i pray to god that the memories of me
stick in your mind like honey on a spoon
i hope my laughter haunts you
like the ghost in your apartment
i hope my name burns in the back of your throat
like all the liquor you'll drown yourself in
in memory of me

i know you feel so lost without me
but god, i've never felt so free

I found an empty book, it's labelled biology- grade nine,
fake lines ran across the book, never any real content,
to feel content with what I read was an impossible matter,
scattered diagrams of human anatomy too far from realism
because realistic diagrams would include labels to hearts
with coloured charts stating that 'this may fall apart-
not by fat barricades, but to paraphrase a different place,
Neruda chases the stars and from afar as the cages of ribs
would rip and sometimes, just enough to have felt loved,
to feel enough with being held for just a night, a short time,
but life is built beyond a biology book.

It is so strange that I have learnt so much more about life
than ninth grade biology because being biologically correct
doesn't ***** the hairs on my back as an assortment of words
like an assortment of birds aren't really meant to be described
as assortments and a biology book isn't really meant to describe life.

I thought i was moving on from you,

Until one day, someone asked me:
“If you had one wish, what would it be and for whom?”

And the first thing  I thought of was to waste that wish on you

What could be more romantic
than the rain?
It whispers words of love
I longed to yearn.
Out-pours noises
secluding me away from time.
Runs these tingling sensations
like a lover on my side.

Whilst I grabbed
a cup of coffee,
I could travel my words
like music.
With every droplets,
the rain calls my name.
Sayin' love my dear
isn't made for free.

it is safe to assume that my poetry will not make you love me back.
you can wash your hands of me,
but once i have tasted you my lips will spill sonnets about loosing myself in your voice until my throat is dry.
i will uncurl metaphors for your smile and the sun and
how they both pour golden light through the cracks in my ribs and into my heart,
until im empty enough to make room for you to fill me.
do not fall in love with a poet.
better, do not let a poet fall in love with you.
we make nasty habits of bleeding ourselves dry to make enough ink out of our blood to fill the page.
do not let a poet fall in love with you,
unless you crave an immortal soul,
because we will write about you on the walls on the inside of our coffins.

trace the familiar contours of my body with your fingertips once more
place your hand on my thigh and tell me you miss me
rest your lips on mine and whisper "i love you" under your breath
because when i wake up,
you won't remember
but i will never forget