I want her,
I need her,
I love her.

But I want them,
I need them,
I love them.

Is it a question of who I love more,
Or perhaps who I need more?

Maybe it’s a question of who I can live without,
But regardless, my answer stays the same.  

Why do they make me choose?
Why can’t I love her and you?

They are so adamant about me loving him
That they ignore the trueness of the love I have beside me.

Do you want me,
Do you need me,
Do you love me?

If you do,
Then you’ll let me love her.

Because I don’t want to choose;
I don’t want to choose between her and you.

I want you,
I need you,
I love you.

But when you’re gone,
Who will want me,
And need me,
And love me?

She will,
I know that she will.

So don’t make me choose.
I don’t want to,
But I will.

If me loving her keeps you from loving me,
Maybe I don’t need you.

Because while I will always love you,
I don’t want your hate,
And I don’t need your disgust;
I don’t want your animosity,
And I don’t need your disapproval.

If you can’t look at me and her the same way you’d look at me and him,
I don’t need you in my life ruining the bond that we've come to build.

I love you,
I need you,
I want you.

But I love her,
I need her,
I want her.

So don’t make me choose.
I don’t want to,
But I will.

I sit here
in the dark
lost in thoughts,
torn apart.

There is blood
on my hands
of my foes,
of my friends.

As I look at each finger,
I let memories linger.

Only blood
know my hands –
of my foes,
of my friends.

I am death,
unworthy
of your love,
your mercy.

Yet, you kiss every finger.
Your kind warmth, your breath linger.

I’m still here
in the dark,
but in you
I see light.

For all you people that are against homosexuality.......
I'm just reminding you that we are......
.....**** sapiens
Not HOMOPHOBIC sapiens.

The air feels cold again
Like it did when we walked across the curved crossroad leaving winding footprints buried in the snow

When the earth seemed to be peeling off her color folding the summer back into her suitcase

My father used to be a stranger
occupying the same four walls I sheltered in
Occasionally offering me a tea
But forgetting I don’t drink milk.

He introduced me to the feeling of rage.
A mechanical voice box goading chemical reactions,
My catalyst, if you will.

Now we drink oat lattes together
And swear to fill the silence,
But it’s comfortable.

And when he messing up acronyms,
I correct him.

I'm in agony –
your pale eyes haunt my dreams every night.
Darkest ebony –
to take hold of your locks I just might,
bring your lips to mine.
I don't trust my restraint – I have come apart.
But my feelings are pure, this is why I write.
I lay bare my heart –
treat it as you like.

Their smile was 6:03 am.

Jarring, mostly, like an alarm set at the wrong time. But comforting when you’re looking for it, when it’s the one thing you need to bring yourself back.

You never know when you’ll wake up with her hair just brushing against your fingers,
the steady rise and fall of her chest accompanied by the light from a laptop playing a movie you know word for word.

Their smile will be the last thing your bleary eyes focus on after a night of subsisting on energy drinks and the thrill of the essay you submitted 30 seconds before the deadline.

You wonder where you are in his arms, if you’re only second place in her heart. Your gaze shifts between him smiling down at you and the neon green alarm clock on your bedside table.

It’s 6:04 am. The sun winks through the blinds. You roll out of bed like clockwork. They grasp your hand before you could get away, kiss your wrist the way they do every Thursday morning, and offer to cook you breakfast.

i had a great day-
although it was raining
and the skies were dark
and i passed faces i felt like
i've never seen before.
but it was still a great day,
comparatively
despite the revolving visions
of the past where i was pained
enough to be forever engraved
with a symbol of the mistakes you made.
it was still a great day
hold your head up high,
know the past is in the past.
but it's not-
the past lives inside me
a fiery tornado of rage,
a sinner living amongst perfection,
holding me in its deceptive embrace.
i try to let go
of all the things unforgotten
but i cannot seem to forget
the way you hurt me.
today was a good day
even though i remember
all the things in the past,
at least we have the memories
that seem to fade so fast

the lines by her eyes read how she parted the red sea.
her fingertips rub your scalp like she’s writing a testament to every thursday night in your studio apartment.
her voice at 5:54AM will bring you to your knees faster than any choir medley could.
she will ask you to dinner over text, and you will tattoo it on the inside of your eyelids,
skin bleeding,
but every dream has a home inside your head,
a prophecy set in your bedsheets.

you were never quite a righteous woman,
but you’d get baptized in her bathtub,
for there is no deity perfect enough nor cruel enough
to speak her into existence.