come to my room and we can play
video games
video games
video games
lay your head on my lap
it’s okay
it’s okay
it’s okay
i don’t really want to feel alive today
but come to my room and let’s
run away
run away
run away
get me out of this place
there’s more love
in space
in space
in space

And it waited a moment longer than a moment’s pause

It was rain resisting its temper, attempting tenderness

Each drop the poignant pain in a patient bladder when you hold to hear the end

Then, it drowned the saplings in the gutter

a violent politeness
an apology for impeding
a housewarming gift

It only takes three simple words
for my very being to melt in your arms
and my soul to take flight high above us.
I am not talking about the cliche here.
We are so much better than a cliche.
I am talking about a phrase
so much more gentle,
so much more inviting,
so much more meaningful,
so much more personal,
so much more tender,
so much more caring.
"Babe, come here"

Sweetness is —
the sugar cube that glitters
when sun ray kisses the crystalline surface
like a thousand sparkling dots;

It is the strawberries I savor
when you sat across me
smiling softly
and gave me the last one from your basket.

It is the bubbly feeling
when I gazed at you,
playing with our children —
sparks in your eyes,
a laugh leaping out of your throat.

It is the warm sensation
flooding my chest, and
filling every corner of my being,
whenever you tucked me into your arms,
and kissed away my tears,
telling me I am
the best thing that has ever happened to you.

The moon holds my very first steps
Gently embracing the tracks I leave on earth
She puts all my drawings on the fridge
She is my brightest star
With her, I do not hide anything
And I always finish my sentences

I have always been an emotional being
My emotions leave me breathless so I use other mediums
Thus ever since I was a child I traced poems in the sand
Made memories filled with love
And while words kept me company, sandcastles gave me a home

So
With sand and my toes, I made my very own chapter
With shovels and buckets, I made a book
Made ink out of water
When I was angry, I traced fire ants blazing my feet
When I was lonely, I traced the 52-hertz whale swimming into the earth
When I was sad, I traced the mountains too high for me to climb
And when I was happy, I traced songbirds sweetly singing a tune at dawn

All of this for me to wash them away with the tides
Emotions aren't something I like to talk about
Nor do I like to draw them
I feel vulnerable, it makes my skin ache
When I actually say what I mean it hurts
The possibility of rejection is painful
Like winter does to cracks
Like fire does to skin
Like violent wind does to paper
It is everything but enjoyable

I am as open as a sonnet
I do not lie
My metaphors and imagery are my truth
My rhyming pattern is consistent
My theme is not a red herring
I do not lie
Please trust me on this
But just like a sonnet, the twist happens at the end
And I always cut myself off

be soft to the touch
and life will be tender on its body

Lover,
I need you to stand still
with your feet in the water

Let me drink your reflection
to quench my thirst as you
try to hide your tender smile

I beg of you,
don't leave me,
because then the sun will burn me,
and the sea will swallow my ashes

There's a man who will not talk today
He's afraid to show his weakness.
He thinks no-one will understand
That his life is pain and bleakness.

All his life he's displayed strength
And he will not stop that now,
So he researched the noose's length
And the when, and where, and how.

He will not know the pain he's caused,
But it's what he feels himself;
The feeling of sheer helplessness
That destroys our mental health.

He thinks, in time, our wounds will heal
Or that, perhaps, we will not care
And that we'd all be better off
Without his presence there.

But in the last message he ever wrote,
Which caused us all to worry,
He acknowledged our own weakness with
The tender words; "I'm sorry".

Amid the thundering exterior of redemption, and the pulsing currents encompassing repossession, I find something more gentle inside recovery.
A faint radiance, of which resembles an immersion amongst the tenderness of learning how, once again, to bloom.