and china cabinets,
I find comfort and solace in a person.

So, my dear,

you

are home for me.

And I’m homesick.

I used to be so hesitant about expressing
the extent of my feelings towards people.
There have been too many instances where
I value and appreciate and love someone
much more than they ever would reciprocate,
and to them I would seem overwhelming,
reckless, and desperate with the way I felt.
I’ve learned it’s too risky to pretend not to care.
What comes next is too uncertain, too capricious.
In the next 24 hours, I could get hit by a bus,
move to another country, I could disappear.
I am young and we are fragile and mundane
and we never know when the bus is coming.
We don’t know who won’t be here tomorrow
or in two weeks or in two years from now.
All we know is the unadulterated here and now
of our infinitesimal existence on this planet.
I love being straightforward and honest, I love
telling people how much they mean to me,
I say things like “you are one of my favorite
human beings to ever walk this earth of ours”
and “you are a strong, resilient, beautiful sunflower.”
I love hands in hands and heads in laps and
kisses and hugs and cuddles and caresses.
I love saying "I love you and I appreciate you."
I need you to know now, in this moment
that I care for you to the ends of the earth, and
I cannot believe that I have the privilege
of knowing you and your story and simply
having someone like you in my life.

I love being unapologetically Harsh.

October 18th, 1995. I was born a little more than a month early; Ma always says it’s because I’d thought of a good joke and couldn’t wait to share it with everyone. Dad says it was because I was too hungry.

Yes, my name is Harsh but I promise I’m a nice enough person. Harsh means happiness in Sanskrit and I’ve always worn that name tag proudly. I use the username "harshhappens" as an alternative to the unfortunate saying "**** happens." Happiness happens, too.

I’ve got my father’s temperament and my mother’s smile, but I love my mother’s temperament and my father’s smile wouldn’t fit my face. I look at the two of them and see a patched, two-tone mirror of myself. I’m scared of what I am taking from them and what I’m not.

My childhood was Pokemon and Legos, chocolate chip pancakes and milk, hugs from my grandparents and bedtime stories with mom. Oh, how I loved to read. If books were grape juice, I was an alcoholic.

I’ve got my share of adolescent acne, the bags under my eyes hold the weights of my sins and I’ve already got smile crinkles about my plain, dark eyes. My hair is usually combed to a side and turns into a beard as you trace down my sideburns. I dress like a trendy 80-year-old psychology professor sometimes, other times I dress like a wannabe-tumblr-model. Oh well.

My favorite colors are maroon and grey. I’m also colorblind. Go figure.

I’m going to school to help people and hopefully save them from themselves. Problems of the mind are at the root of our existence, and will continue to terrorize victims no matter how much money they earn, no matter how much *** they have, no matter how lovely their spouses are, no matter how big their houses are. When people go to sleep at night, they deserve to have peace of mind. I’d like to help with that. I know too many people who can't take it. I knew too many people who couldn't take it. No one deserves to go through that alone.

I’m a five-foot-ten-inch sculpture made without wax. If I’m nothing to you I’ll at least be genuine. I’m pockmarked and scarred in my own ways.

Music runs through my veins, along with endorphins and an appalling lack of iron. What I listen to can be like honey and sometimes it’s a hurricane. I’ve shed tears to music, it’s been a part of me for ages.

I don’t sleep very well.

I am an introvert in the most proper sense of the term. Sometimes I get oversensitive, and being with too many people or around certain people can get very overwhelming and intense, I tend to shut down in these instances. Just make eye contact with me and I’ll open up to you, I promise. I don’t like parties. I’d much rather sip a mug of coffee in my basement with a canvas in front of me and paint all down my jeans, or sit by my window and write my heart away. I’d rather take a long drive with the love of my life or take her to dinner. I don’t take pride in this solitude, I hate it most of the time. I wish I enjoyed myself at parties.

I’m scared of heights and of knives in the wrong hands. I’m also terrified of the dark.

I’m a hopeful romantic, it’ll take a lot for you to take hope away from me. I’ve been blessed with a girlfriend that is genuinely the best thing to ever happen to me. She’s the kind of girl that you work hard for but you know she’s **** worth it. She’s the kind of girl that teaches you things both about the world outside your bedroom and about the person inside your heart. She’s the kind of girl that makes you write poetry. I am plenty ******* up in my own way, but no one else can ever love the way I do; let that be a vice or virtue.

You could probably buy my soul off me for some chocolate. Or some nice lobster. Or mashed potatoes. I'm just a very hungry person.

It’s too late for my parent’s praise to mean anything to me, I needed it earlier. I live with a constant doubt that you can call self-consciousness or self-doubt. You can quote Freud all you want. I need constant reassurance that I’m worth anything to anyone and everyone and I look for it desperately. Sometimes when I get really bad I just want to hear a reason why I’m worth listening to. I am constantly trying to convince myself that I’m good enough. It’s frustrating for both me and my loved ones. I’m 150 pounds of waiting for someone to tell me that I try hard enough and that I’m all they need.

The best compliment anyone has ever given me was from my girlfriend. She said “I love your mind.”

I write because of my girlfriend. She woke up this primordial part of me that really just likes to put a pen to paper.

So, hi there. I’m Harsh. Nice to meet you.

-  I will always be willing to listen to your
stories, and will forever want to hear them.
Your words are as good as music to me.

- There will be days where the sun feels cold to
me and I am made a prisoner to my deepest fears.
There will be nights where I wake up sobbing,
just as much a prisoner as I was during the day.
Be gentle, be patient with me.

- I smile at everyone I make eye contact with on the street.

- I love in an earnest manner that can be
overwhelming. I am not malevolent,
but rather I have spent years being told
that my feelings aren’t worth listening to,
and I just have a lifetime’s worth of love to give.

- If you manage to hold what I can throw at you,
you’ve found someone in your
corner that won’t go without a fight.

- You’ll never see me fighting anyone.

- I’ve worried I’m too vulnerable for far too long;
I am raw and unadulterated and unabashedly so.
I refuse to inhibit what I have to say.

- I will give you all that I have and more;
please don’t take advantage of this.

- I will write about you, I will write about how
I feel, I will write about someone I once loved
and about how I once felt. Words and feelings
are fleeting, but they are also powerful.

- I will ask you questions until I’ve found out
everything there is to know about you-
including things you never thought about.

- I have friends who will call me in the dead of
night; I will answer the phone, I will drive to
their house with their favorite dessert in tow.

- I will pull over on the side of the road if the
clouds are compelling enough. I can sit for hours
watching the sun set or water fall. Either hold my hand
and join me, or let me be overwhelmed by something 
greater than myself in peace.

- No one can or will love you the way that I do;
take that as my most horrid vice, or my most endearing virtue.

I spell “I love you” on the lines of your collarbone

and I always try to go from one end to another,
brushing calligraphy strokes with my tongue
and blotting your skin as a page with my lips.

I never really have finished saying it,
and I guess I never will

my motions are lost among your curves
and my lips almost always end up
meeting yours somewhere in the middle.

She's
not just a girl.
No, one cannot simply
call her a girl.

She's
a storm,
a storm with skin, bound by
passion and dreams.

She's
a temptation,
her body a fire,
My senses a helpless moth.

She's
a maestro,
her laugh being
the sweetest symphony of all.

She's
a lioness,
the way she perseveres,
fights, and defends.

She's
a diamond,
brilliant and rare,
to be cherished and protected.

She's
a mile,
but only if
beauty was an inch.

I haven’t been playing my guitar as of late
and it’s not because I’ve lost interest- I still
love the same musicians I did before and I’d love
nothing more to be able to play like them.
I’ve picked it up a couple times in the past
three months and I’ve found that even though
I know exactly what chords to play and where
all the notes are that once made me happy,
it ends up sounding off and halfhearted;
that happens when you don’t press down
between the frets hard enough.

I didn’t realize that I was so afraid
of holding onto something since you left

No matter what you do in this life,
put all of your heart into it.
Invest every fiber of your being
into whatever you work on,
no matter how arbitrary
or even how irrelevant.
The best that comes about
this exhausting way of life
is that you end up with
a job well done, and
all the recognition you deserve.
The worst thing you end up with
(stay with me, trust me on this)
is the raw, unfiltered fact
that you gave it your all.
You tried to the fullest extent
of your capacity and ability.
No one, no matter who they are,
where they come from,
what they look like,
how they got to where they are,
or what their story is,
can ask any more from you
than your absolute best.

Without wax,
Someone Who Should Have Always Tried
But Didn't

* P.S. Because what more can they really ask of you?

There's a lot for you to learn, kid. (Mind you, I call everyone kid, don't take it personally.)

Make friends with her sisters, make sure her mother doesn't hesitate to call you her "sweetie". If you do that, you've secured yourself in a place very close to her heart. If her family can love you, she will love you.

If there's an insect on her radar, you get rid of it, no questions asked, no please and thank you. You get it done.

I don't care if dancing isn't your "style", that's one thing you can't take away from her. So it will just make your life easier if you just dance with her. Trust me.

Argue with her. Stand up for yourself. There are times when the fire in her eyes grows and feeds on your submission. It will burn her too, I promise. Douse it and any doubt she may have in her mind about your commitment.

She is one of the most driven, fearless, determined, and independent women I know that graces this earth. But there are times when her past spoils are not enough to appease her and she can and will drown in self-hate. I implore you to save her from herself in these times. She is worth too much. Hold her close and rub her back and tell her reasons for your love with each vertebrae you massage.

This girl will love you with every inch of her possible. She will love you wholeheartedly, she will give you everything she's got. Don't you dare give her anything less. Don't waste her time.

Gifts are always really special to her. She has this way of always getting you something you wanted, regardless of if you knew it. Her gifts are quirky and clever and incredibly thought-out. Appreciate them, please.

There will come a night where both of you will have fire for blood and lust for thoughts. Be gentle, be loving. Make her feel safe.

She gives many different kinds of kisses. She'll give you a quick kiss as you both head out the door, she'll give you these spontaneous kisses that will send smiles through every inch of you, every time. She'll give you kisses that make you question your self control. She'll lie on top of you and give you butterfly kisses with her eyelashes.

One thing she doesn't do is get jealous. Don't you take advantage of that. If she ever does, you’ll never know it. She won’t question you going out with friends or not replying to her texts. She will trust you with all her heart. Don’t **** that up.

I am begging you, demanding of you: do not hurt her. Hold her close to your heart. She will memorize the way it beats and she'll always be able to tell when you fall asleep.

Hopefully you won't have the same demons as I. But rest assured that if you do, she will recognize that all demons are just fallen angels and she will bring light and love back to your shadowed mind.

If you're the one that makes her the happiest, I hope you never have to feel the pain of losing her.

This girl is the last bit of gold in this world, don’t let that shine fade out. Give her every ounce of your being and she will do the same. You will never, ever be loved the way she loves again. You will never have to ask anything of the Universe again.

Sincerely,
A name you'll hear in passing.

P. S. I hope you like football.

P. P. S. I shouldn't have to tell you any of this. This shouldn't motivate you to treat her right. You should know instantly in your heart that this girl is precious and that you should cherish her. If your love for her doesn't make you want to do that, then don't waste your time. She deserves better.

A child at 6 years old shouldn’t have to worry
whether or not her parents still love each other,
or if she is even loved at all.

At 10 my son shouldn’t have to worry
about being too weak to fit in with the other boys.
He shouldn’t have to pretend to enjoy football;
he shouldn’t ever have to pretend like he doesn’t have feelings.
My daughter shouldn’t have to hide
her athleticism in front of the other girls.
She shouldn’t be afraid of being strong and loud and fierce.

At 12 my niece shouldn’t have to worry
about hiding her trainer bra straps because they are
“distracting” in the classroom. She shouldn’t have to
bring a cardigan to school when it’s June and 80 degrees out.
She shouldn’t have to wear pants when there are boys
who can show up in gym shorts and Under Armor shirts.

At 15 my son should be comfortable with his gender identity,
no matter how he was born. He shouldn’t have to deal
with people calling him a “tomboy” and “freak.”

At 19 I shouldn’t have to have the mentality where
if I don’t do well on this exam then I don’t do well in the class
then I won’t get a good degree and I won’t get a good job
and I won’t be able to make my wife and kids happy
and I spiral down in a haphazard free-fall of insecurity.

The list goes on and on, where we ought to be too young to have existential worries, but we’ve all become too old to simply smile at them.

I just wanted to say
that I'll always
love you infinitely more
than you could ever hate yourself.
So if you ever need a reminder
of all the reasons you could be loved,
come into my arms and
let my hands dance down your back,
I'll tell you different ways I love you
with every vertebra I touch

The night is always darkest
before the dawn.

It’s always okay to cry.

I have someone with whom I can
share my dreams and my nightmares,
my worries, my muses and inspirations.

It always gets better in the end.
If it’s not better, it’s not the end.

What makes me happy
doesn't have to make others happy.

My opinions matter,
I am worth something,
and I deserve to be loved.

I was driving through Washington yesterday,
we started our trip in Renton and made our way
down to Moses Lake; and in the process,
we had to pass through the Cascades on our way there.
As we drove, I watched as the exits flew past:
Newcastle, Wenatchee, Snoqualmie, Ellensburg,
and as we sped past each of these, Mt. Rainier
loomed in the distance; her snow-capped peak
standing tall and piercing through clouds,
as the winding road passed through hills and valleys.
As I gazed upon the jagged sheetrock
towering all around me, I could not help but feel small.
We've been told our whole lives just how big the world is
and how much bigger the universe is in comparison
But I've always had a hard time conceptualizing
how infinitesimal and insignificant my existence is.
So to be surrounded by thousands upon thousands
of rock and stone that have withstood
floods and storms and winds for millennia
and still stand strong, well into the stratosphere,
is nothing less than humbling.

this is just
a small piece
dedicated to
the sweetest stranger
I've ever met online
(not that I make a habit
of making new friends
on the internet).
Thank you for
always giving me
kind words
and warm wishes
and appreciating
the love that
I have to give.

Dear boss/ employer/ professor/ supervisor/authoritative figure,

I am writing to you to inform you that I will be unable to attend whatever mandatory engagement I had previously agreed to appear at. I do apologize for the inconvenience this may cause, but I do have my reasons. I won’t be able to come in today because:

☐ I had a nightmare where I was abandoned and I woke up in a sweat and I wasn’t sure whether or not I was still dreaming or not.

☐ With these clouds, the sun doesn’t show until somewhere around 8am and it’s sometime around 4am and the darkness just doesn’t seem to end, whether it be outside my room or inside my thoughts.

☐ I passed a park on my way and as I sat I found a small happiness in watching nature and young joy mingle in a simple way and I couldn’t bear to take myself away from it.

☐ I passed a lady who reminded me of a past love and the next second I was convinced that I would never, ever be loved again.

☐ For the first time I actually came to the conclusion that I will never accomplish as much as I have ever wanted to

☐ I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror

☐ I realized that Freud was right about some things

☐ I accidentally listened to Keaton Henson

“Listen honey, I don’t think
you’ll be able to support yourself
with this art stuff.”

“I’m just not sure
how much money you’ll make
if you start your own business.”

"Are you really sure
you’ll be able to provide
on a teacher’s salary?”

“Is that really what
you want to be doing
for the rest of your life?”

Why does everyone want
to be financially wealthy
but emotionally bankrupt?

Listen.

Let’s just strip down to the skin and warm each other up under these covers. I want to lay down atop you and let my head rest on your waist, snug between those lovely hips of yours, just above your ***. I want my hands to waltz around your thighs and listen to your gentle breathing synchronize with mine. I want to feel you giving in to this moment, I want to feel your body let go and your muscles unclench.

I want it to be completely quiet around us, not the dead kind of silence, the kind that’s comforting and warm. We don’t need words, our touch conveys what our hearts beat for.

Don’t think.

I don’t want you thinking about what’s happening tomorrow, what time the game is on, don’t think about what’s for dinner. Don’t think about that argument we had last week that still sits in your heart. Let it go dear, just for now. Don’t think.

Run your hands through my hair and think of all the memories we’ve made since the last time I cut it. Caress my face and look into my eyes, darling.

Now close yours. Close your eyes and open yourself up to me. I want to take my time in taking you in. I want to spend eternities on your lips, darling. I want to cup your face in these hands of mine and kiss you; I don’t want that kiss to lead to anything, it doesn’t need to. I want it to convince you of my undying love for you. Drink in the right-now of this moment, of me. I want to sit back and admire every inch of you, my dear, from your flowing tresses down to your toes, and everything in between. I want my hands to run down your valleys and hills and let my lips paint your landscape.

I want you to smile at me from under my touch and let out a laugh as I cover your face with happy kisses. Not the kind of laugh you’d give someone telling a joke, not the kind of laugh you force when someone says something mean. This is my laugh, you’ve saved it just for me, it’s sweet and soft and vulnerable and that’s okay because that’s how we feel right now.

I want to roll you over and let your body lay atop mine and simply hold you, caressing your every curve and warming your heart and your soul.

And then I want to do it again the next day, and every day afterwards until our bones are brittle and our days are at an end.

I'm not as religious
as my mom thinks I am.
She teaches other kids
about our shared faith
every Sunday, with me in tow.
It's not that I don't believe
in the gods that she does.
God is supposed to
guide you and inspire you,
and teach, protect, and love you.
So I implore you:
find God in the halls of an art gallery
or in the crashing waves at the beach.
Find God at the bottom of a bottle
or on the top of a skyscraper,
the middle of a forest,
in the words of scholars
or in the cells of life itself.
Call it what you want,
but find God
in everyone
and everything.

Dear Beautiful Sunflower,

Here’s to the ones that remember
what kind of ice cream you like
and bring it to you on those lonely nights
(even though you told them in passing
ages ago in a fleeting moment).
To the ones that nod to you in a group of people
and make eye contact when your
input seems to be overhwhelmed.
To the ones who keep their promises,
no matter how big or small.
To the friends who will put away
their pride and their projects to come help you.
To the ones who love you unapologetically.
Thank you for calling me out
when I'm too ******* myself.
Thank you for spoiling me when I've fallen
and encouraging me when I stand again.

Without wax,
Someone Who Can't
Say "Thank You" Enough*

P.S. One day you'll realize how much you brighten people's day.

If you thought of

all the little things

that caught your

undivided attention

over the years,

the things you covet

and cherish and protect,

those that you value

and appreciate,

every little thing

that you have ever

come to love,

if you thought of these

and I asked you

to compile a list of them,

how far down

would you have to go

before

you ever

named


*yourself?

I have a lot of pent-up fear;
many things really do terrify me.

I’ve never really been comfortable in the dark,
my imagination has never granted me that luxury.
Phantasms from almost 15 years ago follow me in the shadows.

I’ve always enjoyed looking out at a cityscape
from the top of a tower or building
but I’ve never let go of the railing.
I haven’t let myself come close to the edge,
my back against the wall.
I’m too scared of falling.

I’ve been harrowed by many things,
but one demon reigns over them all.

I’m really scared of disenchantment.

I’m scared that the very reasons that I was initially loved for
will eventually become the reasons I am detestable.

I’m scared my determination and perseverance
will turn into me being stubborn and close-minded.
I’m scared that my sweet thoughts and caring nature
will transform into me being clingy and suffocating.

I’m afraid that all the reasons you love me
will turn into the reasons why you regret.

First of all, congratulations.
You are alive and able
to read these words of mine
and that in itself is no small feat.
I feel as if people these days
do not recognize
that life is a great accomplishment.
So to you I acknowledge your due credit
and I celebrate you. Cheers.
I write this at 4 am
with a tall glass of cold coffee
and the intent of convincing you
that you are not insignificant.
Think back to the history
of our own terra firma:
there have been countless species
that once roamed here,
empires have come and gone,
inventions have been made obsolete,
attacks and raids and mutinies
have littered our history.
You have survived all of it.
Think about it.
If everything in the universe didn’t happen
exactly like it already has,
then everything would be different
and maybe you wouldn’t be reading this
but you are.
You are the perfect result
of all your ancestors
surviving through the horrors
of Earth’s past.
You are an arrangement
of old stardust and new hope
and with every sunrise you see,
or every breath you take
you’ve set a new record
and I challenge you
to always
break it again.

I tell people that there are two kinds of days.

There will be days where you wake before the sun and roar out into the untouched day, pawing at the ground with a fierce conviction to take your day as you like it. These days, your very footsteps will shake the ground beneath you while your enemies run haphazardly, tripping over their own feet in order to avoid your fearsome self.

There will be days where your ears twitch at the slightest suggestion of confrontation and conflict, and you scurry about your day through the shadows. These days, your frantic heart can't take much of anything, and the vastness of the faraway horizon makes your limbs shudder and quake.

When your day falls into the former category, remember that even as you strut around with your lion-heart, there are timid mice who move hurriedly about your feet. Remember to watch your steps and mind your roars.

When your day is one of the latter, remember that lions aren't necessarily monsters, and know that their claws can be sheathed and their velveted paws can also comfort. They know nothing of soft steps and whispers.

Find comfort in the cacophony of roars and in the solemn silence of tail-twitches.

Dear Stranger,

I hate how
these past few years
we've mutually
been reduced
to nothing more than
Facebook likes
and the annual
"Happy Birthday,
I miss you!"
But you still seem
...happy
and that
makes me wonder:
would you still be,
if I were a part
of your life?

Without wax,
Someone
Whose Phone Number
You Once Remembered

*P. S. I may not be important now
but you once told me your highest hopes
and your biggest fears.
I will always have open arms
and an open heart for you,
should you ever need them.

There was this one time

you came to my house,

and I accidentally fell asleep,

and I remember you

putting a blanket on top of me

and kissing my forehead

and I remember

in that one moment,

I knew.

You are my forever,

and I mean that in the way

that not only are you my sunshine,

but also the warm feeling in my heart.

You are every kiss that's been

on my unworthy lips,

you are the subject of

every pang of longing

that I have ever felt.

You are my nicotine, my line,

my whiskey, my fix.

You are every moan at 2am,

all of my fantasies and none of my nightmares.

You wrap bandages

Around my broken bones

and my shattered soul.

You are my ever-lasting muse,

you are my one and only.

You are my favorite and my everything,

But "forever" doesn't seem to be enough.

I've moved ten times
within four states
in the first eleven years of my life.
I've said good-bye to
best friends and
influential teachers,
favorite spots to read and
a few great ice cream shops.
Initially I always regretted
having to leave behind comforts
but then I realized
there are so many better things
to say good-bye to.
When you move, when you start anew,
say good-bye to all the ****** things.
Say farewell to all the times
that you felt lost,
leave behind all of the
old bruises and scars
(although it is a good idea
to remember and learn from them,
it's better they stay in the past)
Bid "adieu" to every instance
you felt less than whole.
Rid yourself of these unnecessary
weights on your chest
and move on,
taking a new breath as you go.

I’m an addict

and

it’s all your fault.

There’s
a comfort
that your skin carries

it’s...
overwhelming.

It’s an aphrodisiac, it’s an anesthetic.

I’m addicted to your touch

I’m intoxicated by your embrace

The side effects?

I feel a shuddering in my bones,
my every muscle relaxing,
almost collapsing.

My breath slows to a light drag,
my thoughts become just as soft as your lovely skin.
My every worry is drawn away,
anxiety flows out of my veins.

This is symbiosis;
I release my emotional toxins
and you bestow upon me this ethereal comfort.

Laying between your legs,
my head caressed by your thighs,
my head above your ***,
and my arms wrapped about your gorgeous form,
I get my fix.

I’m an addict, my dear,

just

please don’t send me away.

I don't understand why
people hesitate
to compliment others.

Have we all not had those days
where we really felt like
all we needed was some appreciation?
Those days where our efforts
were nothing but invalidated and dismissed?

The universe has presented itself to you
in an ethereal way that is unique to you and solely you.
Let the cosmos influence and inspire you
and let your words and your work elate and embolden others.
Admit your awe and affection and maybe
you can be that one piece of inspiration
that someone else needs that day.

You’re a gorgeous sunset, only a horizon away. You’re a car crash with hazard lights blinking, or a quiet painting on a well. You're a gentle snowfall, or an open flame. You can be a starry November night, or a crash of lightning that makes my heart feel like thunder.

You're anything that can make me stop and stare.

I write this not from a lofty place of judgement or from frantic paranoia, but instead I would much rather you learn from any and all of my mistakes before subjecting yourself to future pain.

First and most importantly: you are lovable, you are loved, and you are truly worthy of love and appreciation. This is a resolute fact, an immutable truth that you have absolutely no chance of changing. Remember this in your darkest moments- just because you may feel “less than” your normal self does not mean that you have lost your self worth. If you learn anything from me, please let this one thing be it.

Second, and more lengthy: as well-adjusted as I may come off, know that I have these horrid insecurities and vices about me that I have the hardest time shaking off, even on my best days. I have spent most of my life wondering if I would ever find love, because people keep telling me that you need to first love yourself in order to love someone else; there have been days where I truly don’t love myself. However, I think there’s something to be said about feeling love for someone else amidst all of this wretchedness- I give my love unabashedly, with an earnest conviction that I think comes from knowing what feeling lonely truly means, and never wishing that feeling upon someone else.

Love is something I have fallen into and am currently falling out of, it is something that has kept me up for hours at night but kept me in bed long after the sun has risen; it has brought me to my knees and it once had lifted me up. Love has grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, looked me dead in the eyes, and asked me if I was worth anything- knowing that I would never answer affirmatively. Love has made me sing and scream the loudest my lungs could possibly take, and it has rendered me silent for days at a time. It has fogged my vision and my mind and left me bereft of any sense of clarity. I have lived my longest seconds and my shortest days when in love.

Loving someone can truly be terrifying- you will never be quite so unmade and disassembled as you are when in love. You will have handed someone the pieces of yourself and know that they could very easily unravel the threads of your being you have so tediously strung together; take comfort in the fact that they could very well hold your pieces together when you feel strung out.

Signed without wax,
Someone Whose Heart
Is Learning To Hope Again

P.S. I urge you to be careful, and to be safe. There is not a world in which you can have done something and I will not be there to support you unconditionally. I will be here in your corner, ready to listen to your story, ready to congratulate or to console, ready to remind you of your worth.

Anyone walking by me
would probably size me up,
give a fleeting glance
over what I had spread out
on the table in front of me
and think to themselves
“Looks like his man is just
eating away his sorrows."
But sometimes, no matter
how much I fit in my stomach,
I still feel empty inside.

Brake, turn turn turn STOP.
Shift the gear from Drive to Neutral to Reverse to Park.
Switch off the lights, 3, 2, 1. Turn the key and pull it out.
Let go of the brakes. Move the seat back a couple notches. Lean it back a bit. Exhale.

It's 5:36 and I haven't slept all night and I should've but I regret nothing. My hoodie smells like you, I bring it closer to my face. Your scent envelops me, embraces me, kisses me lightly. I wish it was your hair that was wrapped gently around my hand, not my hoodie string. I wish it was your body I was holding close to me, not the cold air.

Sigh. Shift legs around. Stretch arms out. Rub eyes. Look out the window.

I wish I could hold you and kiss you as the sun comes up. We've ended days together often, but we have yet to witness a sunrise. I wish you were here to tell me what colors were where in the sky. I wish I could point out the fading constellations and tell you the stories behind them, while adding on to our own.

Sigh again. Straighten seat, move it up a couple notches. Open the door, check pocket for keys, lock the door.  Lean against it now. Sigh.

I'm thinking of my bed. it's cold, lonely, and it has an appalling lack of you in it. Your body isn't there to warm my bones. You're not there to hold and caress. We rested, naked in thought and partially in clothes.

Sigh once more. Close the door. Keys and hands in pockets. Walk up to the door, unlock it. Wipe feet on the mat. Shut it ever so softly (you can't be waking up Mum). Take off shoes. Sit on the stairs.

It's cold outside and in my bed and again, my bones are frigid. It's Sunday morning and I've a long day ahead of me. I've been up almost 24 hours but I can't seem to sleep: I'm going through withdrawal now, the ecstasy that is your touch now an hour old. I miss you.

Sigh for the last time. Get up, stretch out a bit, get off the stairs.*

I shuffle off towards the kitchen and make myself some coffee. Strong, bold, and sharp. I wish it was your lips that I tasted at 6:43, accentuating my senses and jolting me awake.

Mug in the sink and sugar in the cupboard, milk and cream in the fridge. Up the stairs, right to the bathroom. Strip. Shower on.

The water runs down me and I wish once again that it was your body pressed up against me. Your ******* against my chest, the curve of your hips against my waist. Hands roaming, hearts beating, lips meeting.

Shower off. Drip drop blip blop. Dry off and dress.

**It's 7:30 and my day has started, but my longing for you has yet to end.

There's a certain time
that's subjective to everyone
but remains universal in principle.
It is the point where
you've checked all your emails,
replied to all your messages,
and all your notifications are read.
You've scrolled down your timeline
to a point you've already seen before
and there doesn't seem to be
anything new in the once-infinite
bounds of the Internet.
And then, time stops.
The world around you grows still,
your room is dark, unaccustomed
to the lack of light from your phone.
You can almost hear the quiet
enveloping the room.
Sleep still evades you, and
the very sound of your blankets rustling
wakes you further still.
Your thoughts wander about
as the sky begins to grow brighter,
and your eyelids become heavier.
You drift off to sleep,
and time fast-forwards in your slumber
to make up for the little while
it stopped for you.

If I finally lost myself,
and the pieces of my mind and soul
were as scattered as my thoughts,
would you find them for me
and help piece me back together?

If these nightmares finally come true,
and my fears and my worries
begin ripping me apart at my seams,
would you fight them off
and stitch together my heart?

If I believed what I saw in the mirror
and what my mind was whispering in my ear, and began my slow descent into the abyss of self loathing,
Would you tell me how you love me?

Your words of comfort and consolation are the remedy to the sickness of my mind, an antidote to these poisonous thoughts. I wish they were a vaccine but my mind requires the occasional reassurance.

I regret these thoughts and the weight they share in both our hearts, I don't wish to impose this noxious state of mind upon you. But even when my mind is burning,

even when I wake, gasping, in the middle of the night, when Pandora's Box is wrenched from my hands and forced open, and Hope flies out,

I swear. I swear that I'll love you. I'll love you with my rough hands, with these tired eyes. I'll love you with every last shred of my being, even in the deepest pit of self-hate.

Because you're the bottom of that pit. You don't let me fall deeper into my hate. You lift me up and you give me hope. You give me a reason to smile again.

When my life flashes before my eyes,  it's a boring movie for a while, but then your image comes into the frame and everything becomes brighter and livelier.

I love you in the most irretrievable and unconditional way. I've signed off my soul and heart off to you, I have your name and your smile branded into my brain.

Everything I have and everything I am, everything I will ever be and that I will ever have, is yours. I surrender myself entirely to you, a flawed being with good intentions.

I would lay upon the very ground you walk on and be your bridge when all of them have burned down. I would carry you on my back when your legs give out from underneath you.

I would swim across oceans and fight currents to pull you closer to me, I would take a blade or a bullet or both, to prevent any harm from coming to you.

I know it may seem overwhelming to you my dear but I won't apologize for the way I've fallen for you. I'm in love with you, and there's no use in denying the truth.

So for as long as you choose to deal with my thoughts and my fears, I promise to love you and listen to you and kiss you with all of my heart and every bit of me I can.

I am greedy, I am covetous, I am insatiable
in the way I want all there is to have about you,
and I grasp at it with earnest hands.
Yes, I do want to know all your fears and dreams,
and of course I want to know things like
whether or not you like your eggs over-easy.
But I want to know all of the things about you
that have made you the enthralling individual you are:
each of the things that make you cry,
anything and everything that has made you smile,
all of the reasons you have scars and blemishes.
I want to know the hex code for that perfect shade
of blue in the sky that brings you peace, and
tattoo it onto my skin so that I would never forget.
I want to learn everything there is to know about you
and spend the rest of my life trying to memorize it.

Dear Strawberry,

I first met you years ago,
we were in 5th grade together
and I remember always thinking
you had the prettiest smile.
There was this one time
a friend of ours
(I don't remember who)
told a joke that made you laugh.
I remember immediately thinking
"I wish I'd told that story, I wish
I was the one who made you laugh."
It's been 9 years since
those halcyon days
and I'll always wonder
what would've happened
had I told you how I felt.

Sincerely,
The Boy Who Always Sat
In The Corner Seat

P.S. I still remember walking back from school together.

P.P.S. I'm revisiting this years later and now you're engaged- I don't think I'll ever share this with you but in the event that you do come across it, I wish you nothing but the absolute best. You deserve it.