Broken and battered from the battle field of a lonely soul, emerged a yellow bud.
Beaten to death, it cried out- please.
Please tell me I'm pretty.
Please tell me you love me.
Please be here when I need you..
Grow on your own, bud. Stand on your own.
Grab hold of what's yours and hold it tight.
Dance little bud.
Dance with passion.
Were you broken and battered?
Little yellow bud, budded ah'see.
Look, little yellow bud is gone. Oh,
But here comes a shiny golden flower.

each skin friction he made with mine
are leaving goosebumps on places
I never even knew existed before
and all creatures on earth disappearing;
he's all I can hear, he's all I can feel
he's all I know and I found myself
the moment I found him

It started in a hurry
In sounds like the sizzle of summer air
Between two chipped teeth
Two chapped lips.

There was never to be enough room
For the all encompassing mouth of heat
Colored like the sticky surface of a blow-pop
Orange until you lick down to the icy blue center.

Only then do you notice the icy blue center
Has left the felt tip a speckled white
Like looking at winter treetops on the horizon
Littered with broken branches
Weighed down by Christmas carols

And slowly the head tilts to the left
Like a child whose favorite question is “why?”
And whose waxy fingers are now covered
In the sweet slime of a blow-pop

Dear Beautiful Sunflower,

Here’s to the ones that remember
what kind of ice cream you like
and bring it to you on those lonely nights
(even though you told them in passing
ages ago in a fleeting moment).
To the ones that nod to you in a group of people
and make eye contact when your
input seems to be overhwhelmed.
To the ones who keep their promises,
no matter how big or small.
To the friends who will put away
their pride and their projects to come help you.
To the ones who love you unapologetically.
Thank you for calling me out
when I'm too ******* myself.
Thank you for spoiling me when I've fallen
and encouraging me when I stand again.

Without wax,
Someone Who Can't
Say "Thank You" Enough*

P.S. One day you'll realize how much you brighten people's day.

step one:
do not look at their mouth,
for you will expect to see rivers flowing from it,
poetry slipping through the space between their lips
in the same way that the wind slips through the space underneath a door,
but instead you will only see spit and saliva
and a tongue too big for its home.

step two:
do not look at their hands,
for you will expect them to craft cities from marble right before your very eyes,
but instead it will be just the thumbs,
the twiddling of thumbs,
the aimlessness, the senselessness,
the lack of experience with building empires.

step three:
do not look at their eyes,
for they say that the eyes are the windows to the soul,
and when you see that the curtains have been drawn,
you will feel so very alone.

step four:
i did not love you.
you have to repeat it.
i did not love you.
i did not love you.
i did not love you;
i loved what i thought you would be.
i thought you would be eden,
but you were only the apple.

step five:
i suppose i am to blame here
for digging holes too big to fill,
for crafting shoes too big to fit in.
and for that i am sorry.
i am sorry that i expected more from you
than i even expect from myself.

step six:
human.
human.
let the word roll off and around your tongue,
let it cover every inch of the inside of your mouth.
say it. over and over again.
say it. like it is foreign and you need to know what it means.
say it.
and when you have said it enough times and it feels
dull, old,
disappointing,
you will know that we are nothing more than flesh and bone,
and that as much as we wish there were gods among us,
flesh always rots in the end.
this is the beast of truth that we cannot outrun.
hands cannot craft cities from marble
if only given clay.

step seven:**
do not let this frighten you.
clay, after all,
was meant for molding.

(a.m.)

dancing ever so gracefully
humming a melody
only known by one
the soliloquy of a soul

two figures dancing separately
grace, poise, difference
the slow changes
intricate, incremental

they reach out

two figures dancing together
stumbling, falling, laughing
a tango to the wrong tune
without a care in world