My heart is open and getting softer to
This unruly, textured, tender, layered existence
This isn’t new though
It’s always been a giant beating thing.
It beat for acceptance and praise and approval
As if those things were Love
As if those things sustained anything besides veneers
When my heart beat for anybody but myself
Kids, partners, parents, friends, strangers
It beat so loudly that it drowned out
The sounds of its own losses
This time and space forced me to be so
So broken open
That the only beating my heart did at first felt traitorous
Slowly, slowly when I had no reason to protect myself
No reason to deny my small self anything
Because there was nothing left to grasp for...
My heart turned to itself
The things we built were on a rickety scaffold
stretched as high and fast as our love
when we got to the top I wanted to cling to you
and look in your eyes
and tell you that I was scared.
And your eyes are gone.
The scaffold has tumbled
and the pieces are shiny
My existence isn’t something
you test out your empathy on
My humanity is not something
that asks for your sympathy
My life and loves and lived experiences
are liberated from your thin,
Your opinion holds no bearing in my body.
I don’t want them.
I’m scared to sleep again because that’s where the dreams live
My dreams don’t know that hope feels like death
That thoughts of you need to be closely filtered,
monitored, redirected and pushed away
Lest I start crying and not stop until
my body has lost all of its water in tears
My dreams are where I remember
you played on my body like a jungle gym
Where every kiss seared my soul
The big dream has yet to be told
that no one is coming to the party
and it is still building the venue
The dreams are where
memory, fantasy and hopes grow
in fertile soil without knowing
there is no sun to feed them
and the water is running dry
Time is returning to me
And you’re gone
Its strange that people
of storing memories
that you have since forgotten.
I have this one friend who tells me things about myself that I never knew.
Be it a story I told or a joke I pulled.
I was quite the jester.
It weirds me out that there are people who hold memories of me
be it fond be it
I made an impact,
At some point in time.
I think he remembers so much about me because we were best friends once.
I feel like I have betrayed a lot of people.
Today has been rough.
there are flavors that you never forget,
soft with straight edges,
chemical and burning
bright white like waking up for the first time--
making a home in the back of your throat,
through your nose,
in your teeth,
on your gums,
behind your eyes.
there are flavors that you never forget.
three years, but i can still taste it
Black and white movies
play behind us
As I make you question
The whole **** world.
Is what you call my theories,
“Is that bad?”
I ask you. You
tell me I never could tell
when you were interested
or were telling me it was bad.
I suppose you’re right.
you ask later,
as I read,
and you watch the movie,
what is the quadratic formula?
I don’t look up
but I can feel
that **** near perfect smile.
You always do this,
ask me random questions
that aren’t useful anymore
at not least to us.
So I recite it.
And you laugh.
And I laugh.
And we continue being together
You ask me several more
Over the course of the movies and books.
What is flash fiction?
What is life?
What is **** made from?
Do you know that Mark Twain novel—?
Yes, I love your questions.
I love you.
What is love?
I don’t respond.
I want to say another
but it doesn’t come out.
“Mind ****,” I say.
Life is going to be so hard.
I wish I was her world
I wish I was that coffee cup
That get the pleasure of touching her lips
She was mine.
Like the movies in my cabinet,
Except I would watch her
even when I’m not sad.
kisses the girl,
I imagine myself as the boy,
I imagine her as the girl.
I imagine her
Is it possible for her to love me?
Another one I guess
I have tried many ways to think of her but
Astronomy was the only way I could write on.
I've tried to comfort her out of despair, but
I couldn't find the words to take her out of pain.
When I heard he made her cry,
I wanted to take the pain out of her,
put them into his face and my fists as
I hit him into the oblivion space we know space to be, and
him see the stars closer than any telescope had seen.
I wouldn't mind being in pain for a little while so
the sun could dry her tears,
she was trying so hard to hide.
Would it be so terrible for me to remind her
how the stars bowed in her presence?
Would It be so terrible for me to show her
nobody sees the stars
and the beauty of night anymore
because they are afraid of her
and the beauty she brings?
I too scared to ask if she knows
how you left her after class
to scream at the universe for
making her believe
she was anything less,
than the closest thing to perfection
the universe has to offer. Does she
know how you've collected books of
nebulas in your heads that show when
she decides to laugh? Does she know
you how hard this is for you, to sit here
and smile and joke like your heart
doesn't break with hers as you see her
in a pain deeper than imaginable and you
know it. It spans across all universes and expands
further than your love of poetry and your longing to
hug her and tell her it's going to be okay, but
you know that's not true,
and you can never make that true.
So you sit here,
and write a love poem never to be read,
because that means something would die inside you
if you shared how much of the universe you could give to her
how much of the universe
and the stars
and the planets
and the comets
you could shower her with
if she knew how beautiful she was....