I remember red walls,
Kansas and Arkansas,
my father’s voice
with a southern drawl
as he told me
he was moving on.

I remember
kicking autumn leaves
down empty streets,
back when
falling in love
came as easily
as breathing.
Another boy,
another state,
never knowing
I wouldn’t stay.

I count the years in
broken hearts and
old apartments,
break-ups
breakdowns
breaking promises
with myself.

They were all just
growing pains,
leaving stretch marks
of memories.
I trace them each
across my skin and
know I’d do it all
over again.

live
in exaltation
of your
divinity

I could write poetry about your body;
how it moves so fluently,
so adept in navigating this physical world,
in exploring my own body.
I could write poetry about your love.
I had the chance to feel its depth
and watched you share it readily,
in the ways that you know how.
I could write poetry about us
dancing in your living room, about us
walking through neighborhood streets
with espressos in hand, about us
wrestling on the couch until we’re both
on the floor in a heap of laughter.

But if I did
I’d have to write poetry about your frustration
when you feel as if you’ve been
giving and giving and giving
only to have me pull away.
If I did, I’d have to write poetry about
my disappointment when I try to
go deeper into your pain, to burrow myself
in your trauma and infuse it with love,
with acceptance - only to be shut out.
I’d have to write poetry about our wounds
that stand between us like the Berlin Wall.
Too often they become ammunition;
your unconscious comments
infused with judgement and
my anxious retreat into myself
inflict more wounds, more grief.
I’d have to write about how you make me feel
beautiful
invalidated
comfortable
shameful
supported
misunderstood
difficult
wrong
selfish
hard to love

You make me feel hard to love
and I can’t live that way.

"I'm sorry"
he says
"I can't stop thinking of you"
he says

believing him is a form of self-destruction

he puts his hands on your body
but you don't feel loved
you don't feel anything

he doesn't touch you afterwards
he doesn't kiss you
he doesn't care
if you stay or go

you go
you get in your car and
you cry into your hands

you know this isn’t love,
but then what is?

it's okay
if you fall back into old habits,
they helped serve you
once.

one day you'll wake up
with the sun
and the birds
and the trees,
take a breath in.
this is all you need.

replace the past with love.

forgive forgive forgive
again and again,
as many times
as it takes.

what does it feel like to be held
not by another body
not by a set of limbs, a chest, a chin
but
by another soul

what does it feel like
to see truth in another pair of eyes
instead of hidden intentions
instead of absence

what does it feel like
to hear a familiar heartbeat
resounding next to your own
reaching through skin
through bone
two rhythms
indistinguishable

what does it feel like
to write poems about
a love that exists

you
a matrix of energies
residing in a physical vessel

an eternal soul
bound
to this manifestation
of the universe

your entire being
is revolutionary