I admire women
who could've turned
cold after everything
they've been through
but still choose love anyway

there's strength in that

I envy the sun —
for it always rises

at any stage —
a rose strikes beauty

I lay here
In bed
Bathed in soft orange light
Thinking of you
And your phantom
Touch
And the tears that sting
My eyes when I think
Of you
And your soft, golden skin
And the pale amber that bathes my walls
And my face
And spills into the night
At 2 A.M. when I’m cold
And pulling
The rich velvet
Blanket of your laugh
Up to my chin
In the dark.

the cycling of emotions
the ebs and flow of the consciousness
the paralysis of thought
the dreaming of creations
the planning out and doing
and
the repeat

you stole my light
when i told you to stop
and you ignored my red light
and kept going
like my body was undiscovered land
and you were a colonizer.
perhaps my asking you to stop
turned you on
made you hungry.
you looked at me with your hungry eyes
like i was fresh meat
for you to take and have for yourself
ignoring my stop signs
cries
screams
because i am nothing more
than an object to you
made for your manipulation and pleasures.

i am not ashamed of the parts
you saw of me
you should be ashamed
of what you did with them

An avalanche of empathy
             dislodged
covering me in suffocating
                                realisation.

That I wasn't the mountain,
       more the snow.
               Soft and delicate,
   sentiment never compacted enough.

Night sits on my chest
Squeezes poems out of me
And grinds my poor soul