love is
the friendly atlantic ocean
a lotion that never fully rubs in
humid air

love permeates
like a leaky roof
honey on toast
dandelions

cold, blue skies
crisp air
and sun in my eyes
breathing deeply amongst the crowd
I feel like an installation
in a hotel lobby
or a decorative vase
with dry arrangements

empty yet amused eyes
peer beyond me
while I’m duct-taped to this pedestal
nailed into a wall
the frame of a painting
sitting in a display case.

It's like finding a necklace in the dryer,
all knotted and twisted.
I keep trying to straighten it out,
writing about the same old stuff.

Maybe I'm not really fixing anything,
just fiddling with the knots.
Moving them around,
maybe I'm making progress.

Maybe it's better to laugh,
Set the dang-knotted things aside,
and to have a lighthearted dialogue
with your shadows.

This is all normal -
Petting dogs,
Nodding at strangers,
Holding the door open.

Sometimes this all makes me
Go underwater and cry,
Where my tears blend in with
Everything.

I wonder why
I'm even wondering why
we seek joy in these small moments.

I sit so naturally, perched,
On a tall, naked, tree branch
Puncturing the grey sky
With its vague horizon
And brisk, quiet air.

When I am fond of someone,
I've always hidden.
Locking eyes with someone I'm so curious about
just has this feeling that makes me want to hide.
I've always hidden.
Behind mom's leg,
behind my locker,
in the details of my lunch,
in my comforter,
in my headphones,
in my fantasies.

shame shares a tight border with shyness
both remind me of being a skittish mutt

I keep hearing that
in order to exist properly
amongst your peers
you need a strong sense of self.
I think that
the stains on my shirt
melancholic playlist in my ears
grumbling tummy
and agitation with self help websites
might be as good as it gets for my early 20's.

and I'm tired of trying to be perfectly healthy all the time.
and I think capacity for constant self awareness is a privilege.