I pick up the pen
and I write
because I need
to bleed my emotions
on paper and sometimes I
write
just for the hell of it and sometimes
I write because I just need
to talk to someone anyone
I just need to talk.

i.** picture this, just for a second. instead of waving from a mile away, we walk up the gently sloping hill together, side by side. the sky sheds its bruises above us. we could hold hands, if you wanted. what do you see in the morning clouds? tell me what it felt like, to swallow a star.

ii. i think of you all the time. i’m getting used to the weird volcanic eruptions in my chest when i see you leaning against the front gates at school or lacing up your shoes or when you tell me how much you hate durian, or whatever. you’ve got a habit of inclining your head slightly when you say “all right” or “okay.” i’ve noticed all kinds of things. i wish i didn’t.

iii. but tell me more about yourself. what’s your favorite color? do you get along with your sister? are you content here, with me, lying on a vast expanse of green on a dying planet, or do you still dream of colonizing a different soil? where do you go, when you get tired of running?

iv. here. give me your palms. look—your lifeline, strong and sturdy and sure. i’d like to trace your veins with sharpie someday (or perhaps even with my own hands, if you would let me). when you cross the finish line next week, maybe you’ll throw your arms up, the universal victory gesture, and maybe you’ll think of me the same way i think of you. maybe. just maybe.

v. so let’s ditch the world tomorrow and get coffee together after school. let’s tell jokes and forget everything else exists, and no, you don’t have to worry about the bill.

a trip across Europe
we would sit
on a train
taking us
                                      far
away.
my head would lean against your shoulder
as we
listen to music
until I
fall asleep

the train goes faster
through the fields and the marsh and the mist and the cities and the sky
it takes us
                                 far
across this corner of the world
as you
read me stories of the empires that once traversed these lands
how they came to be
how they fell
socio economics
and all the things that tickle you pink as the sweet pea flowers growing
                              far
as you can see throughout the meadow.  

our fingertips rest against on top of each other
the train goes faster
the train goes faster
the train goes faster
and

I wake up
I have not seen Europe from the window of a train
and  I have not seen you, lately
you are
after all
quite
                         far
away.

If I was a mountain

That soared towards the sky,

With craggy snow caps

And stormy grey eyes-



Then you'd be the clouds

That swaddled my peak,

That silenced my thunder

When I tried to speak.



If I was the earth

The desert, in fact:

With arid dry soil

And mud, baked and cracked-



You'd be the rain

The downpour that soothed;

The balm to my bruises,

Relief to my wounds.



If I was the Moon

In the indigo night,

With stars as my blanket

And silver; my light-



Well you'd be the Sun

Just always behind

That lent me your glow

And caused me to shine.