Actions speak loudly
much louder than words
I love you
means nothing
if it's not spoken
in verbs

just because
they don’t love you
how you want
them to
does not mean
they do
not
love you
the best way
they know
how

sometimes I don’t want
to look for silver linings
or talk about timing
how things work out
as they should

sometimes I want to simply
sit down with
rejection
look it in the eye
acknowledge why it’s there
without assigning it
some universal meaning
I want to tell it, I wanted that so badly
without hearing reasons
why it couldn’t be

it is what it is
it isn’t what it never was
and I
am disappointed

I finally learned how
to feel good alone
and pull up barstools
on my own
and that love comes
from many different places

then I saw a grey-haired
couple on the street
he looked at her
like you once looked at me
I didn’t know how much heartache could come
from unfamiliar faces

we learned in science class
that pressure
makes diamonds
out of coal
there is so much pressure
to be perfect
I don’t want to be
a flawless cushion cut
bought from a velvet case
where I was kept on display

I want to be
the seafoam green
smooth center edges sharp
ocean tumbled piece of sea glass
someone discovers
on the shore
and says, she is imperfect
but she is exactly
what I’ve been looking for

I hope
you
wake up
smiling
for everything
you have
knowing
it is
enough
right now
you are
enough

You slide into my inbox
and I roll my eyes
thinking how our ancestors
would roll in their graves
under wildly blooming roses
the kind of fragrant bouquets
they gave one another
on a first date
a gesture of courtship and respect

they would be so disappointed
in the way their Shakespearean love
has devolved
into self-involved
narcissistic
lazy digital foreplay

you can save your DM
for someone else;
I will continue waiting
for my rose.

My throat closes
when I think of you now
I loved you once—
I wanted you every day—
and part of me loves you still
but it would **** me
to have you

isn't it funny
how something that was once good for us
can become the death of us
a design by God—
or science—
who knows

we wake up one day
and our bodies have evolved
to reject even one taste
so violently
that it would be a delicate tango
between life and death—
Russian roulette—
to ever have you
again

Sweat
runs rivers down
the planes of my face
drip dropping
to the asphalt
and sizzling there;

I wonder if it's true
that I could fry an egg
on the tarry New York sidewalk
melting under my feet

I think I'd like to try
I think I'd also prefer to be that egg
in the cool air of aisle 9
where someone will pick it up
and take it home
and make pancakes
laughing
with the person they love

Bravery
is not about standing tall
after you've climbed up
the top of a mountain

Bravery
is looking
fear
heartache
rejection
terror
loss
death
in the eye
and saying, "no
not today"

Bravery
is standing back up
after you've been brought down
to your knees