sunlight—
the heat of the day
air heavy with the breath of summer
water coalescing like spit in a mouth
everywhere
the heat touches
its all-encompassing embrace
fills the emptiness

surrounded like this
i can believe that i belong
that this is home
it is the only one i’ve ever known after all
to leave it is to leave
a heavy, heated familiarity
the taste of perpetual sunlight
the painting of thunder’s dance
and lightning’s howl
the shine of winter and shadow of summer
the voices that weave around my ears like a halo
as they whisper my name
Intimacy

a silent heartbeat
—a home

folded within brushstrokes,
paper heart.
open slowly
but never fully;
burning shadows bright
fall away—

fall


away



crumpled leaves clutching
broken branches,
whisper-waver songs, what
can touch the flutter hidden
heart?

Reach
For the stars
They say

But stars were never meant to be reached
Were never meant to be touched

Reach
They say

You reach
And they do not reach with you

The stars have never felt so far away
And maybe they’re meant to be that way

Reach
They say

You reach
And their eyes are full of judgement

And when you burn
You burn alone

Reach
They say

You reach
And they turn their faces away

And when you fall
You fall alone

Reach
For the stars
They say

For they have never reached
They have never burned
They have never fallen

You reach
And as you hit the ground
They call you a shooting star

Beautiful
They say

It’s a shame
It didn’t
Last
Longer

(For stars were never meant to be reached
Were never meant to be touched

By human hands

And we are only human, after all)

It is said, “We humans are
        puzzle pieces meant to become one.”
But in truth we are damaged,
        shattered edges, disparate shards.
I will break my heart to fit yours,
        if you shape yours to meld with mine.

A field of bruises and fiery flowers spreads across the world.
The wounds forget to fade, the blooms refuse to wilt—
A burn and balm in equal parts; our love is the night sky’s cloak.

To an aspiring author,

You may not realize it yet,
But you are a legend.
These words that you are writing,
These words that are a reflection
Of your soul
Of your beliefs
Of your passions
They will become your legacy.

These words that are falling from your pen
Like meteors falling to earth
Like snow falling to the ground
Like rage and sorrow and joy and hope
They will inspire millions in years to come.

My dearest author,

You may not realize it yet,
But your words are eternal
And your stories are everlasting.
As long as they are on paper
As long as they are on a screen
As long as they are written
They will become your legacy
And your legacy will become you.

Author,

You may not realize it yet,
But though your life may fade
And your breath may perish
Your words will last forever
Graven into paper
Etched into the world.

there is something powerful about holding
a pen in your hand and writing down
all of the things that you know
and that you
don’t

so my tearstains litter the page like petals
falling from my pen
because my eyes have lost their caring long ago
I’m not sure when
but at some point being okay
became more important than being alive so

I don’t really cry anymore. can’t.
sometimes I know that I should but
the tears don’t come and I feel
a little less than human

but this is how i love myself:
honest ink tracing words of the heart
words that hold my essence better than i ever could
words that voice my joy and my hope and my anguish
words
words
words