Oh how I miss the way you'd smile,
And keep up the mischief all the while,
The way I knew you inside out,
And understood what made you shout,
What left you sad and broke your heart,
And even broke your bones apart,
And despite all the worries and the pain,
I'd give anything to do it again, because
You made me better, and made me true,
And taught me to be strong without you,
So that over the years, on every day,
I can wake up each morning, and be okay.

i. you will miss him in drizzles and monsoons, in swells and tsunamis. you will listen to his favorite song for hours; it will hit you every unexpected moment. it will hurt, stab, ache, and you will suppress constant screams with strained lips.

ii. you will collect everything he gave to you and wonder if it is dimensionally real. you will sleep in his shirts, retaste saltwater kisses, and reread conversations as if there's something you missed the previous thirty times. absence does not make the heart grow fonder; it rips it apart and you cannot stitch the ragged halves with no thread.

iii. you will feel his touch presently in everything you do. it will be soft and cruelly comforting. it will constantly and inescapably linger. it will haunt you in early rainy mornings and dark lonely evenings.

iv. you will read endless musings on love and philosophy. you will entirely understand foucault's prison. you will live in steinbeck's tide pools and stars, and relate to simon bolivar trapped in his labyrinth. you will wonder why everything is like this, ugly and broken (and also if you are becoming delusional).

v. you will drink tea that scalds your tongue and stand outside on freezing nights, numb and overfeeling at the same time. you will ask the silent moon a thousand questions. you will see him and blink, head swimming, heart pounding in surges. the stars will wink and the wind will mock you.

vi. you will have blissful afternoons you forget and sorrowful nights you remember. it will still consume you in bouts, devour you in spells. nighttime will become both your enemy and remedy: it will wickedly remind you, yet help you heal.

vii. you will try and fail to make sense of him (and the universe in general). you will grapple with reality and yourself. perhaps you will never know why he stopped loving you: you will keep wondering how some things can just be left broken.

iix. slowly, slowly, you will sprout on your own; you will be tender and nearly whole. most importantly, you will realize his love brought you an entirely different kind of happiness.

ix. you will stop worrying and trying to piece together an empty puzzle. even the deepest scars find their way of fading. your mom was right: stop picking at the scab and your wound will heal.

x. you will learn to love yourself in ways he never could have loved you.

There's been a ringing
In my ears
A pain in my throat
Bottle these words inside an eloquent note
Wash upon the sea
These bones, these hands, these knees
Crawling
But never back to you
February 29, 2016 3:47 am

Every night I feel the gun reload
Expload inside this old head of mine
Unlocking this virtual mountain
I'll eventually  have to climb
Rain seeps in the soles of my shoes
A train creeps in my rear view
Depressed something manic
Stressed and I overthink I panic
Night turns to day
My mind decays
My body lay still
Cars passing out the windowsill
and with an evanescent glance
spilt dirt over a hideously fleeting romance
And with a kiss of a razor
My vessel collided, a glacier
You took me by my swollen wrist
Pain stricken by a twisted kiss
Tongue tied and mechanic
Young love sank the titanic

You're the eyelash
                                                                    scraping against my eye.

One day I'll carve you out
              and blow you gently into the breeze.

                                            Or, with bloodshot eyes,
                               I'll well indifferent tears
                                                                   and stream you down a cheek.

               I'll make you the wish I swore you to be.

prophet tongue with
stabbing perceptions
i gave him my name
while in bed.

soft white curtains
though still chamber thick
cold steel hands
and the room sliced into pieces
by morning light
but haunted by night sounds
crept into open wounds of the heart

chills.

his hand
resting on my thigh while he snores
summer bruised and adventurous
though callous youth
with his unbandaged scabbed knee
skating last night.

moment forgotten in the carride
but a stone monument staring
at me on the kitchen counter.

Step upon rose petals
One by one gently
Don't hesitate


life is a continental dispersity
                            Grab your depth
                             Onto what's left
                              Unsaid and do

                                                       Transfix the sunrays
                                                        G­ather them in a left
                                                         Hand, handful burn
typhoons of tender typographies churn

Grab the liar by the hair roots
And pull yourself out of muddy

Sometimes the world forgets to
Appreciate who we are
Doesn't matter what we do
Lies, assumptions, and prejudice
Yawn at our points of view