You’re my fever dream.
Sweat soaked sheets,
Aching hearts,
And sometime in the night, we break.

When the sea’s churn is endless,
And all comfort’s denied,
Let me live on this tongue,
And by its words die.

“I was a vessel from tempest.
I was your chance to transform.
Yet in the inky swells recess,
You still shied from a storm.”

No rough edge made smooth,
No dull thing made to shine.
Every ridge and harsh groove,
I own to be mine.

And to the mouth of the shell,
From whence I was spit,
I’ll parry this truth:
Some pearls aren’t worth ****.

The scariest thing,
That I wish I’d never done,
Was give you those words.

I joined the occult,
Paid some very hefty dues,
Then they kicked me out.

the god of small things let the lights be green and the hair look perfect and the clothes fit right.
the god of small things smiled at me in the grocery store parking lot and offered to take my cart back for me.
the god of small things left a daisy on my car today, so that I could think of you.
the god of small things said yes when the answer was no and told me to go instead of stay.
the god of small things did not carve mountains with rivers, but did let a stream move over rocks.
the god of small things let me fall asleep in your arms with a lullaby on my lips.
the god of small things said, “this is what we have, and this will be enough.”

Like a thief in the daylight,
I saw you coming,
And you still stole everything I had.

Is it love
If it doesn’t rattle your soul
Demand the world
Break your heart

Is it love
If all it does is whisper
“I will hold you together
While you’re falling apart”