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When did relationships
Get defined
By a read receipt?
Will we
Now
Only measure intimacy
By a tweet?

What do we have left,
Why can’t we
Go back
To laughter
In a diner seat

My heart has fallen
open in your hands,

red and swollen
it beats

consumed with desire
and lust

the capacity to
swallow oceans

and skies
words scattered

in a handful
of stars

to lead me back
to you

I’ve dreaded this imploding moment
my entire life unknowingly,
if there was a way to avoid it; I have blown it,
growing pains should end when you stop growing.

I’ve got speckle scars on my palms
they’re always kissing my fingernails,
there’s only one thing I’ve found that calms,
but the road collapses or the guide always bails.
“This is your brain”, but the egg doesn’t crack,
no sizzling grease rain, no white burning black.

It’s the things that feel the best that also cause the pain,
as you can only enjoy the sunshine when you’ve had a spout of rain.
Just like you can’t have a fire without an initial spark,
and you can’t bathe in the light unless you’re drowning in the dark.

But what if I’m tired of obvious consequence,
Hell, I’m tired of everything these ******’ days,
where self medicating was once used in past tense,
I think it’s time for me to revert to my old ways.

So fill a rig until it’s completely full,
and shoot me up with some false hope,
it correlates your method of push over pull,
but it’s still not as good as actual dope.
And let me rail a line of pure nirvana and bliss,
if you’re the one to cut it atleast you gave it to me technically,
if something was never there, how can it be something you miss?
I’ll keep feeding the habit until I can no longer breathe.

Destiny lost when fate found a wall of defy
to change it I would sell all of my remaining soul,
and I think I now know the reason why,
a bandaid won’t ever cover a bullet hole.

I have come this far,
across the hills of my hometown.
I took my boots off thirty miles ago
and have been roaming barefoot
like a feral thing.
In the distance I saw you, sitting on the porch,
as I grew closer I saw you were smoking
French cigarettes and listening to Cohen.
You stood up to meet me and
before you could speak,
before you could kiss me...

I have never had much luck with men
no, I do not **** the way they like it
my hair is ***** blonde, almost brown
my stomach is round

I do not want your love out of pity, or curiosity
but I love you enough to stop wandering
to wave away the mountains
to drain out the oceans

I will mould myself into the shape of you
so that when we're apart there is an
impression of the other on our flesh

I'll learn to ****, learn to love to ****
bruised memories will heal when your
sweat drenched hand slides down my glistening back

I will love you to your burnt orange core

I am more than my fears, he says

but he does not know
what lurks the the recesses
of my mind,

the demons that no other
has dared to dance with,
the monsters that no other
has wanted to tame,

I am bone shivering
cold, midnight darkness
without stars,

open skies that overwhelm
without landmarks,
with no point of reference
between what was and what
might be,

how do I grow from this pile
of ashes,
that I spent years wishing
someone would scatter
across the sea

I am more than my fears, perhaps
it is a leap of faith

but I dare not jump
(arms outstretched)
into the unknown

I dare not
I dare not

I
dare
not

come for the poetry,
stay for the likes
I keep hitting refresh,
because something's not right

I see quotes and platitudes
on the front page
with a shitload of likes
and it fills me with rage

I can count all the likes
my work gets on one hand
and it took me an hour,
I don't understand

while some wipe their *****
some streaks on a page
and that **** starts to trend
becomes all of the rage

come for the poetry,
stay for the likes
I'm seriously thinking
of going on strike

Honey catches flies;
So gently coat all you sow
Smile, diamond eyes

I have never considered myself weak.
Physically, I have nothing to fear,
I believe myself capable of defending myself from any violent attack that may ever come.
Believing in your own strength is half the battle, after all.
I also rest on the assurance that I will die fighting if need be,
where not many would risk that chance, or persist to have to ****** someone.
I will die on my feet, I will die fighting,
I am afraid of nothing that can hurt my skin.

But,
and there always is a but,
I am terrified of that which can hurt me internally.
You can’t fight feelings,
you can’t hold your own against
love, or sadness, anger or betrayal.
I loathe being vulnerable,
especially when no one attempts to convince you there’s nothing to be afraid of.
Atleast they haven’t lied about that.

I have had women who have left me abandoned in glass boxes,
who have turned on a tap and let the water flow and fill up the space,
promising me they would return when the water touched my chin.
Acting as if it was an a show of affection, providing me with a warm bath to soothe my soul.
But they’ve left, I drowned,
and once discovered, not one could bother to administer CPR.
They gave no condolences to what family I have left,
nor show up to the funeral,
they did not even shed one tear.

But yet, years later they seek out my headstone,
hesitating at the wrong plot because they couldn’t bother to learn the correct spelling of my name.
But they would dig me up, pry open my coffin,
and gently part my decomposed eyelids so they had someone’s eyes staring only at them.

If you **** someone,
atleast have the decency,
to let them rot in peace.