She is the poem I never wrote,
but always wanted to write.
The poem I’d sit down with,
every intention of writing,
but could not come up with
the right words.
Sweet, but fierce.
Discarding perfection,
only asking for presence.
A flower that learned to survive
in a drought.

She is a poem that takes
the pieces of herself and
arranges them in love.
Not the loving pieces easily
found in the light
that’s too easy.
But the pieces that accidentally
wandered in the dark and got lost.
The pieces of herself she forgot
were there.
She takes her time,
finding these pieces and putting them
back where they belong.

When she speaks,
her tongue is like a hammer,
hammering every nail that needs
to be put into place.
Even if she misses and, instead,
hits her hand,
she doesn’t tear everything down
regardless of how much it may benefit her.
She repositions herself
and starts again.

She is the poem I never wrote,
but always wanted to write.
As hard as it is to start again,
she’s never afraid to start again

Take the scissors,  
And cut around the edges of my heart.  
Don't worry about how it looks.  
Fold whatever part of me  
That you need to make the first cut.  
I'd be surprised if you find any part  
Of me that's folded neat.  
The kaleidoscope of construction  
Paper that is me.  
  
I consider myself a collection  
Of scars and different colors—  
Of the things that I like and dislike.  
Even the wrinkled pieces of myself  
I've forgotten about.  
You've brought light to those pieces  
With each snip of your scissors.  
I've noticed how quiet and content  
You've become.  
  
You cut, and I bleed in color—  
Purple, blue, and yellow.  
Of all the shapes you've cut,  
None of them are painful.  
Watching you mix up the different color pieces of my soul,  
Your love, the stick glue that  
Gives these pieces more functionality.  
  
I breathe easier, knowing that you're here.
No longer restricted  
By stagnant stillness.  
You can even fold them into an  
Airplane and sail across the room.  
I haven’t had this much fun  
In a long time.
Don't forget the scrap pieces

Here we hang,
dressed in our very best.
When someone walks past,
we hold our breath,
hoping that someone notices.

The lights blink all around us,
the flicker of warmth in cheap
plastic bulbs.
The tree shakes us awake
every time we think that we’re
about to go to sleep.

We tremble enough as it is,
being this close to each other.
I look forward to Thanksgiving.
normally, that’s when the tree
comes out, as well as the garland.
Soon after, I get a chance to hang by you,
seamlessly doing nothing.

Though we hang on hooks,
it cannot replace the feeling
of being next to you
our reflection mirroring one another.
Even if no one else notices,

soon after Christmas,
we go back into our boxes,
until the same time next year.
While we’re here,
I wanted to let you know
that I cherish these times.

Seamlessly hanging with you,
doing nothing.
Every moment an ornament
falls and crashes into the ground.
I don’t want that to be the case
between us
until we are cracked and dull.

I enjoy the time I spend beside you,
even if there isn’t anything to do
but hang in anticipation,
until next year

Sometimes I love my reflection.  
Other times, he's just a bad friend—fixing his lips like he's about to interrupt me before I get my thought out good.  
When I stop speaking, so does he.  
What do you expect? He's me. ****.  
In truth, the bills are paid, and all current business is handled. But something is missing. It’s obvious. He just looks and shakes his head—my reflection.  
I'd be lying if I said I didn't care.  
I've gotten used to the silence that follows me. It's peaceful.  
When I make it home after a long day, if I touch something, I know where it is.  
If I cook something, I know there's more, even if I don't eat it all.  
He sits back and watches all of this.  
My reflection. Half the time, I pay him no mind. Sometimes, it's better that way.  

But sometimes, I wouldn't mind a bit of noise

She struck me  
out of the blue,  
the way that most beautiful songs  
find you.  
It plays out of nowhere,  
normally when you're out and about—  
one foot out the door,  
slipping through the holes  
of a random speaker.  
Before I knew, I was nodding  
my head.  
It's already full of things  
that don't matter.  
My head and the thoughts
That go through it.
Her voice cuts through all of that,  
a song you want to know the name of,  
so you can hear it again—  
one that you hope doesn't end too soon,  
but still delicate enough to not  
notice when she tips away.  
She's a song,  
a uniquely beautiful woman  
that you notice before she walks  
away.  

There's not enough in the world  
that makes sense.  
She pulls me in and confesses  
that she's just like me—  
the way that most beautiful songs do.  
I knew that I would chase her  
before she walked away.

I’ve waited so long to talk to you.
I’ve messaged you and have waited
to hear back from you.
I am still waiting.
At this point, time isn’t a factor.
Even if I never hear anything,
I still will wait.

The closest I get to you now
is an algorithm.
Social media suggests you
as a new friend.
As much as I would love that—
to start over and pretend,
as painful as it sounds,
to love you in restriction,
trapped by some border,
like we’re strangers.

I stare at your picture and never
swipe the notification away.
In a way, it feels like old times.
The only thing missing is your voice.
You’re with me when I go to work,
you’re with me when I am in the car.
But nothing lasts forever.
By the time I wake up,
the notification is gone,
the screen is empty,
and you’re gone.

But your eyes—
the way that you smile—
have not left my memory.

I suppose I should be satisfied
with what I have now.
I’ve tried,
but I am not

When I am around you,
I feel heavy.
Everything that normally bothers me
isn't a concern anymore.
Not that it's not there,
it just softens
a whole lot.
In fact, everything softens
when I am around you.

In time, even blankets can warm
the coldest of beds,
and that's what you are to me;
a blanket so thick,
you just fall into it and sink,
You drape across me.
Your breath filling the air of my ears,
warm, soft
one of the best blankets I've been
wrapped up in my whole life.

After a few minutes, I am asleep
inside you.
My bones, my worries,
everything fades away.
Your warmth, my everything