Sep 25 n0r
i can hear it in the way your voice sounds.

the way you laugh,

the way i can see your smile through the speakers knowing that big heart carries worries and hardships that i will never know.

like quiet refrigerator humming, i can feel the pit of your stomach in mine.

i can see the way the ivy of the ocean spills and rushes around your neck the climbing waters rooting into you.

after the quiet days you will give me a meter and i can feel my heart start running miles, reaching for you,

trying to figure out some way to pick up all of this broken glass so you won’t get cut on the sharp edges.

i’m trying to save this sand that is spilling from my chest into my overflowing hands, so we can build a home together.

trying to bail the water out of the hull of your ship so the salt won’t touch your lips,


the ocean is deep and wide and so, so much blue but it isn’t enough to even try
and keep me from you.
i will swim out until im so tired im gasping,

so i can carry you out of the deep, brush the jellyfish from your hair, and whisper to the starfish that have found home in your eyes til they slide away back to their tidepools.

i will kiss the salt away and smother you in fresh water and warm hands to hold.

i know you are sailing in rough waters, the waves beat against my door and it makes me sea sick knowing you’re so far out.

i will turn on the lighthouse and stretch my arms as far as they will go, reaching to pull you back safely to the shoreline,

reaching to bring you home.

i wrote this for my gal when she was goin through some rough stuff <3
n0r Sep 24
I rested on him,
And breathed in his,
A strong scent of musk
Pot and hummus
Mixing with our intermingling

Pouring out was this,
His and mine,
When those freckled knuckles
Slid through
The veneer between us
And into clarity; I gasped

And held on,
We would end
As all things do,
In a tiny death
Between us.
n0r Sep 12
Today I drew a tree.
It was a metaphor, really.
Written within soil were my aspirations,
Dedications I hoped to grow.

I came back to it this evening,
And saw the gaps within the bark.
Grabbing some tools I pressed my
Self on spaces asking to be filled.

The emptiness marked was darker,
Fresher from the pen.
Adding texture to this child’s art,
I smiled and drew again.
n0r Aug 25
I’m lonely
Of an empty future
Where every day slides by
Me, an existential malaise growing
Bigger by the hour, swallowing down sadness
With a new, shiny app and the latest distraction;
Calling my self an artist
And a lover
And a friend
Without ever feeling art
Or love
Or friendship.
Just this;

The fading of my eyes’ light
A whispering into my ears
“This is justice
For what you’ve become.”
  Aug 21 n0r
Tell me all the mountain peaks
you've climbed up...
The taste of being in complete
unison between sky and land.

Tell me what has un-tethered you
from your trafficked mind
to the true self, instinctual
and intuitive, full of light and heat

Tell me what has sharpened each
and every one of your senses
into the undeniable acuity -
a rock steady solitary march

from the cold bumper to bumper city
to the rest of the vibrant world
many of us carry through without
noticing - Tell me who you are today

and I will sit and watch you bloom
in silence and awe.
August. The sun has risen yet the Oregon Summer is fleeting. Tomorrow it rains, today it is windy. Yesterday it was blazing. I find myself tripping back into regularity, ceasing to challenge myself in pursuit of worldly and basic schedules. A small voice in the background keeps whispering, "Is this what I truly am?" Am I just a body of sexuality, of routine and shallow thoughts? Yesterday, I was. Today, I am reaching to the sky yet again. Tomorrow will come and I would love to share my story with it.
n0r Aug 21
You can write a poem
In a thousand different ways.

Here, I laid the words out
In prose, like one long rope

Unknotted, with the knowledge
That I will look back

And cut the cords
According to how

I wish to sing.
n0r Aug 17
In an evening, light
The wick. Incandescence
Rising from a moments
Effort, gifted to the ancient
Art of wax. Poetic
Are the silhouettes
We make ourselves;
A scene from an expansion
Of the infinitesimal,
Melting away, creating
Spires in the trails.
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