i once believed my soul was black,
painted by insecurity, mistrust, and lust.
until moonlight crept in, branches swaying
in beautiful music,
like and unlike any earthen sound.
i asked her to dance.
"so," she smiles, "dance with me,
I feel like
I'm almost gone
and i want you
to hold me,
hold me tighter
I want you to feel
my heart beating
and tell me
let me go.
will you think of me?"
she asks, smiles,
rain is the night's
wind and rain
and a memory
birds are winging west
tired and broken
the ribbon in her hair
going down the hall
and i could tell by
she's not coming back
shards of broken heart
fall through cupped fingers
here comes the night.
writing a poem is hard when your soul contradicts the rest of you.
i say i love this woman and mean it,
and fear grips me, puts its finger on my lips,
and shushes me. tells me that neither of us
is ready, that i don’t know my own thoughts,
hopes, dreams, wants, needs, and their reflection
in the mirror of her stark blue eyes and soul.
that it’s all an imagining beyond my own soul
and comprehension, that i’m projecting
a long lost sense of helplessness and courage
onto her without consent because i seek
acceptances and intimacies beyond my worth.
and still, knuckle-deep in this hard, scathing noise is a truth i refuse to ignore.
i am hers in my entirety and only want to know
that she is mine— my soul contradicts
the rest of me but i faithfully **** it
and aim for the future i’ve hoped lives
in both of us.
love, in essence, is blind,
and knows more than it can convey.
the simple sound of your cough
amongst a crowd of weekend shoppers,
red onion in hand for your next soup.
the scent of lemongrass, patchouli,
home away from home.
love, in essence, is blind,
and can see beyond itself.
it touches the ether and knows
your kind soul, your hurt heart,
the deepness of your hugs,
the tickle in your lungs,
the curl of curses on your lips,
and the warmth in your bright blue eyes.
to the one I couldn’t help but love
i hope the poem that rests on your tongue,
vibrant and lovely, speaks your truth.
and that this truth is all your own and knows
your love in its wholeness; anxiety, fright,
that the object of your desire, human
and beautiful, meets you where you rest,
and loves you with the same heat
and kindness that you deserve.
and that you grow from the experience
of wanting beyond your selfish heart,
into something that only wants the best
for another, for no reason
other than their happiness with
or without you.
she makes me so happy that I hope I never spend another day without her.
the heat of her breath on my arm
as she sleeps is my world, personified.
my sun, and moon, and stars rapidly
expanding beyond the limits
of any love I'd ever believed was mine.
she's sleeping next to me while i write this and her cat is nestled around my ankles. i feel like i finally made it home.
As in the moon is the endless night
And in the sun the infinite flame
The morning glories in a birdsong
And all the shadows in hell
So in my prayer is the plead
To the poet and the devil
“Make a rhyme! Set a fire!”
As in my blood flows ferrous magic
And in my howl demonic rage