want, need
heal, bleed
skim it over, pretend to understand
let go of my love, grab onto my hand
tell me you’ve listened to every despair
pull it out of my throat, cut it out of my hair
demand for a reason, cling to the silence
question every decision, imaginary correspondence
if i could only dream up a single way i could breach
myself without turning to destruction to teach
me the flow of the stream, the ways of the wind
a calm way to turn my legs back into fins.
if there is such thing, if fear is not truth,
then with ease i shall release
the string of my youth.

last week i got myself a day-planner,
willingly buying into the illusion that i could somehow
better manage my time if i could open a book
and have the present, past and future
laid out in front of me
“keep it simple”, my therapist says
i like to think
i’m trying.
i have a to-do list as long as my fears
and a to-do-not list as long as my hopes
and lately,
your name is not on either one of them.
it’s September and the leaves are changing and it’s that
time of year that gives me goosebumbs under my skin.
because i’m getting older and i’m realizing what that actually means.
because my life does not revolve around you anymore,
i’m not sure what it revolves around except
life itself,
saying yes instead of no,
feeling instead of not feeling,
trying more often than not trying.
it’s a process and perfection is still something
i struggle with believing does not exist.
why do i still search for things in people that
are impossible to find let alone possess?
i want to be as good as i can be
but even goodness can be confused with pretension
even love can be confused with hate.
i don’t know anything about anything but i do know
that i’m proud of myself
for the little things, like not being afraid
to wake up and seize the day anymore,
for choosing to live despite how terrified i am
and will probably always be,
of failure and the inevitable passing
of every precious moment.

maybe i’ll never be able to pin down why
this feels so different from all the others
but there isn’t such a sense of doom
as there was with the rest.
perhaps it’s me - my heart is no longer
the dilapidated instrument i used to consider
a metronome - back then it possessed no concrete purpose
except to keep time to imaginary songs that reminded me i exist.
having abandoned my expectations to be completed,
i know now that that which feels forever is in fact
perpetually transitory, and though this has always been
among my most profound of fears, leaving its
teeth marks in every place of every part i’ve ever been touched -
it is also one of the most exquisite - a placeholder among other things
one may deem irrational, like the fear of success or love or happiness.
in a world where fingerprints can leave scars
and kisses can leave question marks,
you don’t see me as a collection of calamities that
you are burdened to undo.
i am not born from your rib, i do not bleed to watch you burn.
you do know this, you do.
i do not know what it is about you but there is something
inside your heart that mirrors my own and you can
deem a myth a prayer or a truth because
some people find each other and know right away
that they belong together.
and even if you tire of my muchness (as you surely will),
i will not dim myself down - i will not be ashamed
of the wingspan of my love.
but the thing is, i know yours is just as wide
and perhaps that’s what it comes down to, really.
for the first time in my life i feel
like i am made of more
than just
wax.

i don’t know why or how or when
the exact moment was when i was too far gone
to pull myself out of the quicksand of love with you
but it must have been long, long ago,
before our lips ever met because right now
i’m trying to remember how to breathe properly and
last night i accidentally found myself at a small house party
surrounded by people i adore but had no
desire to make meaningless conversation with
but i did anyway, because that’s what you do
on the Friday night of the week your heart is broken
“do you mind if i smoke?” i asked, not listening or caring
what the answer was or if i had ruined my reputation or first impression
all i could think about was you and how
you hadn’t answered my text, again, for the millionth time
and how i just needed something to inhale,
right then right there right now
as a substitute for you and your
absence.
the eight of us sat on the three story balcony and i was
the only one removed from the conversation, consumed
by the fact that the sun was setting and the full moon was
beckoning me like a pale magnet
as if to say,
“i’m still here, love
i will stay.”
i thought about promises and how i don’t believe in them,
i thought about you and how long you hesitated
when i asked you if you love me,
i thought about me and how stupid i am for
doing this to myself again,
all the while sitting there pretending to laugh
at a story somebody was telling about something,
something, i can no longer remember.

what were you expecting,
for me to put on some grand production of hysteria
to display the hurt that you have caused me
for some meaningless pity party?
yes you have succeeded in breaking my heart,
congratulations.
did you think i wasn’t expecting this?
to love means to hurt, there is no way around it
i accepted this fate a long time ago
because i was made to love,
and will therefore hurt, i don’t expect anything otherwise.
i’m not a ******* fragile doll that is going to crumble
over some stupid boy who is too much of a coward
to grow and receive the love i have to give.
i am worth more than that.
why did you keep looking at me as though i was about to fall apart?
why did you keep asking me if i wanted to break, smash anything?
i have always been numb before feeling anything,
it’s the only way i know how to survive the intensity of my own emotions.
you don’t deserve to wipe the tears from my cheeks anyway.
my sadness is no longer your business, it probably never was.
why did you hesitate so long when i asked you if you love me?
are you really going to let your fears prevent you from being loved?
you’re lucky, too lucky
and in the end, you probably don’t deserve me
but i don’t care. i loved you then, i love you now, i will love you always
i’m too loyal, too strong
for my own good.
but i don’t regret any of it.
there is no point in regretting love anyway,
there never is.
so yes, you broke my heart, congratulations.
worse things have happened.
it doesn’t mean i’m going to tear myself apart over this.
i’m worth more than that.
if and when you come around wanting me back,
i’m going to make it pretty **** clear that i have no intention
to **** around and play with my heart because
those days are over.
if i am going to have you, i want all of you.
because that’s how i love, and how i expect to be loved in return.
anything less would be emotional suicide.
i’m okay with loneliness,
i’m okay without you.
if that is how it has to be, then so be it.
so stop asking me if i’m okay,
i was okay before you and i will be okay after you
i am not as breakable as i may seem,
so good luck with your quest to find yourself.
maybe you’ll never come to the simple realization
that “finding yourself” is a lifelong process,
not something that comes compact in a box labeled
“fulfillment/purpose: open for answers” written on it in
permanent marker.

i wish for you to be all yours
before i can ever call you mine
but i'm afraid you've gotten so used
to belonging to someone else for so long
that you forget what belonging to yourself
even means.
you love me,
i can see it in your eyes,
i can hear it in your laugh,
i can feel it in your kiss.
but love foreshadows loss and i cannot pretend
that some days i feel more like a fool than a warrior
for going through with love, again
one more time, i can only hope
it is the last
for there is no one else i could ever wholeheartedly give myself to
in the way that i do you.

i wish for you to be all yours
before i can ever call you mine
but i am acutely aware that you lost yourself in someone else
for so long that you might never be able to get those
parts of yourself back, not to give to another lover,
but to keep for yourself, to be who you are,
who you aspire to be.
i want the best for you, even if that
doesn't include me.
yes, i am selfish
yes, i am sad
when you tell me your plans to sit down with her tomorrow
was i supposed to be glad?
she had you long before i did, and perhaps i'm afraid
that she will always have some sort of claim
on your heart.
i'm trying to be understanding of the fact
that this is part of you facing yourself,
necessary closure, somewhat of a fresh start.

i wish for you to be all yours
before i can ever call you mine
and sometimes anticipating being left
comforts me more than the concept
of passing time.

Sometimes love comes in like a storm without warning,
veiled as a vast ruin with good intentions
entering your heart as an army with no ammunition;
for nobody warned them about what kind of vandalism goes on
behind the wall of thorns that time
can conceive.

Sometimes love goes down easy like the banana medicine
you used to drink as a child,
slowly but surely, the way you would feel wellness well up
inside of you until all your self hatred
evaporated from your heart
with each sugary swallow.

Sometimes love is discreet and strange, reminding you
of days you crossed the street without looking and somehow
did not get hit by anything other than your own stupidity,
making it unable for you to decipher the difference
between the outline of fate and the shadow of coincidence.

Sometimes love appears out of nowhere on the most
ordinary of days during the most ordinary of circumstances,
meaning everything to you but nothing at all to the other person, similar
to the way you can lay beside someone staring
at the clouds on a clear day and see
an angel with a crown of flowers beaming down on you,
when to the other person it’s nothing but a ball of cotton, floating
gently away.

Sometimes love reawakens ancient longings,
desires you used to have and never knew you had;
memories you had forgotten and mornings that made you glad;
causing tears of discovery at how enough you now know that you are,
no matter what has happened, or how deep go your scars.

Sometimes love is enough and sometimes it’s not,
sometimes you’ll keep giving it to someone despite how clear it is
that they just want to be left alone to rot;
and although you can beg for them not to
dig their own grave and declare their defeat,
you know it’s as useless as throwing flowers at their feet
but you continue to love and you continue to pray,
for you more than anyone have seen what can emerge
from the beauty of decay.