I have kissed boys

Girls

People in between

But lately I have been kissing bottles

Their lips are colder than yours

But slowly I have realized that the pounding headache when I wake is less hurtful than the shattering in my chest

Yet as these toxins rush through my veins

I can't help but miss the tracing of your fingers along my skin

Miss the numbness of the world when you lie with me

But when I wake I remember that a headache is treated with an aspirin

While heartache

Well if you have a cure for Heartache let me know

I picked a rose bud for you ,
I found it on a rose bed ,
it is not dead .
But  if you water it ,
and give it room to grow ,
it will blosom into something you don’t know .
For its buds will one day open ,
perhaps when you are curled up in bed ,
and you will think of me when I have gone ,
and all the things I said .

We are not heroes.
We are just people,
trying to survive.
You and I,
are not equals.
You work from home
while I...
I work to ensure
that I get to keep mine.
They call us essential,
because we provide
all the food and the things
that help keep you alive.
But I am resentful
that I don't get to decide,
What is more worthy,
my labor or life?
So don't call me a hero.
I am simply doing
what has to be done.
Don't call me a hero,
unless you plan to treat
and pay me like one.

You used to be mine
but worlds did not align
nor did day, nor did time
so with chills down my spine
and hands intertwined
you were stolen into the sky
now the only hands the that bind
are both hands that are mine

I want to be in a field, or on a beach
It doesn't matter the landscape
Just as long as I'm under a blanket with my love
Big, blinking eyes
Warm from the irises out
A drip with each flicker of the lid
Wavy arms around waists

I am a warrior.
Stronger than her demons.
Braver than the darkness.

When my lover asks me
How long will you love me
I reply till the moon falls from the sky
In other words forever
A love between two women
There's a bond that's so strong
I send her roses on her birthday
I'm going to pop the question tomorrow

Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t just been the backseat of your car,
Intoxicated. My first drunk hook up. My first. Period.
I picture myself being champagne on Valentine’s Day.
I picture myself being you, nervous in the car, holding Starbucks
because you know I love coffee. Sometimes, I picture myself as her,
calling you a stalker and ignoring your calls,
but then I see myself. I call you beautiful,
turn you into poetry, laugh at your bad jokes,
I see myself as I become your drunk Wednesday night
when you’re sad. I see myself as I say no,
I become a “this is not a good idea”
and you a “we’ll deal with the consequences in the morning.”
We laugh because this hurts too much.
You take her out for dinner and I burrow money
for Plan B because you forgot you don’t like condoms
and clearly have no idea how children are made.
I have already named him. He has your curls and
my anxiety. He is smart. Except, I never wanted kids and
you would be a great father. Instead, you tell her
the beach reminds you of her and I cry in a McDonald’s
bathroom with my friend as relief floods through me that
the test comes negative. I stop talking to you,
move forward, meet someone new and before long
see myself becoming you. Because isn’t that the cycle?
Bad men turn good women into bad women who turn
good men into bad men. I’ll set him free so he can hurt
someone like me, and I drink red wine as I read her
poems about him and me.