only as i become still
  do i see just how quickly
    ive been moving.

after the tides shift
  from defiant waves
    to gentle fingertips
      grazing the shoreline
        as though it were a piano;

after the bonfire
  sings its lullaby
    to the wind
      lighting only embers
        and humming only smoke;

after the wind
  halts her howling
    and leaves the earth
      frozen in one place;

this
  is the only metaphor
    for when my heart
      closes the door to others
    and only takes glances
  or, rather, stares
into a mirror

1.  Inability to throw away possessions


ive never been able to get rid of the bracelet you gave me. my cat broke it the first week i had it, but something about throwing it away wraps my wrist with a sensation of betrayal- like im throwing away your company with it. the string still sits on my nightstand.


2. Severe anxiety when attempting to discard items


even though i’ve never worn them, your jackets and shirts outline my bedroom- curtains that block the clarity of what once was with a dressed up version of you i’ve never been able to tear down.

3. Great difficulty categorizing or organizing possessions


it was when i began to leave my thank you notes beside screws, and love letters near lighters, that i realized i’d forgotten how to feel the differences between them.

4. Indecision about what to keep or where to put things


disregarding the good because of the bad feels like an admission of defeat to a ruler i never knew was in charge. when i pick up the way you held my hand, i dont mean to put down the way you wrapped yours around my neck- but i only have one drawer and its not big enough for the two of them.

5. Distress, such as feeling overwhelmed or embarrassed by possessions


when i offer an apology, it is because the amount of landlords that have evicted me for having too much inside myself is more than i ever learned to count. im afraid that i will never stop living in someone else's home, loving in someone else's heart, before i learn to build my own.

6. Suspicion of other people touching items


each day feels a little lighter- as though someone is removing a stone from a bag i didn’t realize i had been forced to carry. ive yet to understand if this ease is unwelcome.

7. Obsessive thoughts and actions: fear of running out of an item or of needing it in the future; checking the trash for accidentally discarded objects


you’ve not read a book in ten years. your novel still lays on my nightstand.

8. Functional impairments, including loss of living space, social isolation, family or marital discord, financial difficulties, health hazards


i havent been able to bring another person to visit the garden i spent years tending to. when the water stopped coming in, i’d no choice but to begin withering- and i’d rather go peacefully than to be let down again because i trusted you to end the drought.

when my guilt found the spare key
my condolences became roommates
who never pay their rent.

living with the ghost of shame
changes one's routine;
toothpaste
tastes like apologies-
and isolation
smells like your cologne.

ive become an innkeeper,
a host,
for the parts of others
they insist on banishing.

a bird may break free
but still fly out of it's cage
straight into a net.

i explain my joy as the power outage of a home
                      on a holler
                               in a hurricane.

the lights will flicker
from the sun
to the bellows of the ocean
in such a way that nobody
can confirm
nor deny
their presence.

you can t
                a
                  s
                    t
                     e  them
from the sidewalks
and the alleys,
but when they are gone
all you can taste
is the cotton
and cicuta.

your gratuity
is not sincere
if it is balanced as a pendulum.
the anticipation of return
counteracts
the authenticity
of generosity.

it is acceptance that brings humility-
acceptance that a gift
is not equal
to inherent necessity for reward.
you cannot define "gracious"
while using the words
"owed"
or
"deserved."

allow every inch of your heart
to be a gift.
to be opened
received
and valued
for it is not in balance
that we show love-
but in the counterbalanced abnormality
of sharing.

to pluck each petal
off of a rose
             leaves
                  only
                        the
                            thorns.

i refuse
to w
        i
          t
            h
              e
                r
                                                    
                                                   away.

no matter the
                              drought-
no matter the
                              little light i receive-
no matter how
                              strong the wind that
                                                          blows.

i will
   fix
my roots in Your soil.

i will
   quench
my thirst in Your grace.

i will
   become
a garden
   in
        the
              desert.

no matter the
                                circumstances
i am bound
to   b l o o m
with You
as
the gardener.

there are days where i turn from dissonance
to a gentle hum
the kind of swift change that makes others wonder
or even fear
of what comes next
and i know it isnt any consolation,
but please
understand that i am scared, too.

i feel sometimes as half of myself has been taken
and moved somewhere foreign.
as though the part of me that can make eye contact
that can ask people to repeat themselves
that can participate in conversations
has been drained out of my being.
as though every ounce of life i had
evaporated
and won’t come back.
the way i used to roar
has been turned into a whisper
it feels like mumbling is screaming
and the lightest whispers strain my throat.

im a firm believer in playlists
and have one for any emotion ive ever felt
but the only sound i can stand
when i dont know where i am
is silence.
its been said many times before
that its difficult not to think
but ive been too dazed to tell the difference between deep in thought
or far from it.

one could assume
that if i had undergone such major changes
i must feel or think something of it
but all i really think
is that i wish you would stop asking me if im okay
or really, saying anything at all
because while i know you’re trying to speak to me
all i hear is tuning notes
trying to blend together
and yet somehow leaving all melody behind.

there are days where im not sure where i am
or really
who i am
and on these days i ask this
please dont let me stay afraid
even if its easier.
i know that when im not lost to myself
im lost to nobody
my tongue is sharp
my heart is big
and my voice is strong
i know that these attributes dont blend nicely
but they blend into me.
and i beg that when im lost
please
dont love who i am when im not myself
more than who i am when i am.

honey
     after you were gone, everything started to grow bitter. all i want is
     for  something to feel sweet again.
chili powder
     you brought a variety into life that i've never found elsewhere.
     although i loved it- and, in honesty, still do- i've understood life
     without it to be bland.
headphones
     i hear the sound of your voice in the way people tap their feet and click
     their pens like you did. the refrigerator hums songs you used to sing
     in the silences you created when you stopped singing them to me
tissues
     isn't it funny how you used to be the one who made my tears dry,
     and yet now, you're the one who removes the dams my eyes had
     finally built?
birthday cards
     it is a profound celebration; i've been reborn into someone whose
     love can no longer belong to you.

.1. i know that i didnt give you the best headstart. despite how much i said otherwise, i always secretly hoped things would get easier near the finish line. ive yet to decide if how hard it still is means that was blind optimism or that the burden is bound to be bettered.
2. ive never believed in ghosts because its easier to think you cant reach me rather than know you wont reach me.
3. when i broke my promises, it left only me with the burns and the bruises.
4. when you broke your promises, it left only me with the burns and the bruises.
5. it was then, when the sound of the crickets chirping became a scream too strong to silence, that i knew there would not be a dusk i did not feel alone.
6. i havent cut my hair in years because your sister told me you loved playing with it.
7. when i wake up each morning, before it all comes back, before i remember, before i forget, before ive even the chance to do either- you are there, and i know that i will be, too.

you see me as the earth around your sun
and think this is “true loves definition”
and while i’d never say your soul’s untrue
not in the same way do i think of you.

i see you as the hands that make the stars-
van gogh himself could not make better art
your laugh that dances softly in the air;
your smile that glistens oh-so unaware.

i’d never think to say your love’s untrue
but you do not love me as i love you.

as every drop
falls
remember this;

the rain
is not just rain
but refusal
to remain a part of a herd
that does nothing
but block the light
or carry a tragedy.

thunder
is not just thunder
but an apology
a low rumble of regret
for the transgressions of it's precursor

lightning
is not just lightning
but a warning
a signal of, somehow,
both hope
and surrender
at the same
time.