I exist in this place
between feeling too much
and not feeling at all

I ache
I long
I fall

I extend my fingers
with hopes for touch
but touch is at a stall

I ache
I long
I fall

I rest at night
eyes open wide
but cannot pick up the call

I ache
I long
I fall

I look for you
I look for me
but all I see

is the writing on the wall

I ache
I long
I fall

there is no real way of knowing, but i'm here
and i'm ready, and i feel that could be enough
there is a sort of grace in this, in me being here
holding my heart in the palm of the same hands
that used to crumble and tear at any piece of this,
of being ready

but i'm here
i'm here

we are pluto, together, i've realized
we existed before and we still do
but now it's in a different way
a way that has changed

i am pluto, alone, i've realized
i existed before and i still do
but now it's in a different way
a way that has changed

understand this: there are pieces of me
that reflect and deflect, progress and regress,
respectively, in this constant state of /something else/

something like growth

there is grace in this-
in holding onto something much bigger than who are are
in being ready to feel

to feel

to know

there is no real way of knowing,
but i'm here
and i'm ready
and i feel that could be enough

Sometimes I wonder what came first:
falling in love or falling in art?
I wanted to write words about you before we even met
and now all I do is spill you from my fingertips.

Is the space between heartbreak and art
as far apart as the distance between you and the sky
or are they concurrent?

I don't love you anymore exists parallel to this poem
and I am the incipient to the line between.

i am a web wove between
a man with calloused hands
and a woman with calloused thoughts,

he worked for a life that he lives
but it's different than what he sought
and she is there in both,

three female webs wove
into fearing commitment
because love isn't slamming doors,

(love can't be slamming doors)

he listens for her and acts on it
and she listens for her and acts on it
and the webs are shredding,

there is a roof and four walls
that are decorated for holidays
by calloused hands and calloused thoughts.