tangerine and pink flying through your eyes.
Sending flames to not only the sky,
but my heart as well.
They engulf my soul.
Keeping me warm through the night
when the colors have faded to nothing but smoke.
Skin wrapped up in the magic of your fingertips,
the wild flower you tucked behind my ear
blown free in a spiral towards the blistering clouds.
I ran and ran to the edge of the field, grass tickling my toes.
Only to feel the warmth on my back and realize it’s time again.
There will be a million wildflowers, but only one golden hour.
I wouldn’t want to miss it.

Air flowing through my lungs after forcing myself to run five miles.
Bottles of champagne.
Coffee shops owned by locals.
Dawn.
Eating disorder.
Food freedom, praying;
God, make me whole again.
Hellos, from the boy who holds my heart.
Intimacy without ever having to undress.
Jelly, smeared on homemade
kneaded dough made by my grandmother.
Laundry that I will never do, but my
mom always will.
Nights when the fireflies are abundant.
Ocean swims just as the sun is breaking.
Pinky promises.
Quietness of Sunday mornings.
Robbie.
Singing my favorite songs with the windows down.
Thin. Too thin.
Umbrellas not doing their job of keeping me dry.
Vanilla ice cream dripping onto my thighs
while the sun burns my back. I was too afraid to eat it, so I just watched it melt.
XI at night. I hate the darkness,
yearn for the morning sun instead.
Zoloft in tiny bottles.

Sunburnt skin, I’m on fire.
Dripping in the sweat of my old self.
Always chasing after something to sink into
rather than facing the smashed mirror,
shattered out of anger,
I was aiming for myself.

Thunder clap of glass,
startling blow to my right cheek.
I think to myself-
straight teeth, fuller smile.
Crystallizing bright white,
everyone loves a fake happy, right?
I search for the sticky ruby red,
but soon realize that plastic can’t bleed.

-Who am I if I can no longer feel a thing?

flash flood warning,
I’m bursting at the seams.
you can’t outrun my thunder.
once you hear it
you’re already close enough
to get struck with the aftermath.
there’s no escaping a storm
that embodies you as a whole.
i am a hurricane, trying to break
down the walls i forced you to put up.
but I’m begging you,
please don’t be afraid to touch something
that causes nothing but chaos.

-or should i say hericane?

I can still feel you
when I’m all alone.
Trapped in my bones,
you were a home.

My veins pump,
blood still blue.
I remember,
the cascading of hands in your room.

Blankets,
tattered.
Sunshine,
scattered.
Felt in love on a saturday morning,
now i just feel numb on a saturday, mourning.

how can i have peace of mind,
when i can’t help but feel like there are
missing pieces of my mind?

i gasp for air and realize I’m no longer whole, feeling the winds of regret
through and through.
my lungs feel as weak as the
late November leaves
that are left behind
during the changing of seasons.

i am reminded of the times i gave
the worst people
the best parts of me.
words they didn’t deserve to hear,
skin they didn’t deserve to touch.

i can’t turn back into my old self,
but in its absence,
i felt presence.

recognizing that
i was once just a flame,
but now i want nothing less
than to be a forest fire.

I used to consist of so many
different rhythms and harmonies.

But I wasn’t free,
I wasn’t me.

A drop kisses my cheek.
The rain, sharing whispers
of the way things used to be.

Now I am restless.
Mouth pursed against
another pair or another bottle,
I let my lips lead the way.

They give,
I take.
Too much liquor,
too little modesty.

Velvet summer skies,
skin sticky to the touch.
The air feels far too wild
for breathing.

This is the season
of second chances.

To be free,
to be me.