I am not bleak
I am not barren
I am the canvas
on which life
is built.

To the left was my mother
To the right was my father
Both turning as blue as the ice that lay beneath me
My vision goes black
When it comes back I see the white of my breath traveling above my nose
They were gone
Dust from ******* caught my lungs
My cough echoed into the dusk of winter
I pulled at my curls as I usually did
Little golden locks follow my white knuckles until they start to fall out
I had no idea what to do
Men in suits passed me as if I wasn't even there
I cried and cried for help but they didn't seem phased by my tears
I kissed mother and father goodbye on their pink frozen cheeks
The man yelling orders stood far away
I climbed over mountains of broken brick to reach the man in the uniform
Running right into the ironed crease of his khakis
I felt nothing
So I opened my squinted green eyes to see I had passed right through him
My family destroyed in the streets made it to the kingdom in the sky
& I was stuck in the middle yelling at men that couldn't even hear me cry

THESE ARE YOUR HANDS AND THIS IS HOW YOU TELL THE FLAMES YOU'RE NOT ALL BAD.
THESE ARE YOUR THIRD DEGREE BURNS TO SAY YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WITH BONES MELTING IN TRUST ISSUES.
THESE ARE YOUR WRISTS, THOSE ARE YOUR KNEECAPS, THIS IS YOUR STORY.
THIS IS HOW YOU BITE YOUR TONGUE BUT STILL MANAGE TO LEAVE THE WORLD WONDERING HOW YOU COULD MATCH UP TO THUNDER'S HARMONIES,
THIS IS HOW YOU WHISPER TO MOUNTAINS AND KNOW THE PEAKS WILL HEAR YOU.
THIS IS HOW YOU TELL THE VOICES IN YOUR HEAD TO SHAKE HANDS WITHOUT STARTING AN EARTHQUAKE,
THIS IS HOW YOU TELL DEPRESSION TO LIGHTEN UP,
THIS IS HOW YOU GRAB ANXIETY BY THE SHOULDERS AND SING LULLABIES TO ITS LUNGS.
THIS IS HOW YOU WALK UP TO GOD AND RIP OPEN YOUR CHEST WITHOUT INTRODUCING YOURSELF FIRST AND ASK "WHY?"
THERE'S PAPER UNDERNEATH YOUR PILLOW,
THOSE ARE THE NOTES YOU PASSED TO YOUR BEST FRIEND IN THE THIRD GRADE WHEN YOU TOLD HER ABOUT YOUR FIRST CRUSH.
THERE'S A PAPER THAT'S BEEN IN YOUR BACK POCKET FOR A YEAR AND A HALF,
THE ONE NEXT TO YOUR RECEIPT FOR A BOTTLE OF WHISKEY AND STAIN REMOVER,
THIS IS THE NOTE SHE WROTE YOU A WEEK BEFORE HER FUNERAL.
THIS IS HOW YOU WASH YOUR JEANS WITH TWO CUPS OF 'TODAY I FORGOT TO REMEMBER TO FORGET'.
THIS IS HOW YOU COPE.
THIS IS HOW YOU LAY ON MUD STAINED CARPETING AND AND STARE AT YOUR BROKEN DOOR,
THIS IS HOW YOU CONVERT TO HARDWOOD FLOORS AND STRONGER DOOR HINGES.
THIS IS HOW YOU WIN A WAR WITH ONE BODY ON A BATTLEFIELD,
THIS IS HOW YOU SHOW A BLIND MAN THAT YOU CAN PAINT A ******* MASTERPIECE.
THIS IS HOW YOU REACH HEAVEN WITHOUT DYING, THIS IS HOW YOU KNOW HELL WITHOUT LIVING THROUGH IT.
THIS IS HOW YOU UNDERSTAND THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE, BY CROSSING PATHS WITH THE GUY THAT MADE YOU HATE WET PAVEMENT AND THE SMELL AFTER IT RAINS,
THIS IS HOW YOU HELD HIS HAND THE SAME WAY YOU HOLD A KNIFE, THIS IS HOW YOU LEARN FORGIVENESS.
THIS IS HOW YOU SMOKE WITH THREE LUNGS AND LOVE WITH ONE.
THIS IS HOW YOU STUFF THE PERSON YOU WANT TO BE IN A FORTUNE COOKIE AND LEARN PATIENCE.
THIS IS HOW YOU TELL PEOPLE YOU'RE NOTHING LIKE YOUR MOTHER. THIS IS HOW YOU SAY YOU HAVE YOUR EYES, NOT HERS BECAUSE THIS IS HOW YOU UNCLENCH YOUR HUSBANDS FISTS.
THIS IS HOW YOU LOSE SOMEONE THAT NEVER KNEW HOW TO BE ALONE, THIS IS HOW YOU WORRY.
THIS IS HOW YOU CONFIDE IN A HOSPITAL BED TO TEACH YOU HOW TO LET GO.
THIS IS HOW YOU LET THE NURSE WITH SHAKY HANDS TEACH YOU HOW TO TRACE THE STRAIGHT LINE ON YOUR HEART MONITOR AND BE OKAY AFTERWARDS. THIS IS HOW YOU LIVE AND ACCEPT DEATH.
THIS IS HOW YOU UNEARTH YOURSELF,
THIS IS HOW YOU STOP EXISTING,
THIS IS HOW YOU STOP FOCUSING ON LIVING AND BREATHE FOR YOURSELF.
THIS IS HOW YOU STOP THINKING AND FEEL.
THIS IS HOW YOU SPEND A LIFETIME TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT 'THIS' IS.

This is heartbreak, this is that tugging you feel when you hear his name. This is anxiety, this is how you know how real "this" can be. This is the feeling of numbness, this is how you cope. This is how you welcome depression, this is how you never got to tell him you're sorry. This is how you want to crawl into bed and only come out when he says it's okay, that he's there. This is how you fake a smile, and tell everybody it's okay, that he's not feeling pain anymore, when you're still trying to believe it yourself. This is how you tell the voices in your head to shut up, this is how you ask the nurses, "why?"

This is how you teach yourself to let go, this is how you tell yourself he's okay. This is sadness trying to comfort you, telling you about how great of a person he was, but it's sadness, everything about it makes you feel worse. This is that ball of tightness you feel in your throat when your mom hugs you, this is you trying to be strong for everybody. These are your shaking hands holding his favorite shirt, this is the strength he taught you. This is the throbbing in your head, this is how you regret. This is how you tell yourself that's it's okay, this is how you convince yourself that he still loves you, this is how you convince yourself that people aren't so bad. This is how you don't want to look in the mirror, this is how you find the strength to get out of bed. This is how you forget how to sleep, this is how you remember was misery is. This is how you shut people out regardless of how unhealthy it is, this is how you look up to stretch your neck with your eyes closed and take a deep breath.

This is how you miss somebody.

sometimes I become so frustrated with the word love because it doesn't hold enough value to express how I feel about you. it is almost as if I have to repeat it several times, "I love you I love you I love you so much", before it even begins to hold such a meaning.
nothing makes me happier than when you refer to the future as ours. I can't wait for the day you wake me up with kisses and coffee instead of waking up clutching my phone.
I honestly believe the reason I have always felt so homesick and such an intense wanderlust is because I've always been so far from you. (and just to prove my point, I woke up homesick again.)
the day I met you I felt the dirt in my chest get heavier but little did I know, the flowers were finally being watered.
and the day I fell in love with you I felt an explosion in my chest and I thought it was my heart but it was really the flowers blooming. it is almost like you are creating a garden for my demons to play in.
you make me want to keep breathing and it's so relieving. there isn't a day that starts with my wishing I hadn't woken up because I am always awoken by you.
I may be an angel but I swear you are a piece of the sun, shining light in my darkness. every day makes me believe more and more that you are the pieces of myself that I was missing for so long.

Screaming at the moon during cloudless nights has become
the only form of
therapy that works anymore.
I'm waiting for
the night it will invite me to curl up in its craters and whisper every
childhood fear
you brought up into conversation when I told you
my memories could be used to show how words
can be sharper than the
broken bottles
your mother lusted. Sleepless nights are sobering my head and
my voice box is starting to suffer more than
the Mona Lisa, but you never liked art that didn't hand you
its meaning with open arms and
a pat on the back. I wish time did more than rust
the only things with
something of value, but
junkyards aren't good replacements for falling stars and
forgotten chunks of metal remind me too much of
the way you loved with a steel heart and
icy touch. You claimed I could find
refuge in between your
ribs, but every
cell in your body is frozen solid and I never found comfort in the way ice sculptures morbidly melt in the presence of the sun with
crossed arms and
a closed mind. I'm sorry
my walls have grown taller than your pride, but i hoped i would be something more than a quest filled with
ships meant to sink. Consequently, maps have grown to be
sly creatures, and the
darts i'm throwing at the world all end up on your
roof without a scratch. I wanted to be more than your
fading scar, and I hope you'll look at your arms
one morning and realize they could be touching mine, and until you do, i'm just stuck here with nothing but a stomach full of
conscience and
mouth full of words i'll only scream to the sky.

i  envy your pillow
it lets you
rest your head on it
while i can't

i envy your cup,
it kisses your lips
tasting yours,
while i just stare at it,

i envy your blanket
it covers your skin
it touches every bit of you
while i can't

i envy your clothes
it touches your skin
every corner of it
every flaw
while i'm sitting here
typing this

Us, just you and I.
This is our world.
But these aren’t tears.
Maybe they are, maybe they are our own.
But what does this matter? We have seen each other’s tears.
We’re washed, cleansed, and no longer you and I.
We are young.
We are free.
We are innocent.
We are happy. Happy.
Can you imagine?
Thunder rolls. But not thunder.
Music that used to be our sobs, washed clean by this rain that isn't rain at all.
We play, play like the children we never ceased to be.
We run, not racing like we usually do,
neither one of us wanting to win because to win means to leave the other behind.
We love each other, but we’re not in love.
How beautiful is that? How simple and perfect.
How sublime this thundering, rainy day can be.
It’s a wonder. Greater than the sun.
Sunlight doesn’t bring us together, darkness does.
We grow from the darkness.
We flourish in the sun.
But every so often, we retreat. Just to stay honest, you see?