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
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
what is barren in 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.
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

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

Although ugly,
Something beautiful happens.
The air suddenly gets thick.
Your hand ***** up and flies
up to your mouth.
Lungs ache, just as we do.
They cling to breath as if
It's the last thing they have.
I cough, and my whole body heaves.
Just like you when I am behind you
My eyes tighten, and after a moment,
It's over.

A wet kiss turned inside out,
Bottled up and forced out.
An act of surrender,
Forced out in urgency.
A noise that signals sickness,
But at the same time
Searches for a fresh breath.
At times, a cough can be sickening,
Sometimes nasty.
But when everything rattles loose,
And that ache is gone.
Sometimes,
That's the best kind of love

The heart is a fragile thing,  
Only able to hold so much.  
Like a ship  
Sailing through a storm.  
Some make it through.  
Others, water fills the hull.  
  
Wave after wave,  
Try as you might.
You must stay afloat
The best way you can.  
No matter how many patches,  
Water still leaks in.  
Just like a heart,  
Pumping, but weighed down.
You must keep going.  
Take the proper precautions,
Jump overboard,
Swim if you must,  
No matter how many lies  
Have poked and prodded  
At your heart.  
No matter how many holes  
Have pierced your soul.  
Don’t drown.  
As long as you keep kicking,  
The sun will always shine.
Not all beautiful locations are
charted on a map

I press the buttons in a frenzy,
Lost in the glow of the TV screen.
The controller sweaty in my hand.
I tap away, making my way
Back to you.

To be honest, I didn't think
I'd like this game.
But now, I am hooked.
As dope as this game is,
It cheats.

You're a cheater! But I love it.
I don't need a tutorial,
and refuse to play through it.
I will make it back to you,
And beat you!

You, standing there with your ****
Avatar.
A quick reset, and I respawn,
Ready to get you!
Soon as the loading screen finishes
Loading. The only thing keeping me away from you, is how you cheat.
My avatar respawns,
Halfway through the level,
And there you are,
Waiting,
Like you have something better to do.
I will not rage quit!
I will beat this stage!
No one taught me how to play,
But once I win,
I'll have something to hold
over your head.
Even better
I didn't cheat to get your heart

I met you where night hangs like a prayer, and the planets spin around and around. In a world with no gravity, you pulled me in, right beside the stars that die in silence. Here, everything freezes.
And your eyes are the most beautiful thing to look at. In the deepest of dark, our hearts dance on dust and ice. Here, the wind howls, and chips of ice blow in the wind, swallowed whole by the emptiness around. Between the dying stars, we searched for a spark. A solemn flame that would keep us alive. The air here is dangerously thin, but this flame would still survive. A saving grace, ions away from home, crash-landing here wasn't so bad in the end. Far away from everything that we know, better here than a place we've never heard of. Though the ground beneath us will hold us forever, I've found this solemn spark, one that I'll remember forever. Although the stars around are too tired to shine, like them, we too, fight to burn. Two bodies lost in the dark

The last time I dreamed about you
I planted the dream in soil.
When I fell asleep and woke up.
I believed you to have grown,
Like any other flower.
Even if you turned out
to be a rose,
I didn’t mind the ***** of a thorn.
When I wiped my eyes
There was a cactus in the soil.
There are good dreams
And there are bad dreams.
Most bad dreams start off good.
Then become prickly and cold.
I didn’t care.
I lugged you around with me
everywhere.
Pulling out the spines
that stuck me.
No matter where we went
I considered them kisses
From you to me,
And me, I considered my dream
A reality.
Then you got larger.
Then you got heavier.
That happy lug turned to a hard pull.
And those cute little ******
Turned into being stabbed.
there’s a reason why most cactus’
Are found in the desert.
And why some dreams
Are just like a cactus

I found a rainbow
In the middle of the night.
Stripes of color that look like it burst through the sky.
It cut through the clouds and took over the buildings.
There’s something different about the night.
At times, everything can seem dead.
But it has its pieces of heaven.
Indigo, blue, red, yellow, and purple.
All dressed bright, Standing on the corner,
Like everyone else that wasn’t asleep.
I suppose that it needed a place to hang out too.

The bend wasn’t as curved as the one you’ll see
Through the day.
It was relaxed and positioned in the sky,
in the way I supposed you would press your back
against the wall.
Then, just like that, It was gone.
Like a pretty woman with somewhere to go

I watch,
And I pull different pieces
Of her out the bowl.
Somewhat tangled and a bit messy.
I twist her all up even more,
And put her in my mouth.
The steam rising fresh from her.
My mouth catches her,
All of her.
Hot, slightly salty.
I love the way she makes me feel.
Eventually, her ways will become mine.
She isn't just some mess in a bowl.
And although I am hungry,
The pieces of her that I drag to my mouth. Are moderate.
I've never tasted anything like this
Before.
She isn't just a quick bite
Of temporary need.
My tongue, my gut,
My soul loves this tangled goodness.
She is my safe space

I don't want to miss
How good your skin feels
In the dark,
When no one else is around
Except our breath.
And we can breathe.

Opinions are just that.
But at the same time, I know,
I don't want to miss out.

I know how bad it feels to show up
Late, and "goodbye" is the last thing
You want to hear.
I don't want to miss out on the
Dark parts of you,
The parts of you that fit
Between the empty space of my
Fingers.
No matter how dark,
There's always a place for you.
It doesn't replace how soft you
Actually are.
It's not for the world to see
They can see whatever they want to.
When it comes to you,
I am not the world.
And I don't want to miss out

The moon swallows the sun,
And for a second,
Everything becomes that much darker.
Nothing moves. Silence looks around,
Confused, looking for a sound.

Her lips touch mine,
And the world stops.
I felt my breath leave my body.
I felt her body through her lips.
My throat the only thing that stops.
My heart spilling over into her mouth.

The silence around leans closer,
Looking for a sound. Any smack,
Any slurp we could give to feed
Its hunger.
We kissed like everything in us
Filled the gaps between the stars.
When it was over,
Only a handful of people could tell you
What an eclipse looks like

I am waiting on an angel.
I’ve paced around in wait
and feel no closer to when I first started
pacing.
no call, no signs of anything that smells like perfume.
she promised she'd be here.
maybe she's stuck in traffic,
or maybe she's the kind of angel
that doesn’t keep promises.

the last time I prayed I asked for a roof
over my head.
it took a while. it took an awfully long time.
my hands were shaking.
just when I was about to give up.
I got my house.
I have that same feeling.
god knows that I am waiting,
no matter how bad my hands are shaking.

still, I wait.
I don’t know how wings feel against skin,
or how soft they are,
but somehow, I believe she is near.
if she is not.
I do believe that something beautiful is possible.
even if angels have a sense of humor

I smell the wild on you.
How the snow is caked in your fur.
When the night falls, what does
It offer besides survival.
And the means to be something
besides human.
We're stuck here somewhere where
The earth has broken.
And the cold envelopes everything it
Touches.
You stand there in the snow
Teeth bared.
Not afraid to go at it once more.
I've grown tired, so very tired.
Your eyes burn the snow.
That fierce longing to stay alive.
What else does the night offer,
We've consumed pretty much
everything else except each other.
And I am tired of fighting.
Nothing pretty survives out here alone,
In the dark.
Together, you and I nestled in each other's warm.
When hunger subsides.
We'll find it in each other

Love is not a circus.
Still, I watched her perform.
I watched her spin around in circles
And pretend to fall.
I watched her paint her face red
And smear her clown mouth.
She laughed at things that weren't
funny, often mixing up the punch line.
Still, I watched her perform.
I watched while she loved another,
A man that didn't know she was there.
The audience could tell.
Any of us could.

None of the balloons that she carried
Seemed to float,
Pretending to trip and fall into our hands. The smeared makeup around her mouth twisted into a smile she didn't recognize.

After the show, she asked, if she really did fall would I catch her?
One of her smiles telling the ultimate truth, Smeared left then off right.
Like she brushed against something.
The start of the next show.
Those ill-fitting clothes weren't so ill
After all.

She fell towards his arms,
Hoping that he'd catch her.
Love is not a circus,
Although their stay is temporary.
Painted faces tell no tales.
Not all injuries heal the same

Late into the night,
a fire rages on,
devouring everything it sets its sight on.
memories, splinters, concreate and rubble.
still, it wants more,
nibbling on silence, the dark of the night
itself.
its tongue stretches and laps,
its stomach nowhere near full.
it twists and turns, ignoring
the tug of its shadow.
it wants what it wants,
regardless of how it tastes.
its fingers constantly reaching out,
leaving a scorched trail everywhere it’s been.

here I sit, watching the fire
grow in size and height,
hoping that by some twist of fate,
it finds what it truly hungers for.
until then, nothing or no one will be able
to put it out.
I too have tired myself out,
opening the refrigerator,
like you will magically appear.

We live in between the break
Of things,
Mostly broken and curled up
Into each other.
The glow of the screen,
The result of a million jolts
Crammed into one place.
I suppose we do need things
To spend our money on.
Things that we can add to our dreams.
Especially if it doesn't interrupt
What we've waited all day to watch.

For two broken pieces
Sitting together on the couch,
That's alright.
Of all the times you've appeared
In my dreams,
I cannot tell you what perfume
You had on,
Or what designer brand you wore
From any of the commercials
I've seen.
But when our show goes on break
Or whatever movie we're watching
goes off,
The best advertisement I've seen
Is the way you look at me

We're but two drunks laughing in the rain. Memphis is a city like any other.
The rain falls and slinks into the potholes. Whatever secrets that are hidden surface and shine with every drop that falls.

What's the fun of staying dry? The rain mixed with the sweat of our skin.
When you kiss me, I feel the beads of rain fall harder, my heart a puddle that catches every drop, caught in wet embrace. We may be drunk, me more so than you. Even if lightning slices through the clouds, and the rain begins to come down even harder.

What's the fun of staying dry? Every street leads somewhere, even if the sky tears itself open and the world becomes a blur. I am a drunk fool, laughing outside in the rain with you