bloodied hands rub walls of confessionals like a cheap imitation of the most beautiful stained glass

theres beauty in the way you whisper my name followed by the words not good enough

your body is colored in someone else's fingerprints and i've been burning my hands to shape mine in just that way

kiss my lips until they crack like the sidewalks of the city that we used to dance in

bare feet on dashboards, cigarettes in your mouth, and hands around my neck: a list of things that make the most sense

a sunset reflecting off a mirrored building, eyes watered down until dark blue is nothing but the color of blue jeans

thunderstorm veins and lighting in my skin as my jaw becomes a platform for your kiss

your eyes are pools of holy water, but my lungs are full and I've been drowning for quite a long time now

Eyes like ravens of the sun
Lips that beat my heart
Body finer then all of the diamonds
Hair that tempted Lucifer from heaven to touch

A Laugh that the birds could not compete
Even her cute little one dimple makes you want to
wage a war in her name
I have never believed in love but if anyone could make me believe,
It would be her


But what drives you most crazy about this woman is her soul
Deep within the bones melted inside of the city of her
Is just so perfect like when you find a 100 dollar
Bill unexpectedly and you just

Can't

Stop

Smiling

It's not that I don't love you. It's the time I read my mom's old journals and every other paragraph included my fathers name. It's that he cheated on every girlfriend he had with my mom. It's that my mom didn't care she was a second choice or a one night stand. It's that my mother never talked to anyone about him after he got married to one of the many girlfriends. It's that she took twenty sleeping pills on the night of what would've been their anniversary. It's that he doesn't even know she's dead.

It's not that I don't love you. It's the couple I overheard in the bread aisle arguing over wheat or white. It's that I heard the woman say a lot of "she" and "****" and I saw her crumble to the ground. It's that he just shook his head and said he was sorry over and over again.

It's not that I don't love you. It's that my best friend is in love with a boy on the other side of the country. It's the morning she took a shower and cried over him. It's that he wasn't even awake to do anything about it. It's that he's always three hours behind and thousands too many miles away. It's that I mean both physically and mentally sometimes.

It's not that I don't love you. It's my geometry teacher, who brought up her husband when she taught me tangents. It's that she also brought up her husband when she taught me the circle unit
too. It's that she gets quiet and smiles after she talks about him. It's that he's been passed away for seven years now and she still has so much to say. It's that she still wears her wedding ring. It's that when she taught me special right triangles, I wondered what her laugh might sound like if he were still here.

What I'm trying to say is; It's not that I don't love you. It's that I do.

I love him. I've loved him since the time he tied my left skate in March 2013. And it's a love that aches and hurts and explodes. But it's also a love that sings and twirls and laughs for no reason. It's a love that has you crying in the bathroom on a Saturday night but its also a love that has you dancing in the shower on a Monday morning. It's a love that's left me with cramped fingers, dry ink pens and full notebooks. It's a love makes me feel like a thunderstorm. It's a love that makes me feel like a sunset. He's not a home, he's a person. A wonderful one. And sometimes people say things like, "why would you forgive him," or, "why don't you just let go." And I smile. I used to get mad but out of all the types of love this is, it's also a love that's flexible. It's not a love that waits or chases but a loves that's there. It's a love that shares shoulders and stories. If I've learned anything about loving you it has been that if I cannot love you as a lover, I will love you as friend. I will love you messy handwriting, always asleep first, bad haircuts and all. Our love is flexible. Our love is patient. Our love is what happens when you rub your eyes. It's a love that bruises and bleeds and scabs and heals. It's a love that asks, "how was your day?" And would wait patiently forever for your reply. How was your day?

If I could just get over myself
And put effort in everything else
Maybe then I wouldn't want to wall up
And scream until the hair under my arms spit
Venom into my lungs to make me afraid
Afraid of the fear of going away from the insanity
That lays inside my brain

I remember you told me that the first thing about me that you fell in love with were my eyes
You said it was because at first you couldn't tell what color they were
Maybe the color of coffee with too much milk
Or the shade of a dozen olives sitting in a mason jar
You couldn't help but notice the splashes of blue
That twinkled like a handful of icy diamonds sewn into an emerald dress
Mystery eyes
Mystery girl
Is what you said
And from that moment on you let me call you late at night
And kiss you on the cheek
And leave notes in the pockets of your sweatshirts
And when you told me for the first time that you loved me
There was not a trace of doubt in me as I looked into your own curious eyes
Pooling like maple syrup
As amber as a drop of sap
I always was a sucker for brown eyed boys

closer and closer she comes for me
not even the ****** mary could help me now
i've tucked myself into the floodgates of my mother
and now i live to fear the wrath behind those closed gates
suddenly, mary closes my leg onto the gate and i knew
that my time of reckoning had come
holding onto the belief of resurrection,
and then the gates of my mother have implored themselves upon me
leaving with my skin and soul
yet the worse is to come as the insides creep forward
and the sins inside of myself pour down from the inside of her
burning the corpse of what i will be and what i was
all that remains is the perfect son
and i am gone.