In wakefulness,
Your heartbeat stutters in its attempts to make peace with the impulsive evening rain.
But when you soak in the fog and embrace the coolness of winter's breath,
you will find that it will quietly sew itself into the scars that line your heart, and illuminate through your wounds in the shape of a dying ember, radiating warmth.

i went back to the healing place

drove through town just before
5 o’clock, traffic slowed, i sped

i went back to the healing place

the one i felt i hadn’t needed when
for once i had trust, i rushed
to take seat, said hello to my friends
the varied thrush, the winter wren

i said
i went back to the healing place

just in time to see the sun laid rest
beneath barren branches scratching
cracks across a sky caressing dusk

with it i lay back myself and look up
at those familiar hawthorn branches
i must’ve traced a thousand times before

i went back to the healing place
and the healing place was there for me
once more

morning light
calls out to me
inside the first
breath of the day

there is clarity
the sun greeting
tired eyes from
the distant horizon

awakens reality
as clear as glass
before daydreams
and judgements

have time to pass
you will never be
so sure of what you want
than in that moment

what are you wishing
to gaze upon once
your eyes flutter open?

i’m always asking questions
i already know the answers to
for some reason i can’t accept it’s real
unless i hear it from you
and the answer is always no
i tell you i understand
and it's true, i do understand
because i have been preparing myself
to hear you say it
since the day it began

it’s good and then it’s bad
and it’s love until it’s apathy
as sure as the sun sets
in the west i know all
good things turn to dust
just as suddenly as they
accumulated into opacity
i don’t want to accept the way
i’m so easily turned into a casualty

a plan made two weeks in advance
is almost unheard of in my life
i know there’s a good chance
you won’t be here by the time
i get your christmas gift in the mail
but i ordered it anyway because
a piece of me is always hopeful
but hope isn’t always the dreamy
optimism i usually paint it to be
sometimes it’s just an excuse
to turn a blind eye to the end

if you shut the door i’ll
cover my eyes so i can’t
see you leaving, even with
goodnight on the tip of my tongue
if you don’t say goodbye
i’ll stand there til i fall asleep
thinking you might still wrap
me up and carry me to bed
i knew all the words before
but i needed to hear them said

i’ll ask you a question just to
hear you tell me i’m right
and the answer is always no
he loves me, he loves me not
a million yeses don’t lead to another
and a trillion noes will end the same
but i need to hear it from you
crush the hope stirring in my
chest that makes it harder to
breathe, say it soon, or i’ll die
holding my breath for you,
again

27 miles to empty
i needed to leave the house
i needed to get out of bed
to escape from loneliness
and, for a moment, leave behind
every single thing i never said

out of the quiet emptiness
of my cold grey walls
out of my head which,
coincidentally, only finds
stillness in distraction

i needed to give myself
something else to think about
to be preoccupied from
my own preoccupations

because it's never empty
up there, but sometimes
when i sing along
it starts to feel like
it's just me and the music

but my phone is dead
it always is
it's surprisingly hard work
avoiding all the conversations
you don't want to have
(which is most of them)

FM radio, i forgot where to look
i scan the stations
three times over
and only stop when i feel like
i'm emma woodhouse
88.1, symphony no. 3

and in the dark
i don't even have to
close my eyes
to pretend i'm someone else
somewhere else,
sometime else

and then the host rolls
advertisements, deals and steals
and did you know the cemeteries
are ready to serve you again?
i laugh to myself and wonder
what's it like to serve the dead?

to dig six feet down
and resist falling in
it's much more sad
up on top, anyway, you know

but i'm distracted again
and god, it feels good
i'd rather think about death
than how much it hurts
just to exist sometimes

in the classical music
i lose myself in the past
i'd romanticize a war if it meant
i'd get to wear a pretty dress
and never have to think of
someone falling out of love with me
ever again

even if it's because they're bleeding out
on a muddy battlefield
in the middle of a match
that wasn't even theirs to fight

somehow death seems a more
proper thought than imagining
you going on and living
without me

7 miles to empty
and i'm back to where it all began
i just can't shut out the voices
telling me all roads don't lead to you

I want my complexities
to dazzle my company
Make them think that this poetry
Easily flowed out of me
Like it was simple artistry
Like I don’t suffer from anxiety
Like I don’t know insecurity
Like I didn’t lie awake all of last night
feeling inadequate when I realized

This was all I was going to write

i think we should
be allowed to cry
in coffeeshops

or any other place
when, even in public,
we are so overcome

with  f e e l i n g

that it spills over
maybe into our
nighttime coffee

anywhere
we finally feel
quiet, calm, safety

wash over us
briefly,
for no good reason

what's the use in
sitting there, alone
working, reading

drinking things with
stupid names and pretending
we have it all together

i think we should
celebrate overflowing
which is how i've always

really felt about
crying, anyway
it's all so much

just to exist in a world
with everything to experience
in so little time

and it's really
no wonder our delicate
little vessels

can't handle it
all without some
overflow

what's the point
in doing it all and never
letting yourself be full of it

so full that it
spills, runs, drips
from your insides

because there's simply
not enough room for
you to hold it all

i want it all
even if it stings
even when it

really, really, hurts
like deep down in
my bones hurts

and i want the rest
especially when it
feels like my chest

will explode if i
even think of inhaling
another bit of life

i want to cry because
everything hurts so much
even the best parts

i think we should just
let each other be open,
maybe a little too open

what does that
even mean anyway?

i think we should
be allowed to cry
in coffeeshops.