A part of me lives miles and minutes and moments away
in an indefinite, dreamy place where clocks are not my enemy
and I associate the word “distance" with travel, not longing
My heart has sailed across the Atlantic,
moved eagerly through the Indian Ocean,
navigated using an atlas inked with butterflies
and stars that gleam ardently
(just as your rosemary eyes do,
every once in a blue moon,
when you’re able to sew together
the disarrayed thoughts
that dwell in your messy head)

You are so, so far away

However, if I avoid calendars and geography,
it feels like you’re right here beside me

In the afternoon, when the sun shines
through my bedroom window
and paints the world map on my wall with light,
I shut my eyelids and run my thumb along the string
that stretches across the parchment,
connecting me to you

I pretend that when I open my eyes,
you will be here
and that my aching fingers
that are so desperately
grasping the paper
will be intertwined
with yours

I will not ask you to stay

If you must go, go
I don't need you
I will breathe (carefully) without you
I will smile (slowly) without you
I will go on (eventually) without you

I'd be much happier
If you chose to not leave,
But if you must let go, let go
And I will too

Hopefully one day
I will teach my heart to not break
Whenever everyday thoughts
Lead to you

I'm afraid I'm much too weak,
I'm afraid we'll always be
A book with the end pages ripped out,
I'm afraid I'll always wonder,
Always ache,
Always place everyone second to you

I'm afraid I'll always love you,
But I will not ask you to stay

The blood on your wrist
should be coating veins.
The salt on your cheeks
should dry by morning.
I should feel your heart,
not just your finger tips.
You said it was only fair
to save it for me,
the only girl you ever loved.
I gave it to him instead,
in the backseat on a sidesteeet,
only to be carried farther from the only arms to ever hold me
like they ment it.
I'm sorry I couldn't feel your hands on my eye lids,
begging me to see the love I had
before I found it in the palm of someone else's hands.
My lips are like sunflowers,
but even more fragile.
Every may I am plucked from the garden
and held tightly
for a moment in a field,
until morning dew swallows me whole.
As for love,
my father never taught me how,
and the words he placed at the tip of my tongue never fit in the space between your fingertips.
Keep them for someone else's lips.
Someone who isn't made if sunflowers
that will wilt in your hands.

I'm lying in bed, Watching the fan,
Wondering how you could say those hurtful things you said,
Wondering how I could of been so dumb,
I guess dumb and love goes hand in hand when your young,
And I'm so young,
And I'm so in love;
And now you're not around.

I wanted you to love me
But it wasn't fair to ask
You are beautiful, kind, lovely
And I'm a worthless wreck

From the corner of the eye of the sea
Orchids spread like plasma
Further into the ground of soil.
Each compliment drew her limbs closer
To the dirt crusted creature.
The bird brought tales of streif
From the east wing of the sun.
She slipped like liquid into these words
And fell heavy toward the belly of belief.  
Sitting upon a rock by the sky,
She stroked his broken neck
From nightfall
Straight into autumn.
She sealed her eyes tight
And gave the bird each ounce of love
Her fingertips could muster.
With each day her skin grew harder
And tiny bones formed beneath fragile flesh.
Weeks turned tragic songs to lullabies.
On the sidewalk of the desert
High in clouds of steam,
Her eye lids fluttered and parted.
She looked upon the furrowed bird in disbelief.
The saddened sight had been replaced
By a lovely little boy.
Her mind, as heavy as her hands.
Tears welled within her eyes
But not one fell
Because her cheekbones had sprouted feathers
And years of stroking and sympathy
Made her weak.
She had become the lowly bird,
And as she glimpsed into his eyes, now blue
He chuckled cruelly at her fragility.
Sympathy burned as rage beneath her ribs.
Lightning struck the sky and she learned
Never to trust a bird
Again.

I’m going through withdrawals. How awful it is to have to keep yourself from speaking to someone because you know if they wanted to speak to you, they would. I’m so deeply rooted in the sand that no waves that crash on land could overturn me. Your footprints are leading away from me, you are moving further and further down the shoreline, your outline growing smaller, smaller, smaller, blending in with the horizon where the sun is setting in lovely shades of red. I do not fear that you will not be loved, because even now I see how the birds adoringly sing your name. I fear the drops of saltwater that fall down my face each solemn night will one day be able to collect into ocean of their own. I fear the birds will be able to love you better than I have. I fear that this titanic amount of heaviness weighing on my heart will be ever-present. Your name is written in the clouds, and I cannot escape it, for no matter how far I run, I can never escape the sky. When I look up, there it is and so are you.