Holy light
is that
sacred
trinity
between
the
father
the son
and
the
Holy Ghost

i have not seen you today-
nor yesterday-
nor the day before that-
and so on.
i have not seen you in several days and
yet i can not stop thinking about your voice.
i hear you in books
and the way the rain falls on my lips
and with every step i take through a puddle--
i hear your muddled voice praying through the hot summer
for me to stay alive just one more day.

you did not know wether i would stay or if i would go.
but, if i were to tell you that i only stayed for you,
would you have loved me back in time?

maybe all of those prayers were wishes
and those wishes were thoughts
and those thoughts were nothing.

i am sorry for having villainized you.
let me say this first:
i am so sorry for the pain i caused you.

i am also sorry for the grit
and rough
and mess you saw in
my skin. i am sorry
that i let it matter to me
that you saw these things.
i am sorry that i let you
make me feel like the
skin that i was writhing in,
that i was trying on
and tailoring (am still
tailoring) to fit me correctly
was somehow *****, somehow
not so clean. somehow covered in
the hands of too many boys
who made me unpure.
who you believed
somehow stole my
virtue with their kiss.
(like they would be so powerful
as to **** it from my lips)
i am sorry that you believed
that this caused such a gaping
space between us that we could
no longer lie next to each other.

the truth is,
i miss you somedays.

it makes me ache to know
that you missed my first
love. you missed his smile
and his stupid decisions,
and the effect he had on me.
you missed the way he brought
my mind to a lull.
my whole body to a
present moment.
you missed the disappointment,
the pain, the deep and crushing
heartbreak.
you missed the day he said goodbye.
you missed me picking up
the parts of myself i didn't
know existed in such a way
that they could fall apart.

i had seen you through that all
and you will only know of mine
through what i will tell you.

i am sorry to have hurt you.
to have lost you.
i was shedding skin and so were you.

*january/27/2014/12:23 A.M.

Gentle lady, do not sing
Sad songs about the end of love;
Lay aside sadness and sing
How love that passes is enough.

Sing about the long deep sleep
Of lovers that are dead, and how
In the grave all love shall sleep:
Love is aweary now.

I bend to scoop the sand into my palm,
clutching tightly,
the tiny grains warm within my grasp.
The ocean is calm,
gently nudging my toes as though reminding me of its presence,
begging to be noticed.
It is persistent.

I look back to my fist,
prompted by the renewed emptiness inside,
capturing a glimpse of the last grains of sand
as they trickle from between my fingers.
They lay to rest at my feet;
before, behind, or beside me - I could not be sure.
I never did find out, nor did I care.
They were never mine to hold.