The sea is resting now
after a long day
gnawing at the edge
churning in deep hollows
ever so slowly eroding
this peaceful coast

Sand is the issue
of this marriage
sea and sky
combining to
make the land large
in its retreat

A handful of sand
to the winds
my life
to these tides

the smell before it rains and the taste of that first sip of tea in -20 degrees

the slow untangling of your thoughts with every beat of the drum, the way the wind blows right through you just enough to move you forward and never enough to blow you down

the sound of typing fingers when you know you're onto something good, the feeling of your own, and finally not his, skin

the seasons are changing and baby so are you / six senses are helping you develop into someone new

I will watch myself blossom
Starting from my roots, where I’m grounded
Extracting nutrients from light, laughter, and most importantly - love
Absorbing positive energy and fueling myself with layers of kindness

As my roots expand, I will touch others
I will encourage others to grow with nourishment and patience
So that we may strengthen and stretch above ground together
Letting ourselves cultivate and prosper

I will water myself with courage and humility
My leaves growing with every kind word spoken to another
Flourishing, thriving

And when the time comes to bloom,
I will blossom
Showing the very depths of myself
Unafraid of being vulnerable
Knowing that I am the very definition of invincible

i’d rather write about the freckles on your back than think about all of the ways in which you quite possibly don’t love me.

i feel sick at the very thought of you picking me apart the way you did; fingers grabbing and stroking in a catastrophic symphony of skin and vulnerability.

let’s read between each other’s lines; share my sentences and punctuate my paragraphs with your mouth; because i can breathe easier on the mornings where i wake up wrapped around you.

because my moods change like the ******* seasons and the spinning in my head doesn’t want to stop.
                                         you tell me that i should probably get a therapist because no one that thinks about all the ways in which they could **** themselves has an ounce of mental stability.
                                          i tell you that i have been to four.
                                          names faded into a blur with hazy snippets of conversation remaining.
20mg.
                    30mg.
you tell me that trust issues and scars aren’t endearing and i tell you that neither is counting up the potential number of pills needed to dissolve your body into the living room carpet.

let me sink inside your skin and make a home in your flesh;
i tell you about the nights where i lay awake in the bath turning the water red.
                       tragic, isn’t it.

you tell me that this isn’t how my head should work and i tell you that i already know. everything you could possibly tell me i already know.
i know that 400 calories a day isn’t normal, and my hands shouldn’t shake all the time.
                                             i know.
please let me stitch myself into you, even just for a while; until i no longer feel dizzy and my world stops spinning.
i don’t need you to tell me that it will be okay, because honestly i don’t think it will be and, that in itself, is okay.
                                                                ­                 let me stitch myself into you, because my own skin can’t take it anymore.

let me call you back when my voice stops wobbling and my vision straightens out, but honestly, i’m terrified that it never will. what if this is it. headaches and tears and shaking and blood.
                                             and the debilitating, gut-wrenching feeling of pure and euphoric emptiness.

                                              tragic, isn’t it.

Don’t love poetry
Because you’re on a hot writing streak;
Love poetry because you love poetry
And poetry loves you back
In all obstacles, times of staring into space,
And inspirational thoughts and ideas.
Love poetry because of the partnership
Between you, the author, and poetry, the bioluminescence
Of the literate ocean.

Don’t love life
Because you think you’re living the best one.
All lives are unique;
How troublesome it is
To consume time in chasing what only others
Can see and do accordingly.
Outside of being instructed,
Work, any kind of daily routine,
Create your own steps
Not by “hitting it big-time”
But humbly walking where you are
And embrace the sights right where you are
Because even the tiptoes of a journey
Lead you forward and allow you time,
Not for all views, but at least seeing one ordinary view
As glitzier than glitz itself.

Don’t love anything
If the reason you do is to impress anyone or everyone.
When you do what you do,
The truth will strain the ones who scoff
But leave you with the one(s) who see your heart
In what you do.
Live. Be open. Respond. Love. Stand your ground.
You’ll be surprised what or who comes around.