Even in a world of darkness,
I become your midnight sun.
Wrap me in your arms and I’ll
wrap you in warmth and light
‘til morning comes.

In a world full of darkness
I become your midnight sun.
I’ll wrap ‘round you in warmth and light.
I promise to keep you safe, by my side.
Even in the dark of the night, I’ll be the one
who stays with you through the thick, through the thin,
your loving guide.


Found poem in Tinashe's "Aquarius."

For eight long years, I’ve known you and during all this time you’ve
been but one of my best friends.

Distance has never been a challenge to us, we always remain within reach.

It is one of my greatest privileges and honors to even know you.
I hope I get to know you for years to come.

I know one thing for certain, if I ever did come face to face with such a spectacular human, I fear, I’d die.

It is easier believing that this entire time I’ve been asleep, dreaming you up, than to face you and have to leave you behind, miles and moons once again between us.

He’s been there through the milk, but will he stick around in the meat?

The smaller bumps in the road come easier than the potholes and sharp turns.

When things get tough, will he be around?

Between sips of espresso and difficult late-night conversation,
I realized I like my coffee with milk and that Cancer hurts.
It hurts those who have it and those who have those who have it.

When I explained how frightened I was that my friend
had been diagnosed with Cancer, he diminished my feelings
by saying, “I had a friend with Cancer. She died of it.”

Between difficult late-night conversations and espresso,
I realized; I like my relationships with milk as well.

Found Poem from *** and The City, Season 6, Episode, 16

You are the pioneer
after the fire,
with silver-grey and
blue-green leaves,
pods filled with seeds,
and brilliant yellow
flowerheads.
When you lived in the
mountains, you were
dressed in white-
lichen and snow.

Barren—they call you and now
it is your badge of honor, one
you wear proudly on display.

They likened you to a desert for
a lack of children and lack of
desire for them.

Be Mojave—Gobi—Sahara—
because your glittering, glass sand dunes
are great
and bearing fruit and flowers
is your prerogative and yours alone.

the moon chased me through cities
growing more as days go by

I could not escape its gaze
through foggy curtained windows

I always thought I was made for
the night but as it turned out

the moon burns in me more
than the sun ever could

Night flower blossoming
Beneath the summer sky
Petal parasols unfurling
Throughout June and July

She was born under the moon
Nocturnal butterfly
Pollinated by pale moths
To live one day then die

Moonflower blooms in warmth
Her short season’s end nigh
Shriveling once the frost sets in
And conceding to the ice

Moonblossom rich in scent
A true pleasure to stand by
Her short-lived sweet fragrance
Would all surely vivify

Was it longing in is sad, blue eyes, or was it lust?
Maybe it was a beautiful combination of the two.
She always left him wanting more.
So he gave up the sunlight for her.
He promised to spend the rest of his days  in darkness, between silk sheets and, hushed tones.
He never asked anything of her.
Seeing her body covered in nothing but moonlight was more than
his soul could ever dream of.

He creeped in through my window,
the moon’s shadow peeking softly
while I slept, watching, observing, guarding
a neither malevolent nor benevolent thing
just existing, in his own orbit, pulling the tides,
serving his purpose, being.

Day after day and night after night you watch the sun and stars swirl overhead.
How many times must I remind you to not take for granted all that which you've been blessed so richly with, before you realize that in keeping count of stars, you lost sight of the moon.

a hot cup of
coffee in the  
morning is all
well and good
but I'd rather
have your lips
on mine, kissing
me awake
instead

I thought after
all these years of
being bitten and scratching sores,  
I'd eventually grow a thick enough skin
to keep out the mosquitos.
I was wrong.
Even so, mosquitos are nothing compared
to the itch I've got for you.
You see, mosquito bites are only skin deep,
but I've got this ravenous hunger for you,
gnawing at my bones.

You’ve grown on me
like moss and ivy,
slowly at first but
before you know it, I’m
covered in you, and I
choose not to remember
what it was like to be naked.

As I stood on that mountain alone and windswept, I realized something.

I realized with the quilted land below me and the fiery painted sky above and with the sun coming up to kiss the new day, I wanted to be anywhere but there.

Despite the beauty I faced on that mountaintop, I felt incomplete.

Like the moon without the sun, I felt incomplete.

And I realized, I’d trade the entire world to be in your arms.

All my life, I thought
I needed seas and
mountains and bright
city lights to be happy,
to be satisfied.

The truth is, all along,
I just needed you.

Constantly, I am
searching for you beneath
overcast skies and between
the iron-wrought, and beautifully
woven, poetic words of others, but
all along you’ve been beside me,
my whispering muse, and
the love of my life,
gently guiding.

Of all the shoes
and shirts
and skirts
and hats
and pants
and socks
and coats
and every article
of clothing I own,

somehow, I am
still naked
without
you.

I’ve found that I don’t mind
the difference between trees
and flowers.
They are all appealing to me.
And being the honeybee, I am,
I’ve found I enjoy the sweet sap
from logs, as much as the flower’s
nectar anyways.

I do not need alcohol to have
fun.
I do not need cigarettes to be
cool.
I do not need dope to be
creative.
I need to feel you in my
veins.
I need to breathe you in with every
heartbeat.
And even if you’re just a high,
I want to never come
down.
I do need you.

Sneak out, sneak in
let me join you
when your nightride
begins.

Breathe out, breathe in
pull me closer
take me places I’ve
never been.

“Love hurts”
“Love *****”
“I hate love”

That is not love, my dear.
It is but part of the journey in finding it.

I'd rather feel the pain, the sickness, the despair, the destruction, the loss, the fear, the loneliness, the struggle, the exhaustion, the worry, the doubt, and everything in betweent.
I'd rather feel the hand of death curling with
every drag of cigarettes smoke and the threat of a hangover with every burning sip.
I'd rather feel every bad emotion, sensation, feeling than feel nothing at all.
I'd prefer pain over the feeling of numbness any day.

Speak in tongues,
wear only yellow from now on,
cover the street in paint,
lay naked on the lawn,
shout loudly in my ears,
pour out your soul,
roll around in all your fears,
help me lose control,
forget what I’ve become,
make me feel something, anything,
as now I am nothing
but numb.

He was never my rock
but he was always my oak,
constantly standing through
whatever weather I blew his way,
and still growing.

Loving you is all I want.
Laying on your       chest
with a shaky softness.
The way your electricity collides         with my skin.
Your hands,     gently    exploring.

Your breath comes across my back.
Lovely are     your words,
finding their way to                 my
              lips.
Your body pressing against
mine.
Curving your shoulder,   slightly.

Your fingertips brushing            around my waist, like
waves       washing      over     me.
The feeling of your teeth      soft against       my neck
Tonight we're a sea,          your rocky rhythm       taking
       me down,
deeper.

Arching my back to        meet your moves.
My     bare      skin singing for       your warmth.
And you savor my     thighs.
Gentle are intentions.
You               trace your tongue       along my hips,
               planting flowers with your
lips.

Gripping      cold silk,
your     breath comes
hot against          my neck.
My mind pulses with
the thrilling thought of you
      rolling   over in
sheets of
             infinity.
Skipping        a beat,
your
         heart
gives in.

Leaving       fingerprints       on our      skin
                 like              beestings, and
I have never known a love
as sweet
as this.

old soul, old as time
composed of stardust
and fine lines

mortal frame
a sad attempt to
capture you

lovely hair and
little bones and
eyelashes filled with
sunlight

if only they could
see you the way I do

naked, old soul

It’s been days, weeks, months and an eternity since
I’ve done something useful with these hands.
I make no exaggeration, I’ve been stagnant for so long
now, no motivation, no drive, no power to turn over within myself.
I wish I could keep my spirits lifted on my own, so it wouldn’t
have to be your duty, love.
But every time I put my lips on yours and lay eyes on your face,
I remember what I was put on this earth for.
Only you can reignite the flam within me.
Only you can stir me.
Only you can make waves within me, love.

I sway,  o p e n  to
the music, as I am in such a
v u l n e r a b l e  state, as if my walls
have come down, and my soft shell
has been e x p o s e d , and the music is a dagger that
moves straight through to my heart and
s o u l .

This world is so incredible, but it pales in comparison to you, my love.

I am head-over-heels, madly in love with you, and I long to be so sinfully close to you that even air could not come between us.

That being said, I’ve come to believe that the most beautiful thing in the world is not love, nor is it the act of making love, but rather, the act of falling asleep beside you, that I’d leave myself open to you all night long, dreaming in my most vulnerable state.

That is the most exquisite beauty of all.

I still remember the taste of
orange fanta, sticky and sweet
on your lips.
It’s as nostalgic, as it is painful,
remembering you.
I swallow a bit easier, with each
coming sip.

You have a gravity about
you that I have not yet
become accustomed to.
I feel I will never become
accustomed to it, to you
or to the way you push
me in and pull me out,
the way your gravity
keeps me orbiting, just
within reach.

I want to become part of you the way the wind becomes oxygen
in your lungs, and the way you cannot breathe when you are without me.

There is something profound in the way that just a singular thought of you can take me to another place, another universe, another eternity. Here, there is no hate, no violence.
Here in this place, there is perfection and there is you.

Often, I cannot tell the difference.

Coffee.

Breakfast in bed.

Sunlight pouring in on warm, silk sheets.

Your head between my legs, your lips on mine, gently writing me love letters with your tongue.

Perfect Morning.

Velvety soft and rich in color
they shiver ever so slightly
at your touch, they’ve unrolled
themselves for you
just look, won’t you?
there’s no need in
destroying their soft beauty.

Hello fellow poets and patrons of poetry!

I am making this post because I will be moving all of my poetry from my website here officially starting now!

I've decided to keep what I've already posted here and just post the rest of it in chronological order from 2016 to now.

That's over four years of poetry and nearly 600 poems.

It's going to take me a minute to get it all up and a bunch of it is old, crusty, cringy poems that I wrote just starting out, so please be kind.

You're going to see a lot of growth over the past five years.

I do hope you'll join me on this journey! Please leave your thoughts as the poems pop up! Any and all commentary is welcome, but please be respectful!

<3
—Payton

You can find me elsewhere:
Editing, Writing, and Book Blog: www.wonderforest.net
Instagram: @lifeasalyric

eyes roll back
lips part slightly
soft moans come
short breaths loosed
steel thighs melt
nails dig in
possession?
small death?
or both?

"Oh God," she says, hands clasped together, fingers entwined, knees bent.  
He doesn't answer; /he does.
/he answers with earnest, continued, devoted worship,
head bowed, eyes closed, his mind devoid of all else but this
—this soul-shaking, earth-shattering pleasure, this blessed communion between man and woman,
the Holy Spirit an undoubted ****** through the candlelight,
this holy practice wherein they do some of their finest praying.

For hours we have driven
down dusty, dirt roads passing
one after another, the rotting animals,
flattened to the pavement.
I count them, one, three, seven, ten.
It’s a means of passing time and
getting you off my mind, momentarily.

You sit in the passenger seat with the
map flattened against the dash and
your navy ball cap pulled low.
The roadkill becomes sidelined when
I realize, the dead animals are not the
ones running from something,
running from another greater animal,
a predator, only to meet death on this
decrepit highway.
I am the one running, driving seventy-five
miles an hour from a predator I cannot
escape no matter how fast I drive.
I am the prey.

The scenes outside the window no longer
tell a tale of death, but one of freedom,
freedom from the hunt, the chase.
You’ve mentioned before what you feel
for me, and though, we’ve known each
other for years, anything more than
friends would surely ruin us.
This little trip we took for summer
fun leads nowhere good, leads to a place
from which I doubt we will return the same
as we left.
I know once we reach our destination,
you’ll go in for the ****
and I won’t stop you.

All of the others can guarantee you the world.
But I can give you my heart.
I can't promise you fame or riches, but you will always be safe and warm and happy.
And even if you do not love me, I will  love you with all of my being.

Time and time again I self-sabotage
I drink the poison; I eat the dollar bills
I make bad decision after bad decision
to punish myself.

Now, I think it’s time I pour out the wine,
pour out my soul and let go of the pain
because how else will I ever hope to heal
my future when I keep beating myself up
over the past.

the clatter of plates the click
of chopsticks dancing on the floor
as a guest unfurls their napkin

the napkin left in the back of the
booth and the wads of straw wrappers
intermingled with scattered rice

the smell of rice and ramen and
braised pork belly and tofu and
the stench of everything mixed
together in the trashcan in the back

these things are all I remember from
working in the ramen house

Resurrected, I arose
for mornings thick with lust
and love and caffeine and naked kisses
And again, when night came
I did too, and fell sweetly, sinfully  
prey to the small death
ushered in with a grand symphony
of your name

Every little move, every soft step, every breath I take,
I am reminded of him; I am reminded that he was here.
I savor the subtle soreness, the secret that only we know
—the remnants of pleasure that reside there.
They remind me that I am his, and his alone.

Repetition everywhere
in bookshelves and tiled walls
and the yellow striped down the street.
Repetition everywhere
in staircases and stitches
and cornstalks.
Repetition everywhere
in tree-rings and theater seats
and blinds and whitened teeth,

Repetition everywhere.

Spring came and went with
the sweet smell of flowers
and the sound of chirping swallows.

Summer melted away beneath
the sun’s beating rays.
We watched her go slowly like
a sunburn fading to tan.

Fall flew by, like a leaf caught
by the autumn wind, gone without
so much as a whisper.

Now that winter is here, I am
left waiting for the next repetition,
but the days drag on, the cold lingers,
and time stands still beneath the snow.

I get it, being in the driver’s seat means that you can do nothing but
stare forward, the whole way.

But I’m in the passenger seat and I’m just along for the ride.

I find calm in knowing even if I let the universe move me, I’m still moving.

I’m watching the orange skies and purple clouds pass overhead
without a worry in the world.

I wish you could see them, too.

Day after day,
sun after sun,
moon after moon,
you and I become one.

Grown together like roots,
our strength runs years’ deep.
I promise you my heart,
for yours to keep.

Entangled in your arms,
you I wrap around,
like roots of a great tree
deep in the ground.

Not the wearing of water
or the roaring of wind
could ever break us
in two again.