Shhhh...
whisper with me.
lets break the silents
but respect the guidance it brings.
find the romance and dance together in remembrance of
souls with tiny feet that left our bodies for the times we must grow.

Start by wearing your heart on your sleeve.
You don't know any better yet,
up to this point the world has been good to you.
When your heart starts catching
on door knobs
and being battered against the black top,
you carefully tuck the gently scratched ***** in your pocket.

In your pocket,
out of sight
it's a little harder for the bruises to land.
Over time
the blood stain of time spent hidden
seeps through.
When the first blow lands
it knocks the wind from you.
You still don't lock your heart up.
You just move it back into your chest.

You don't sew yourself shut,
cracked ribs spread wide,
a tourniquet wrapped around one chamber,
the abused ***** still trying to beat
it's an erratic rhythm,
but it's a pulse.
It's not even shocking,
when daggers come from the front
or behind
and twist into the gnarled flesh.

Arterial spray,
broken pieces you've given away,
cover the walls.
Bones curl around
to try to protect you,
but you've never been able
to close yourself off completely.
The worst part is,
you sort of enjoy the pain.
For a moment,
the heart remembers
before the first bruises marred the skin,
before you built a cage to exist within.

It’s difficult to look outside of my my-
-croscopic lens; it just feels like a job

to never have to consider who is
an actual person that should matter to

me. It’s an almost impossible trick,
that only me and most other adults

can forget how we felt growing into
a new body, how we forget ever knowing

We're just like everyone else who also thinks they
aren’t like everyone else because they didn’t have
someone to hold their heavy lovelorn child-hearts.

So what if-
What if we dive in?
What if it worked?

What if you let it fall-
What if I caught it and gave it back to you
without making a big deal of it?
I’m gathering dust- I stopped moving forward in the last few years,
but I have a weird feeling that I can try-
Like at least right now, while the city basks and blows around us,
I can walk again.

I’m talking about boats while getting a sunburn,
I’m growing blisters I’ll lance with a pin tomorrow,
but for now, I'm focusing more on exploring your hand.
I’m choking down Tabasco and talking fast,
you’re talking slow and listening.
I’m leaning back and laughing.

I’m the one who kissed you,
you’re the one pretending to be surprised.
I’m the one bringing up the hours we spent on the floor
all those years ago,
when you were young and I was mad,
and now, after half a decade of radio-silence-
I’m the one letting you **** me on a different floor,
across a brand new carpet that hasn’t settled flat, hasn’t softened at all.
I’m proud to have let myself soften.

I’m thinking about the way you don’t taste clean but I don’t really care.
I’m not as active as I’ve taught myself to be,
but for now, it seems like you don’t mind.
Keep not minding. Please.
For now, I’m okay with watching our bodies’ arc, thinking
‘goodness, this is just so funny’ and a little bit ‘will this make you like me less?’

Eight years ago I wrote a poem about you and people started to notice.
They told me how it netted in their own hurt and how it held them in a tightness they needed,
and that meant something to me. I never liked reading it-
there are too many flowers. It’s a green and pink feeling,
but now I know that I’m red and you’re blue.
I don’t think you saw it, or knew that it was about you;
I kind of hope not, It was dramatic, but so was I.
So am I.
I am still so soft.

While that poem was brewing, I was reeling,
I was everywhere and I was dripping.
I got a bottle of whiskey and gave it to you in a parking lot.
You didn’t kiss me then, and I let that hurt me for a while,
which wasn’t fair to you; you weren’t even old enough to buy whiskey.
But now you are. And now I’m not everywhere.
I’m only here. I’m still dripping.
What if it's less like leaking and more like watering?
What if it helps us grow?
I want you to be soft with me, I want the flowers
to start to make sense because if we try, maybe we can bloom.

Today I can write the saddest poem,
like a beautiful birthday cake cut into pieces
or a candle that is blown out after a wish is read
or people congratulating you
on all the achievements
that you have persisted
until now in your growing age.

Today I can write the saddest poem,
but not about my birthday,
but about the days,
about the months,
about the years,
that I've been through,
everything was happy,
yes I am very happy.

I’m right where I’m supposed to be
Right here, right now

Letting go
Letting go
Letting go
Of all that does not serve me
Of all that stunts my growth

Breathing in
Breathing in
Breathing in
Bravery
Patience
And compassion

To spread love and light
In the kindest of fashions.

Connected
Is what I want us to be
I should give us the chance
No running away

The confidence we'll need
We'll find
If this is what will happen.
I just want to trust
In your eyes
I will meet my fears
And go beyond

It's gonna be worth it
To show you my tears
Fall into your arms
I want this
But it only will happen
If it's supposed to.
I can't force it, you know.
Though I can stay present for us
And believe in the best outcome.
I'd never want to hurt you ever
Trust me
How you feel does matter
To me

I am afraid
And shaking insecurely
Can you bear my unaware times
Can you hold me when I am almost breaking in 1000 tears...
Biting together my teeth
Caring about what every body thinks..

I am honestly afraid
To get lost in somebody else's eyes
But if that's what is supposed to happen
Then I guess it will
...
Guess there's a part of me
That's searching for someone else
To fall for
And that part I have tried to ignore
But I'll try and accept it after all
Otherwise it'll always be there...
I know it's hard to trust
When I tell you these things
When I share everything....
Is it fair?

I still think I could get to know you better
Every time I tried to listen to you
You showed your true self
Opened up I guess..
I might be too confused and distracted by my own self all the time..

I won't be sorry but I struggle on the inside.
Will I be able to transform myself?
Though then it won't be for you...
Nor for nobody else.
I have to do it for myself.
Cause otherwise the lesson will come again... It will repeat itself.

sometimes my heart aches a little
when people can't keep up with my growing
like i'm being pulled back to a version of me
that i don't fit anymore, that i don't even know

like when an old friend still gets me things in grey
even though it's not my favorite color
and i was a very sad person when it was

and i blame myself for not showing them enough
this new person that i feel i've grown into

but really, it's nice to look back and see how far i've come
and remember everything that we shared
and if they loved me as a bitter sapling,
they are sure going to love the flowers i've grown this spring
i just hope they take the time to stop and smell them