Are you familiar with the phrase, "Looks like your mom dressed you?"
That’s what I see when I look at you
Not because of the clothes, but because of the care.
And that’s what makes me love you the most.

I show it in how much I care.
I offer to buy you lunch when I know you’ve had a long day.
And still, you have the energy to talk to me the way you do
The way you make me feel like I am family.

Your words are a comfort you don’t realize I need.
And while there’s nothing wrong with Mom,
Babe, your dad raised you right.
He taught you that the world is tough
That to get a single thing you want,
You have to go through so much.
And still, you tell yourself that everything is going to be okay.
I know because I live it, and it’s easy to see.
Babe, you carry your father’s strength.

You love me protectively.
You make space for me.
You save room for me.
It’s rare to find a woman like you.
Every time you leave,
I’m already waiting to see your face again.

I love the way you were raised

I want to sink
And lose myself 600 ways in you
Losing myself in how you feel,  
How you smell.
A softness that doesn't fray
Between the heat  
Shared between you and me,  
It doesn't wrinkle.  
It doesn't crease.  

It's not a traumatic response  
From any part of your or my journey.  
You breathe against me
The kind of comfort that trust  
Cannot put into words.  
Unrushed. Patient.  
The way home should feel.

Before true happiness,  
I stretch and unwind  
In your quiet
Twisting and turning,  
My face pressed into how  
Warm you are.  
When I lay on you,  
I don't want to get up.  
I want to lay here and dream,  
Far from the suffocation  
That exists away from you.  

No matter how rough I am,  
Compared to your softness
This goes beyond material reality
Where hands and feet  
Don't have to beg for rest.
They just are.

There are no wrinkles in how you love,  
In the way you unfold and spread yourself.  
Eventually,  
Love doesn’t stay young forever.  
It matures in its openness.  
In this, there is surrender.  
I am consumed in you
No longer twisting,  
No longer turning,  
But at peace.
Whether I am closing my eyes
Or opening them.
I am glad that you're here

I watched you walk away,
Like I was an outsider,
Like I wasn't the one who loved you.
Not once did you look back—
Both of us proud,
Not wanting to break
And speak the words
That would turn everything around.

One stop, one wait,
One foot in front of the other,
Would ease the heaviness
Of watching you walk away.
But here I am,
Stuck, standing still,
The world seamlessly
Going on around me.

Part of me is stuck in the shadow,
Everything moving
From one axis to the next.
Another part of me realizes
That when the earth changes axis
And rotates the other way,
No one really feels it.

And here I am,
Stuck either way.
In time, even dust
Has to move

When I got in the shower,
I noticed that you hung
your washcloth next to mine.
When I realized,
I stared at it for a minute,
feeling a relief that words
can't really assure.

Not exactly rocket science,
but it took me by surprise
to see it hanging there,
reaching over it to grab mine.
When I finished washing,
I rung mine out and hung
it back beside yours,
scooting it over to make sure
there was enough room
for both to hang.

The parts of ourselves
that we try to hide,
welcoming them both
back home.

A small gesture that made me
reconsider not just my day,
but you
softening the distance between us,
at least long enough to shower, dry off,
and see your face when I walk out
the bathroom.
You don't ask for more.
To be honest
It's not about the rags at all.
Just another thing that makes me
Think of you

He is her mirror,
The one she stands before
Whether things are good or bad.
Until she walks away,
She doesn’t understand
The cracks spreading
Across her face,
Ignoring the obvious
She applies more makeup.
Though she’s gone,
Her presence lingers,
Soon to follow.

In front of her mirror,
She could speak as freely
As she wanted,
Be seen for who she is.
In front of family and friends,
She’s quiet,
Acting out of appearance,
Ignoring the space, she thought
Was empty.

She doesn’t think about it
Until a friend brings it up.
Talking about her own love life,
A place she feels secure.
Her friend’s smile, big and bright,
While she speaks.
She thinks of him,
Her mirror.
No matter how bad she feels.
He finds a way
To make her feel better.
If something is off,
He’s quick to point it out.
He’s always there when
She needs him.
She never had to speak
To be seen when he was around.
The only place she only felt whole.
The cracks on her face shows

I want to see you as a person,
Not your body,
Nor the way your fingers curl
Around my side
When you hold on to me.
I want to see you for who you are,
Not for what I or the world wants to see.
I want to hear your heartbeat,
For reasons that may feel selfish to me,
But are selfless to you.
Your own truth,
That has no reason to be,
Except for the fact that you wanted it
To be.
Like a child taking their first step.
No matter how wild, they are free.

Even if that means separating from me,
The further you step.
For some, a minute feels like an hour
And a day feels like forever,
But the fire in your eyes that starts
when you smile
Keeps me warm,
Whenever I think of you,
And keeps the shadows away.
Until you return

I'll wait in patience,
Until I see your face,
Until the next time I see you smile.
But I won't rush it
The way I feel.
I love the anticipation,
The way you give me things
To think about.

I'll learn to live through the ache,
I'll learn self-control,
And learn to hold still
Until the next time I see you.
The best stories are told
In pieces.
Not that there's anything wrong
With instant gratification,
Nonetheless,
Waiting allows that time between us
To linger and to grow.

So that the next time I see your face,
I am fully there,
Appreciative of that moment
A kiss that waits in the dark,
Waiting for the light of your lips.
Knowing that a week apart,
This kiss only grows,
Stretched thin, built in
Anticipation.

But I won't rush it.
Every episode is like this,
My favorite show.
If I were to watch all of you now,
Then there wouldn't be anything left.
So I choose to be patient,
My attention solely focused
On you.
Love moves slow,
Although some moments
Move fast.
There is always time to rewatch
And to think
But only after we've taken our time
And lived to do so.
I'll wait patiently
Until the next time I see your face

When the bill came,
We split it,
Not because we couldn’t afford it
Or because one of our egos
Got in the way.
The world has enough debt
And definitely enough lies.
The first step to getting to know
Each other is to stop pretending
That we’re anything other than human.

I love the way you took your time
Looking over the menu,
Not a quick glance, but in a thoughtful,
Meaningful Way,
Considering what you really wanted.
Something that would keep you full,
Even after you left.
I could see myself falling in love
With you,
Taking your time before speaking,
Processing every word,
Not afraid to explain after you speak.

The money didn’t matter.
Regardless of the circumstances,
It would still be spent
Why not share the experience?
No different than me holding
My fork up, asking you
To try what’s on my plate.

There’s no need to hide who we are,
Whether my stomach growls
In front of you or when I’m away.
There are things more important
Than money.
The place closes in a couple more
Hours.
Want to order something else?
My treat?

I'll light every
Firework that I can find
For you.
Every ounce of you,
Including the parts
That you like to hide.
They deserve to be seen
And heard too.

The next second
Not to mention the next year
Isn't promised.
Although not the same
As overseas,
There is still reason to celebrate
The crackle of firecrackers,
The release of red lanterns,
To light the street of your heart,
As well as the sky.

We're not as young as we
Used to be.
But that doesn't mean that we have
To act like it.
The fire that courses
Through my lungs can't wait
To get out and roar
Like a dragon,
And break the silence
In celebration.

A red envelope wrapped in fire,
And sealed with the flash
Of prosperous smiles.
Every time I see you,
It feels like New Year's.
And when you kiss me,
My soul sizzles,
Stirring up this fire
That dances through my body.

The next second
Not to mention the next year
Isn't promised.
Tomorrow may not come.
If there ever was a time
To burn down and sweep up
Pieces of our old selves,
Why wait?

You are the sun
That peeks
Through the window,
Letting me know that
It's time to get the day
Started.

You are the roots,
Cut and carved from the trees
That provide shelter,
A place to live,
A place to grow.
A foundation built
From strong roots,
That stretch and wrap around me.

You are the air that circulates
Through my lungs,
The air that, if I think about too long,
I'll mess up how much
You've changed my life.

When I am in you,
I am not in some house,
Nor am I in just any old room.
I realize that I am home,
That I have everything I need.

When I close my eyes,
The first thing I see
Is you,
And how the first thing
I want to do is come back
To you

Falling asleep in your heart
is like déjà vu.
a place I’ve never been,
but it feels familiar at the same time.
I don’t mean to creep you out,
but I know every nook and cranny.
I didn’t mean to fall asleep,
but of all the places I could have,
I’m glad that I did here.

Your heartbeat,
the pulse that cracks
and settles like a house,
although not mine,
it feels like home,
like somewhere I belong.

I normally don’t fall asleep
in places I haven’t been.
It takes a while to get accustomed,
especially if it’s my first time there.
Although it’s déjà vu,
and it could be one of those things,
I’m already looking forward
to the next time
falling asleep somewhere in you,
somewhere warm,
somewhere I belong

The heart shaped piggy bank
rolled down the street.
You waited until the door was open
and then rolled right out.
I slid my last dollar in,
building towards something more
something more than paper-thin
ambition,
a future that includes you,
in some shape or form.

I don’t know how you fell,
or how you got down from the shelf.
Better a dollar bill
than my hand stuck inside you.
I’m glad you didn’t break.
I fed you all my dreams,
all my ambitions.
It’s no wonder you didn’t explode
when you hit the ground,
waiting for something real

The rain falls,
pounding into my chest.
After a while, it becomes wet.
It beats and throbs
between the drops.

The lightning cracks
and leaves its streak
a reminder of what it feels
like to love.

Trying to keep pace
with the water that keeps running,
swelling up without a drain.
There’s no escape
just wet skin,
bottled from the inside out.

The rain becomes everything
that it touches.
A storm,
drowning out all the noise around.
While the rain pours,
all I see is your silhouette
a wet slap to the veins
that swells and grows.

Thunder rumbles in the distance

I've never been the best
at making coffee.
I have a moment every now and then.
I pour, and I watch it swirl.
You don’t say much
you just sit and wait.
The liquid swirls,
not aware of the weight
of the world.

Hot, fresh,
Full of life
finally, the mug is filled,
and you take a sip
slow, deliberate.
I want to ask you,
but either way, I’ll never know.
Even if it’s the worst cup
you’ve ever had,
you’ll smile and say it’s good.
Either way,
I too will enjoy the space
shared between you and I,
and brew another ***
just for you.

I love sitting with you,
regardless of what's going on,
or where we are.
Nothing happens.
Everything is at peace.
No anxiety. No weight.
No rush
to be or to do.

Our eyes are free to rest,
our bodies free from tension.
Of all the things I could say,
all the invitations of where we could go,
when I sit with you,
time is irrelevant.
It doesn’t even come ankle high.
It too continues to walk past us,
probably hungry,
looking for something to do,
until we decide to do something
more than sit
and enjoy each other’s time.

The truth is in the way we breathe.
I can say that it’s nothing,
but a piece of me
finds its way into you.

Regret melts slow,
dripping from the side.
It feels like skin being tugged against,
the impression left from
my hand to yours.
The anticipation of being patient
burns and flickers,
excitedly proud to be included.

Your back, the wick that stands straight,
slowly curving,
stretching, releasing tension.
Your legs wrapped in mine.
If you were to blow too hard,
the flame would whoosh,
leaving nothing but a puddle.
The people we were
staring, looking at the mess.

The rest of my strength
supports your arch,
the curled wick that's grown tired
against my chest.
No matter how you lay,
I am comfortable in your wild stretch.
Sleep surrounding both of us—
I have your back, your heart.
The crisp edges of your hair tangled
On my head

The smoke of desire soots and breathes,
dried in a puddle of wax

Butterflies,
With their delicate wings,
Flap laces and blessings of new dreams
And ventures,
Through the silence and murmur of voices.
They show up uninvited—
Not for the vows, not for the ceremony,
Or the reception.
They’re just free, in their own little world,
A good omen of nature’s poetry.
Playing with their cousins,
No longer tied, held hostage in anyone’s stomach,
They flutter through the words
Not bound by expectation or vow.
As small and fragile as they are,
They remember the things we do not—
All the things we act out and rehearse,
And still tend to forget,
They do naturally.
Like crashing a family wedding,
As a simple reminder:
That the best things in life land
Where they will,
No matter if it’s a dress, a car,
A hat, or a heart

Call it women’s intuition—
but she knows the power of silence,
how to bend you to her will,
whether she’s calm or not.
Eventually, you’ll crack,
if given enough time.
Trying to figure out what’s wrong,
following her from room to room,
asking question after question—
whether you’re crazy now
or crazy later,
it’s soon to happen.
Oddly enough,
the various cigarette and liquor companies
profit from her silence—
the way, even at your best,
it still finds a way to get your attention.
Even if you manage to block her out,
bringing it up at another time is just an argument.
It’s best to take a minute and get yourself together.
no matter what you do.
You can’t trust the way she stares,
you can’t trust the way she laughs.
It’s all a trap.
You won’t realize it until it’s too late.
Through her messiness,
through her beauty,
through her chaos,
She just wants to see how you’ll react,
if you’ll reach for her,
even when she’s right in front of you

You handed over the pieces
of your life without hesitation
your breath, your time,
your love,
because that’s what you thought love was.
Not once did you think to keep
anything for yourself.
You reached in and revealed
these pieces of yourself over time,
wrapping them in your skin,
your time, your love.

I didn’t need all the pieces
that you gave me
those you gave because you thought it was love.
I won’t let you do it.
I cannot.
Regardless of how much you give,
if I am hungry, I will not take
without replenishing what is given.
If I am thirsty, I will not bathe
in what is excess.

I, too, will hand over the pieces
of my life,
because, as hard as it is to accept,
the truth is we do not truly own anything.
just enough to feel the space
where the years seem to fly by.
Something that connects us both.
You handed over the pieces
of your life,
and I promise to care for and love them,
because I believe it’s something you just do.
Just as I believe in welcoming you
to live and breathe in the pieces of my life.
I too will live, breathe, and drown
in you

Hunger changes everything.
Although everyone and everything has intention,
hunger is no different, no matter what it's for.
Your heart, an apple dangling from a branch
I could not reach until I became hungry.
It became the object not just of affection,
but of my appetite.
I wanted not only to bite into it,
but to savor what makes you, you.
I reached until I grabbed it,
the apple that is your heart.
No matter how the branch swayed,
I was determined.

Under any other circumstance,
I would not have touched it,
maintaining composure when it came to
the apple of your heart.
Overthinking myself out of what could have been
one of the most beautiful things,
feeling unworthy,
until hunger made me notice you more.
Want turned to craving,
and I realized that the most precious things
erode and disappear over time.
Half smiling, yet anticipating change,
I know that, in time, I, too, will erode
remembering how sweet you were,
inviting me to quench
not just my hunger, but my thirst.
After a while, it wasn’t about hunger at all.
I just wanted to be close to you

She stands in the shower.
Running her wash cloth across
Her body.
the slow rise of *******,
the arch of hips,
the curve of a neck.
The day she's had
Swirls around the drain
Between the space of her toes.
All that's left is the smell of soap.
Against her skin.
Her washcloth is not as white as it was.
She lets out a sigh.
Letting the hot water crash
Against her body.
Ringing it out before 
Soaping up the rag again.
Her body becoming softer.
Erasing every touch, every stare
That isn't her own.
Vigorously scrubbing.
The remnants of soap drip
Down her legs.
I knock on the door before
Poking my head in to check on
Her.
She hangs her head out with a smile.
The smell of soap and water
Glisten off of her light skin.
Before she closes the curtain back,
I ask if she needs help washing her
Back

You and I are just like the moon
Quiet,
waiting for the world to fall asleep.
Regardless of distance,
we just are.

Anticipation makes everything seem that much further,
especially the ache of things we cannot name.
Things that we cannot control.
As close as it seems,
space lengthens while we're awake.

Maybe that's why we surround ourselves with dark things
so that when we open our eyes,
we can think of a name
for how much we miss each other,
Other than silence.
Something that fills the space
While we think

She keeps this beast  
Locked inside,  
Feeding it wine
To settle it down.  
When you look at her,  
She looks like she has it  
All together.  
But nobody really knows
What it's like.  
To stay up half the night,  
Clawed from the inside out.
It terrifies her.
Most days she doesn't say a word
And keeps to herself.
To the one she loves,  
If she reveals those pieces  
Of herself,  
Will you stay? Will you go?  
Like everything else that  
She’s lost.
She drinks to keep herself at peace,  
To keep the beast
from growling too loud.  
And for a minute, she forgets about  
Those broken pieces that didn’t  
Heal quite right.
That it's okay to breathe.
Even if it's for a minute.

If you’re reading this,  
She’s afraid  
To let you in.  
That once you’re in,  
You’ll smell those rotten parts  
That hide behind her eyes,
Or that you’ll hear the toenails screech  
Of the beast she keeps subdued,  
That you’ll realize it’s not  
A beast at all.
It’s the part of her that realizes  
The possibility that you cannot  
Love her, without loving the beast.
Those not so good pieces of herself.
Those frazzled insecure pieces
That despite everything she cannot
Control.
And in the end,  
She’ll regret it all if you turn around
And walk away.
No matter how strong the cage.
One of those bars loosens
Everytime she stares at you

Maybe that's love
the space that exists between things,
the reason there are gaps
between our fingers.
Between everything.
I'd never been good at using chopsticks.
I'd always drop them trying to grip
something heavy,
something more substantial.
One stick would go left, the other
would go right,
making a mess of everything.

Rice was easy.
But then again, maybe that's how love works.
snapping between the space of things,
Because she could pick them up
and use them, no problem.

It kind of changes your perspective
when you're hungry and can't eat
how you want to eat.
Rice is good, but I wanted something a bit heartier.
Something me and my clumsy
hands could enjoy.
She'd laugh,
chowing down on her noodles,
all tangled and twisted up.
It came naturally to her.
Me, I just couldn't get it.
The more we sat,
the more I craved something
Other than rice.
I craved her heart.
Steady, patient.
I didn't know how to hold her
But one day I'll learn how

You sting my tongue,
steam rising fresh from your bed
heavy in all the right ways.
You're not that hard to make,
yet I am too tired to cook.

You sit in my belly,
the way you taste still swirling around my mouth.
No matter how much you satisfy,
there is always room for you.
Your eyes, red and spicy,
the slow burn of how you spread
through my body.

Yet, I'm still too tired to cook.
I don’t want to over-season you,
the reality of part of you
becoming burnt edges on a ***.
I don’t want to waste a single inch of you,
nor the space that you fill.

I want all of you inside of me,
even if part of you is burnt

One day,
there won't be a knock
or a call to announce where I am.
I'll walk across your ribs,
towards the light of your heart,
to a door that swings wide open
to a place where I am welcome,
a place that I've earned the right to be.

It takes courage to open your home
to someone.
Each room held up by boards
of trust.
your head, your mouth,
an attic filled with old memories,
fondled by silence,
as patient as you are.
I would never evoke your wrath.
As sturdy as those boards are,
I know they still creak,
eager to lash out.
Not in vain, but out of protection.

If one day that is the case,
I will accept it,
for it is not just your heart
but all of you that is my home.
And if something is broken,
we'll work to fix and repair
what is torn apart.

Here, in you, I am home.
And I will take care of every part
of you.
One day,
there won't be a knock
or a call to announce where I am,
because you'll already know.
I wouldn't accept your key
if I weren't absolutely sure
that I wanted to call you home

Most things in life happen to be a contradiction
odd as it sounds, especially
when it comes to the things we love.
They have a way of crunching us down
and breaking us open.
There aren’t many things that get us,
but of the few that do,
I’m glad that you’re one of them.

The way the salt blends perfectly with your skin,
even when you’re cold. You’re crisp, sometimes moist.
Every moment can't be as perfect as the last,
but I think that’s what makes us, us
the things that happen in between the things we like,
and the way we get along with the things
we never thought we would.

Like drizzling you in bits of chocolate,
even though it’s dark
it brings out the pieces of you
that you try to hide beneath the warm,
fried parts of you that everyone sees.
Odd as it sounds, your salt with my sweet
you get me just like I get you,
tangled in a convulsion of warmth.

There’s something about the way that you crunch
that makes me reach my hand out for more

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

There are many clothes in the world
that you can try on today
be it designer brand name or not,
that can fit on a clothing rack.
Just because something is made
doesn’t mean that you must fit it,
or the expectation of wearing it.

Not everything is going to fit.
Not everything is going to be your size,
including emotions.

Nothing good comes from waiting
for someone else’s approval.
If someone sees you,
let them see you for the remarkable
beauty that you are.


No matter if you mix and match,
or if you have on the full set.
Even if you see someone wearing
their emotions, and it’s the type of person
you want to be,
there is nothing wrong with trying something on.
But don’t get mad if it doesn’t fit.
It may not be the right time for you right now.

There is power in letting go.
There is also power in walking away.
There is no need to pretend that you’re less than
trying to keep up with a trend.
There is a lot of power in letting go,
and finding all the beautiful things
that you were meant to be

She unravels herself like a rose  
In the palm of my hand.  
Some of her petals break off  
And lay to the side
The pain of growth,  
Making room for something new.  

She looks me in the eye,  
The tension of letting go  
Of reasonable fear.  
Too many lonely nights.  
The crescent moon of every lie  
Hovers over her head.  

Piece by piece,  
She's laid that insecurity in my hands,  
That uncertainty in her eyes,  
Slowly turning into trust.  
Seeing that I didn’t discard  
The pieces of her that flaked off,  
In my hands.  
Regardless of how bad they look,  
They are a part of her.  

She twists and she turns,  
Her thorns piercing my skin,  
One after another.  
With confidence, I don’t have to tell her  
That I am not afraid.  
But I do so anyway.  

The crescent moon that hangs  
Above her head fills out  
And becomes full.  
As comfortable as she seems,  
Fear still lingers.  
No matter how much she  
Lets go,  
She's been let down before.  

In time, my hands will become  
A vase that will protect her from harm,  
And my heart a place  
That will warm her always.  
When the day comes she knows,  
With certainty, that I am not afraid,  
I will still tell her
I am not afraid

There’s a girl I know on Mars
Who wears tube socks
With everything she wears,
No matter if they’re stretched out or not.
There, the wind barely blows,
It barely even whistles.
But she doesn’t like her feet
To get cold.

Every time we talk,
We talk about everything
And nothing.
She sits at home and watches
The stars from her window,
Swinging one of her legs
From the arm of the couch.

I told her that I’d mail her a new
Pair of socks if I could find
A pair with Mars on them,
And a pair that had the moon
Printed on them.
Especially that far out, I bet they’re
Hard to find.

Maybe I’d settle for a pair myself,
To see what she sees in these things,
After all, she always wears them.
Maybe I’ll get her a pair that stretches
To her knees,
A solid color to match her couch,
To hide the red dirt that creeps
In her house.

After all, we’re human.
We need something that connects us
To who we are, who we used to be.
Anything to make us feel
More important than what we are

The ground shook beneath us,
Running beside the horse in her heart.
My feet, her hooves pressed deep
In her orifice.
Panting, our arms free in the wind,
Her eyes wild to those who try to tame her.
My stomach burns from the ache
Of trying to keep up.
I haven’t run this long or this hard
Since I was little.
No matter what I did,
She was always in front of me.
If I laughed, she’d neigh and bite the air.
Even if I was able to pass her,
It wasn’t long before she got back
In front of me.
Every part of me hurts, but all I can do
Is laugh, trying to keep up.
After a while, I fell out,
Sprawled out, catching my breath.
Soon, she walked over and laid down beside me
And licked my face.

Life’s too short to worry about
The bruises that travel up your legs.
It’s rare that you meet people
Who make you burn like this
The kind of love that pounds
And gallops.
She had a horse in her heart,
Wild and made of fire.
She didn’t want to escape,
Just needed a friend

I don't like the crumbs,  
But I eat them anyway.  
I eat them like they're whole,  
As they are the best part to me.
They are always there.
Like a man who's instead  
Learned to fish
There's more
to be had,  
Saving the rest for later.

I take slow, small, deliberate
bites,  
Like a goldfish,  
Mostly inhaling water,  
Saving the bigger pieces
for you.

Although they're all mine,  
They taste better, knowing  
That I've shared them with you.  
No matter how far these crumbs  
Drift apart,  
Whether you eat them fast  
Or you eat them slow,  
There will always be something left  
To swim around
in your stomach.

I am afraid to close my eyes  
And miss the moment you  
Savor it all.  
I could tell you that I've saved  
The best part
for you,  
Knowing that it's all I have to give.  
My hands are only so big

Like an old lover,
I press my lips on the mouthpiece,
And I blow.
I blow until my lungs are about give out.
I blow until the beads of stardust twinkle.
The air tastes like rust.
Still, I play.
I may not have learned all the notes
On this blue saxophone,
But still, I play what sounds good to me.
The air rolls over me like a dream
One I didn’t have the good sense to
stay asleep and finish.

The red dust longs
For thicker air,
Burning with everything that it knows
The taste of its name,
The hunger of its touch,
The pull of something stronger
Than us both.
If silence comes from a mouth,
It is still felt, regardless of whether
It has arms.
Mars, a girl that history got wrong,
wisps through the red dust.
Whether I stay here on Mars,
Return to Earth, or go somewhere different,
You never forget the way breath
Feels against your skin.
Never.

I continue to press my lips on
The mouthpiece,
I blow until my lungs are about give out.
I play what sounds good to me,
Whether it’s old or new.
Love is still love,
No matter how cold it gets

Most things you read are dedicated  
To the bride or wife to be,  
With everyone and everything
else included,  
But I wanted to do something different.  
After all, you're a part of this too.  

To my almost sister-in-law,  
How fun it would have been  
To see you and your sister  
In the dresses you've always dreamed of wearing, all of us side by side.
Feeding a child, a continuation of
Building the life of your dreams.  
Not to say that you won’t,  
I just won’t be included in the affair.  
That’s fine, just know I think of you both.  

If I had my way,  
I’d marry your sister and have you  
As my sister too.
Someone strong, someone real.  
If not for you,  
I wouldn’t have these fond memories  
Of you and your sister,  
Starting at the first night
Where you called my name  
And thought I was nice enough  
To introduce us, me and your sister.

We’ve always agreed on things,  
Not seeing things like most do,  
The same old, same old.  
If you’re somewhere,  
Just taking up space,  
Know this is for you  
And all the future sisters-in-law.  
Not to steal the shine  
From the bride to be,  
But imagining her at the altar,  
With you at her side as maid of honor,  
Would've been dope to see.  

If you see this,  
You both are still part of my life,  
And I, hopefully, a part of yours.  
I sit idle,  
Taking up space,  
Thinking of you both,  
Writing something for sisters  
And soon to be sister in laws
To read as a toast,  
Then smile at the bride.
If they can't think of something
silly to say.
If by chance you come across this
And that is the case.
Here is something to toast to

The chef holds the knife in the air for a brief second,
Then brings it down, slicing through the food.
We feel the heat from the grill splash our face,
a mix of grease sizzles from the flames.
This wasn’t a bad place to get out of the house.
I’m glad that we chose to come here.

Not being funny when I say this,
but there’s something about the way you eat.
Hunger is hunger, but you’re pretty
the way you hold your fork to your mouth,
the way your cheeks move up and down.

If the conspiracy theorists are right
and the world ends in the next few minutes,
you’ll have savored the last taste of my air,
the last taste of this place,
the last taste of this neighborhood.

If I were to tell you how I feel in this moment,
you’d swear I was trying to talk about you.
But it’s more than that.
I love the way your eyes are satisfied with what’s in front of you
and how soft they become.

The chef chops and sizzles the rice, onions, shrimp, and steak.
The oil and sauces bubble up on the grill,
mixing into the smoke, the grill hissing,
watching us feed ourselves one bite at a time.

Public decency is a thing,
though a kiss is the only thing I must settle for.
I want to rise from you like the steam rises from the grill,
the salt of your skin melting on my tongue
as soon as it touches.

It’s comforting watching you eat,
the way the sauce that marinated the shrimp
smears against your lips,
the way you lick it off
like nothing’s happened.

The chef throws more food on the grill
and clangs his spatula.
We’re far from full,
and I’m glad that of all places,
we decided to come here.

The air is filled with savory smells,
and still, I smell your perfume.
I catch you staring at me,
but it’s not just any stare
I love it, the way you look at me.

Whatever piece of you still hungers
bites off pieces of me every time you blink.
To think of your stomach as my final resting place,
your lips drenched in soy sauce.
If you could devour me whole, I bet that you would.

After all, our feelings,
this way we feel about each other,
are as raw as the meat and veggies
the hibachi chef throws on the grill,
and the way you smile,
and the way you wiggle and dance in your seat.

I want to be one of the things that satisfies you like that
the way you smile, the way you look at me,
making me feel just that.
Not just exposed,
but taming your hunger in complete satisfaction.

My heart beats and clangs
like the spatula in front of us.
There’s no sense in hiding what we feel,
soon the hunger will become too much.
The smoke from the grill intensifies this feeling tenfold.

Regardless of the lights, the other couples,
the rice or the steak,
you're not food.
No matter how bad I want to wrap my lips around you.
When the check comes, there’s no point in looking at it with question.
We’re both satisfied

I flip the pancake over like  
you've flipped my love for you.  
The skillet hot with butter  
and a splash of oil.  
The batter becomes thick,  
flattening on one side
raising before falling.  
The edges becoming crisp,  
a mix of heart and soul  
and all the simple, consistent
consideration in between.  

When I am alone, I can make  
the perfect pancake.  
But when someone is watching,  
I flip the batter too soon.  
The circle is broken, and the batter  
bakes unevenly on the skillet.  
It still doesn't take away from the taste.  
Sometimes, I still feel like a fool.  

All it takes is the heat of reciprocation
whether the spatula is cheap or  
expensive.  
I eat it anyway,  
just like you've flipped my love for you.  
I brought a better spatula.  
I'll drizzle you in butter and syrup,
and eat until I can't anymore.

You're still on my mind
the way you taste, and the way  
you make me feel.  
The world moves fast,  
and soon, the time will be here again.  
Instead of a turkey,  
you've carved pieces of my heart  
and reminded me of all the things I've forgotten.  
The aches and pains that have taken  
over the empty spaces between  
the hands on the clock
work, bills,  
pieces of my most intimate self  
I've traded to sustain a living.  

You've carved these pieces of my heart,  
as savory as they can be,  
and fed them to me,  
showing me that the world isn't  
that miserable
regardless of the fake smiles in a  
fast-moving world.  
My favorite time of the year comes  
quicker, followed by my favorite  
season.  
Thank you for showing up,  
and allowing us to feast on the parts  
of ourselves we always seem to forget.  
Next year, this time will come around  
faster.  
Until then, I'll savor the way you taste  
and how good it feels to be around you

You're beside me,  
And everything is fine.  
It doesn't really matter  
What we do outside of this.  

I ask what you want to watch,  
Scrolling through my DVDs.  
You smile and point,  
Even if it's something I don't want  
To watch. I watch because it's an extension  
Of you.  

Knowing me, I'll pick something  
Stupid that'll make us laugh.  
When the screen flickers,  
You light up.  
We laugh and we talk,  
Catching everything that makes  
It interesting.  

Most of the time,  
I only laugh because you're laughing.  
You really don't know how beautiful  
Your smile is.  
Even when the movie is over,  
The taste of your lips  
Makes it worthwhile.  
Just this, being with you.  
It's not about the movie at all.  
The DVD may spin,  
The world may swirl around,  
But beside you, time stands still.

My bones ache from all  
the cleaning I've done.  
I've cleaned up all the dust  
and finally hit the floorboards that  
I always tell myself that I’m going to clean.  
The patches in my life that always seem to be going right, until I look closer.

I've picked up and sorted through  
all the clothes I've let pile up  
on the couch.  
The clothes that have waited  
for someone to come in and take  
the place of.  
I've cleaned between the cracks  
of the tiles in the kitchen  
and scrubbed down the walls  
Of my heart.  
Although I am tired, I still keep going.  
I haven't felt  
this way in a long time.  
I feel alive,  
making room in my heart for someone new.  

I've gotten rid of  
all the things that I thought  
held meaning in my life.  
The ghost of the person I thought  
I was, now in the trash.  
I hear him screaming,  
waving his hands around, asking hey what happened.
I am making room for you in my heart
with every intention  
of hoping that you'll stay.  
Or at the very least, leave a part of you  
With me.  
I've cleaned between the cracks  
of the tiles in the kitchen  
and scrubbed down all the walls,
Even the parts behind the furniture.

I am ready, whenever you are  
comfortable enough to move in.
I'll even help unpack

I sip you slow
morning, noon, and night.
Sugar and creamer take away
from how sharp you sting my lips.

The way I am easily lost in you.
You settle me, keeping me alert,
even in the moments
I’d rather do other things
or when I’m too lazy to get up.
Regardless of where I am,
you taste like home.
My throat and body
stained in your brand.

Even when I’ve had my fill,
when I see you, I am thirsty.
I hope you understand
that you’re not made for anyone’s
approval, not even mine.
You’re rough around the edges,
even bitter at times,
but these are reasons I love you more.
You’re completely yourself.
Their faces are too neat
for you anyway.

When I taste you,
I realize this is real,
and that this is mine.
When I taste you,
I taste you like you were brewed
just for me

It's crazy how someone
Can come into your life
And crack you open,
Like an egg on the edge
Of the counter.
Everything that you thought was
Perfect,
Leaking out from the edges
Of what you knew.

You find out how much of yourself
Spreads out and fills the empty space
What you felt, what you feel.
The pain of change.
They love you fully,
Even the shell of who you were
Before they came in.
They whisk you around
And show you how beautiful life
Can truly be.
Their love, the salt and pepper,
Sprinkled across the fried edges
Of your soul.

It's crazy how someone can come
Into your life,
And you lie helpless on the skillet
Of their heart.
The most important thing to remember
Are the memories.
Loving them with everything you gave

Nothing fits right anymore,
like trying to walk in shoes three sizes too small.
I feel each step, my toes crumbled up,
crunched in the toe,
I walk crooked, trying to find any bit of relief.
But it’s never enough.
Tight in the places that matter most,
pinched and cramped, like the space you left behind.
The more I try to follow,
the more I feel like I'm in the wrong.

When I take them off,
I feel the ache of crooked blisters.
Red and bruised heels,
But I cannot walk around without shoes.
I understand that you can’t make everything in life work,
but that doesn’t stop me from trying.
These shoes drag the weight of good intentions,
and I trip over everything.

I’ve been to different stores,
but the shoes they offer fit too loose.
I try to walk, but the shoes don’t bend.
A normal five minute walk
expands into hours.
Too wide to make a complete trip
Without pain,
nothing fits right anymore
outgrown, worn, too tight.
Everyone points and laughs at a man
With shoes three sizes too small.
Who am I to chase

The weight of who I am without you sets in.
I am lost in a world without you.
All I have are these shoes that I cannot fill
without you

I brought a ticket to come and see you
Today. When I looked at the print,
I realized that it was a one-way,
With a layover in your thoughts.
Truth be told, I didn’t mind at all.
The tickets for all the other flights
Were weeks, even months out,
I paid more because I really wanted
to get there.
The ticket being nonrefundable
Made the trip that much enjoyable
Despite popular belief.
I didn’t go too much on the reviews.
Very rarely do you see one that tells
The entire truth, there is always something
Wrong. Whether it’s the seat, someone telling you
don’t drink the water, or the towels.
It’s always the towels or the sheets, for some
Odd reason.
I don’t mind a bit of turbulence.
When I got on the plane, I noticed that it wasn’t
as clean as I expected,
But it was cool. It wasn’t something
To just get upset and cancel the whole trip over.
Judging by the reviews, it’s easy to forget
That were all human. Sometimes things happen.
I leaned back in my seat and remembered that I had
Forgotten something.
I unclicked my seat belt and checked my pockets.
Nothing.
Although I am sure that I’ll arrive safely,
I’ll replace the kiss that you gave me
The last time I saw you, soon as I step off
The plane with a new one from you