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 Apr 2020 meetingtheflowers
the vibrant plants
and talkative animals
cleared a path for her.
she followed that path
for a while, then paused.
she sat at the bank of the river
watching the leaves go by.
she placed her fears,
doubts, and troubles
onto these leaves,
whispered "goodbye,"
and let them float away.
#escapril day 22!
You were always loving me "despite"
I needed you to love me "because"
You ****** me off once again.
I’m going to write about it.
My thoughts feelings emotions.
But all that came out was hate.
I can't find any creativity in this dam word.
Went to the thesaurus, trying to find other words.
All that I came away with was hate.
How am I to write anything worth anything, when I’m just blocked by hate?
Now I hate you again because I cant find other words for you.
boys like you smell of mint and wood and pain
and taste like my insatiable thirst and the midsummer rain

bringing an array of gifts to girls like me
chocolate for breakfast and heartbreak for afternoon tea

boys like you rarely have time to stop, stare and rue
but boy, time stops to stare at you

boys like you bolt their hearts in golden chains
and have vengeance in their eyes and titanium in their veins

an impenetrable fortress deaf to my love's incessant humming
Boy you are my wreckage, my destruction.
My unbecoming.
 Jan 2018 meetingtheflowers
My eyes are not sunlit windows to my own self, rather dimmed and tinted blockades to never give you a full picture. They are not a colourful array of flowers, they are dull and wilting weeds.

My lungs cannot breathe in and smell the roses because they are laced with tar, and not enough oxygen from shallow breathing. They are restricted from fulfilling out their purpose so I can feel 'okay.'

My ears will not listen to the buzzing of bees and the gentle wind- they will, however, listen to the screams between them and confuse help with hate.

My tongue does not taste of honeysuckle and mint, but rather ash and dried blood from tasting my existence. It formulates words laced with too much sleep and too little self care.

My fingertips do not touch as if I am handling the daintiest of flower petals, instead they trace a gravestone between my ribs with a purpose. They tear at my own skin and hair, or at least try to.

Do not devalue my battleground of a body by comparing it to a garden
Just a little thing I made because I'm nothing less than a warrior
 Jan 2018 meetingtheflowers
Am I really a poet,
If all I ever write about,
Is you?
Feeling insecure today.
Every moment in time
is delicate
ready to shatter

Every moment in time
is soon lost
and seldom found

I live in a moth-built cocoon
moss in my ears
deluded into thinking
I will soon be the butterfly
I once was

But in this life
it will never be
unless the ocean
loses its argument
against the land

Unless the moon
says no more
to the sun

So in that spirit I hold out my hands
for the next blessing
receive it dutifully
and with a gratitude deeper than music

Here to chime
until my time
like bells in the wind.
 Nov 2017 meetingtheflowers
when a boy shows you his hands
bare except for the dust
he’s begging you to look past
take them in yours.
squeeze them once.
say without speaking
that you understand that the valleys
in his palms were meant to cradle
shooting star wishes
that he’s allowed to still hope for.
when a boy shows you his eyes
of milk and crimson and melanin
a bloodshot vein for every night he can’t sleep
let him shut his eyelids.
say without speaking
that you understand that the black hole pinpricks
of his irises hold more than the universe
should allow.
when a boy shows you his soul
shivering but still working toward friction
iced over but still working toward melting
let him come to rest next to yours.
say without speaking
that you understand that he is lonely
and that his silence speaks volumes
and that you kept his treasure close
because you love him.
when a boy shows you his hands
show him your hands.
when a boy shows you his eyes
show him your eyes.
when a boy shows you his soul
show him that
this is a comfortable place to rest it.
when a boy shows you the hardness that shaped him
show him the softness
that you have in store.
Depicting a beauty ethereal
I’ve become your sun
In the morning
And the moon
Of your night
I’ve caught you
And hypnotized
By every lie
Knotted in every line.
You reach for me
Clinging to the caress
Of the cadence
I have penned
The unspoken depths
Reeling blissfully
Among this fabricated fancy
Finally, I’ve caught you
Yet not before long
I too am enthralled
Longing for your trusting gaze.
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