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picking flower from your beard

                      only in my dreams.

                                      daffodils from your eyes

                         intertwined around your glasses.

                                       I make a bouquet

                                            every night.

                                 hoping maybe in your dreams

                      you're picking flowers off me too.

                       clutched in your hands

                    maybe just one.
Wrote this tripping on acid last night. Of someone I think about too much.

not sure about the formatting yet but eh.
To a child,
The very definition
Of God
Is a loving mother.

I guess that explains
Why I've never been
A woman of faith.
  Mar 2019 ˏˋstoop kidˊˎ
I took myself from from city to city
To pursue my dreams as tall as skyscrapers
But with more freedom comes more precaution
And all the safety nets set around couldn’t catch me from the fall

Mom told me to not forget about the top lock of my door at night
Dad said to always tell a friend when I’m heading out
I’ve learned not to ride the subway alone after 5 pm
But I needed someone to tell me that I did the right thing

I navigated my nights through pavements and grids
I found myself in the Upper East side, the streets shifting beneath my feet
Bacardi dictating each of my steps, but making no difference when I danced
I was always told to never trust a back alley, but no one warned me about a dance floor

I stumble my way onto the street, change scattered all over 72nd
I count the pennies like I count sheep, usually I’m out by 30
Hailing a cab, with him right beside me
My head rests on his shoulder along with the thought of good intentions

His apartment had a remarkable view of the skyline, but I can’t look at it the same
The Empire State reminds me of bruises on my thighs and muffled screams
My night faded in and out from flickering kitchen lights and cold linoleum flooring
But the next morning clarity hit
Veiled with excuses
They say the NYPD are the finest in the world
But I sit in this cold, stale building reflecting on the night before
My mascara still smeared and a rip in my tights

“Is this what you were wearing?”
“How much exactly did you have to drink”
“You agreed to go to his apartment though”
“How often do you go home with strangers?”

My throat is tight
Everything I say is taken and twisted
Eyes glaring at me with low-brows
And the smell of burnt coffee
Trust draining out my body as color drains from my face
I’m ripping through the safety nets, one by one

Unable to take their judgemental gaze, I look up at the ceiling
Answering questions
I think to myself, “Was this moment in a cold police station even worth the fight?”
Was this cry for help from one terrible night worth the trauma they’ve caused from doubt
It’s unbelievable that I would have to rationalize which event was worse

I just needed someone to tell me I did the right thing.

I can’t look at them
I still look up and answer questions
That time spent counting each tile on the ceiling until it was over,
when i should have been counting sheep,
hoping I can wake up and this was just a dream,
but I keep counting…

100, 200, 300..
I hope you get the justice you deserve.

Co-written with Dallas @stoopkid .
In the middle of a clearing I am greeted by the damp grass, resting with a stagnancy never known to me before. The moss growing in between my fingernails and toes, embracing my once soft figure.

Welcoming to a new home, unconsumed by modern structures, the ants caressing in my loving arms, covering each blister. The amount of days I have laid here are past recall, but far more than the spiders held in each pocket.

The trees being the only witness to my presence, slightly shading me from rays of the sun that fixate so much on my inflated epidermis. The branches and leaves hiding, protecting me from the concrete and calls.

The shades of purples, blues, and yellows on my body complement the flowers blooming around my ears. My mouth slightly ajar, a surprised expression of not knowing how loud blossoms thrive in such silence.

The bees surrounding my cranium, whispering secrets that had never been told to any other humankind. I speak only in lavender, as my native tongue was dropped along the classified path I took.

The tall grass beginning to clasp around, tying me down as if begging to never let me leave. Slowly swallowing me whole, creating a barrier around my delicate frame, shielding from each rainfall and heatwave undoubtedly to come.

My eyes melt away, not needing the perception to see the world that was so harsh to me anymore, only needing to feel the sympathy it gives me now as it helps with this inevitable  transformation.

Never have I felt an immense sensation of biophilia until it welcomed me with such vigor. The ground I stepped on from birth now providing solace that I could not sought for. The gravel and dirt giving vast compassion when I was unable to ask.

I’m ****** into the land, hidden from the roars of others I once knew. My ears plugged from a name now so foreign to me, to go back to a place that I will never remember, and that will soon forget about me too.
The other day I stuck my finger in the electrical socket, just to get one ounce of the spark you gave me with your touch. My finger tingled for an hour but it didn't give me my fix.

This morning I cried so hard that my room became the sea. I sailed away on my bed and promised to never go back to the person I was yesterday.

Last week I snuck up a building downtown just to have the feeling for a split second that I had made it to the top. I laid on my back and tried to grab the stars; "the most beautiful things just out of reach" you told me once.

This afternoon I went on a drive to clear my mind. On accident I turned in the wrong direction, but I wasn't opposed to going all around the globe to get to where I was going.

Last month I threw out everything in my room hoping that clearing it would do the same for my mind. I found the card you gave me years ago and slipped it under my bed. I obviously missed the purpose.

Tonight I sat outside the loneliest gas station in on earth. I watched the fluorescent lights flicker on and off. I figured it was counting the seconds it took for me to realize that you're not with me this time walking out with two slushies and a deep breath telling me not to worry.

Last year you told me that you loved me. Three words that suspended me well above cloud 9. Even when I felt my emotions could bend the universe, I didn't say it back.

Right now I'm sitting at our bench on Main st. as stardust seeps out of all the deep crevices in me and the cosmic magic of your presence becomes foreign to my body. Each car that passes by reminds me of that fragile night when ours turned the world upside down.

I stayed there, my neck askew, the ground above my head, out from the metal shell. Having no clue that your being had vanished from your own exterior. Unfamiliar faces surrounding me and caressing my bruised body, leaving yours, unloved, under the sheets.

I sit at this bench, wondering if I sit long enough, time will end and start over again, and you’ll come walking up to sit next to me, and I’ll never let you leave. I sit at this bench, reach for the stars still, trying to grab the most beautiful thing just out of reach.
changed some things around recently. this is a revised poem
the summer that made the sound of crickets mean more than it did two, three, even ten summers ago.

the summer that gave a warm glow within the halls of that familiar seasonal cottage
the creak from each step on the stairs was each a song to be sung
out the door to find her waiting for me

My heart taking delightful punches with each step closer to me
her sundresses a different shade of yellow just as the sun
It rays peeking through the trees to compliment her lovingly
Everyday was Sunday for us
as they flow with each skip my mind slows her down
watching every detail of her grace

the summer I learned that sunsets were made for girls with brown eyes
the earth revolved only for her so the sun would descend across the sky just so right to only fall into her vision
and to remind me "this is what home feels like"

the summer I found out that the gift life had given me was the gift of her presence for seven weeks.
the beauty in her was too delicate to give away to anyone and she let me
out of all the people on this planet see what god made special about her

the way she blinked three times when perplexed, before asking to know more
listen more
learn more

how she always peeled my tangerines
because she knew i didn't like the peel to get under my nails

when she laughed tears would always stream down her face
no matter a roar or a soft chuckle
and then she would swear the optometrist sprung a leak when she got Lasik

when she was sad that that leak was easy to repair with a Jerry Seinfeld  impression

The lone flickering street light on our street did not compare to her illumination at night
a glowing goddess amongst someone so meer
she was the embodiment of the sun

but summer begins to drop into fall.
as the trees started to lose green she packed to leave
and I did too
she was going back home and my home was leaving me

this girl was the ****** of my story and only at the tender age of 22
and I know my tale will never have its perfect resolution without her

that summer I found out she was the definition of my love
but to her I was just another girl in a sundress
sparked by a tweet i saw that read "sunsets were made for girls with brown eyes".
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