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TB Oct 23
Writing is muscle memory.
And the muscle in my chest remembers you fondly.
Every beat a memory,
And when it pounds loudly,
The words flow seamlessly.
TB Oct 7
I wrote 22 poems last night,
In honor of you.
I’m not saying they’re all worth reading.

But every year that has passed,
Without you here,
Is a year I feel like retreating.

I want to give up the fight,
Get back to you sooner,
Finally see your smile.

Heaven’s too far,
But if that’s where you rest,
I’d walk through hell, every mile.
TB Oct 7
I was told the Refiner’s Fire
Would make me shine and glow.
I wish I had I known, that long ago,
The true Refiner left open the door.

I could have stepped outside,
And realized the sun is even warmer.
Into a new light, enters my soul,
And instantly I feel calmer.

Free from all the control and lies,
I was told as the fire was lit.
The choice that was always meant to be mine,
Was stripped away bit by bit.

It’s Healing and Grace, I’m needing right now -
I can’t find in the walls of this church.
The fire holds no love for me now,
The sun is what I deserve.

I’m standing in sunlight, still fully loved,
Without fire licking my skin.
After decades in a constricted cell,
I’m breaking out from within.

The refiners fire was always manmade,
A way to foster control.
The sunlight instead, beckons me in,
Bringing me back to the fold.
God is bigger than your church
Last one for the night. I promise.
Good night friends.
TB Oct 7
I’ll construct worlds and dreams,
Based on the color of your eyes.
I’ll memorize words,
That you didn’t write for me.
And with every single repetition,
I’ll convince myself your hand fits perfectly in mine,
When we are never destined to touch.
Be careful, love.
Because I’ll never recover from the idea of you.
TB Oct 7
typos are their,
to sea if you care.
your the only one,
whose going to dare.
call me out - i dare you
i hope this made your head hurt.
it was actually really hard for me to write.
grammarly hates that i wrote this
TB Oct 7
if you're reading this,
and you're feeling alone,
if you're reading this,
and you're feeling unknown,
if you're reading this,
and you know who i am,
if you're reading this,
and you don't give a ****,
if you're reading this -
and i know that you are -
if you're reading this,
you're still the brightest star.
TB Oct 7
Knock knock.                     “Are you home?”

Text chimes.                         “Are you alone?”

Phone calls.                       “Are you alright?”

Face the signs,              “Let’s call it a night.”

Back to back.    “We never said it was love.”

Drawing lines.                “But maybe it was.”
it was love. even if you never admit it.
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