[in-tuh-muh-see]*  (noun)*

1. you'll let him undress you even though morning light is pouring through his two story apartment window and he's never seen you naked without the dark to hide your flaws; you won't have to hold your breath the entire time.

2. he isn't afraid to pray with you, you aren't afraid to tell him when you're not ok. You both wake up in each other's arms believing that nothing would ever be as simple as this.

No one knows me better than my pen.

Sometimes your voice sounds like rain beating heavy on a galvanized roof.
Sometimes I feel like I can hear the sadness pouring from your mouth like a rainstorm in the middle of the night.
You tried hard to swallow it, hide it beneath your tongue;
when you laugh you pretend it doesn't sound like thunder and howling winds,
You've flooded my home many times, my dear.
Sometimes I feel like I can hear the sadness,
the sadness pouring from your mouth like a rainstorm
in the middle of the night.

With the memory of sweet honey comb in mouth and the sting of nettles on my fingertips,
I am coming home to myself.
It is easy to forget where my heart lies;
silencing it when it calls out from my chest or giving it over to someone with careless hands.
I was once a child whose heart spoke in a language only I and nature could understand
so I sit here, struggling to remember my native tongue;
my hands still stinging, my teeth still stained with the sweetness
and a heart that is saying "welcome home"

Psychologists say
writing poetry help to heal broken heart
Therefore I write

I prove them wrong

Because the more I write
the more I am reminded of you
and it breaks my heart
into dust