#craters
what do you do when you have placed your heart in the hands
of who you have come to know as your home for safekeeping,
but those hands that lead butterflies to your stomach when placed against yours,
have left fingerprints on your heart so deep
there are more craters than there is left of you,
to love
Feb 3, 2022
Feb 3, 2022 at 7:22 PM UTC
i have atom bomb dreams
from the desert
mushroom clouds billowing
the shockwave blow past cacti
and down dirt roads
from the cockpit of a b-29
leveling the ground below
already comprised of craters
as we pummel the earth
we become a might to match the gods
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 1:00 PM UTC
It's almost poetic,
The way we give ourselves to others without a second thought,
Just so we could feel something,
Anything,
Other than the holes in our chests.
The aches our hearts give us,
Craving the touch of the one we want most,
To be held,
To be loved,
To be wanted.
So, we give our flesh,
To appease the longing we crave,
In hopes of quieting the demons that claw their way out at night,
Creating craters in the no-mans land we call our love.
To love freely,
To be loved freely,
Is such a beautifully terrifying thing.
Isn't it?
Oct 23, 2020
Oct 23, 2020 at 3:12 AM UTC
I am like the moon
Covered in many craters
Nocturnal beauty
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC
Handle your words with caution
Your impressions with care
Because words can impress
And compress the impressionable
Like metors on the surface of self
You may never know
The value, the worth
Or the cost of such words
On another persons earth
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC
craters won’t move
but some things
have to stay where they are made.
humans are not
one of those things.
the folks who move all smile,
the people that stay
are unusually angry
they can’t preserve themselves.
but that is a strong accusation
kind of an ******* judgment
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 5:02 PM UTC
We left footsteps on the moon together
An imprint of our souls
Stamped in immovable ink
But our walk was short lived
Because you got tired of stumbling
Stum - bi - ling
Over the pebbles
That blocked our steps
I tried to remind you
That every step we took
Was history
But history meant
Less
and
less
The more there was to look back upon
It wasn't enough anymore
So you ran
Before we could continue walking together
And new craters consumed you
Before I could catch up
When you were long buried
I tried to collect the essence of our prints
But the moment I touched them
They unraveled to dust
Erasing what should have remained
Forever
So each time I reached
Each time I grasped for us
Our history became
Less
and
less
Until there was nothing left to look back upon
Not like you would have turned around anyway
Because you were too busy
Creating new craters
With new others
To see the pieces of soul we left behind
Maybe it meant nothing to you
But I still keep a handful of dust
In the bottom of my pocket
To remind me of the way
We left footsteps on the moon together
Footsteps that vanished
Into nothing but dry particles
Dust
For someone else to walk on.
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 7:11 AM UTC
All is silent among a desert
of silver-grey, pock-marked with craters;
the view of the stars from here is the same
as it should be from mountaintops. But over the horizon,
cradled in the breast of a star-freckled pitch-black sky,
an azure baby swaddled in a milk-white blanket:
our home.
And from out here, big-baby-blue isn’t so vast.
How humbling it must be for your home
to be the size of your fist.
How humbling it must be to be an ant,
a speck of dust, floating around aimlessly.
Don’t our troubles seem so small, now? But when
you come home, it will all come rushing back
just like your craft in freefall. You will be left
reeling,
begging to be launched again.
Silence, darkness, and a beautiful view:
something everyone should experience.
The view of the Earthrise from La Luna.
It’s tranquil out here, in the Sea of Serenity;
Do you really want to go back home?
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
When she told me she loved me
I didn't believe her.
So i killed myself instead.
A fairy came to me & whispered enticing secrets in my ear.
He outlined a closet upstairs
where I live alone inside my head.
Tidal waves of white roses grow in & out my of spine.
Suffocating the fishes prancing in a field of raving vines.
Lunar Lullaby plays hopscotch in a cloud of flies.
She licks cherry red ice pops & sings bird hymns to oak trees withering in the wuthering skies.
Swarming dragon-lies fly in lakes upon Monet's canvas.
There he paints a beauty of Thumbelina whose grave resides in the darkest corner of my empty heart.
A red cape looms above & flutters without wings.
My cave is growing vaster
And so I sail amongst its seas.
This Psychosis is no more wearing thin than Rigor Mortis can begin.
I'll live sedentarily as a maid serving rotten apples to men chained as apes.
A lotus will float on by down this bloodstream & into the night.
As a crater on the moon your corpse died suddenly as when fruit bloom.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC