my god the way you slur your words when drunk
"i wish i wasn't drunk," you said, and i know why you said it,
i know why, but i asked, "why?" and you shrugged.
i kept calling you cute (i couldn't help it)
and then you pulled me into the back room, saying "let's dance"

tired of thinking these self-destructive words can be beautiful
poems are too often about how you'd put almost anyone ahead of yourself
how they can heat you up quicker than the oven your mom used to cook dinner in
how their eyes alone could give you a rush that makes you wild
(they do this to us, and we assume we can't live up,
but your eyes make someone wild, too
sometimes write about you)

6 months ago you made me a playlist and sent me the link
and you told me to tell you when i pressed play
so you could press play at the same time
and we could listen to it together
and talk about what we're hearing at the same time

one of my favorite things to do is listen with you

my dad sighs and walks up the stairs
and i don't have many secrets,
but writing things down feels like one.
telling you i don't just want to see the grand canyon,
i want to see you there,
that feels like a secret.

i used to use index cards as book marks so i could neatly write down my favorite quotes/lines from the pages and sometimes i wish i took more pictures so i could do that with moments.
sometimes things last, but sometimes things aren't supposed to,
and i think i'd like to have a few pictures of what time won't let me take with me
(i should take more pictures of the people that make me smile, just in case)

let's remove the layers of clothes separating us
(you're looking me in the eyes again)
my shirt comes off
(your lips are against my ear)
my fingers fumble around your belt loops
(you're kissing down my stomach)
i want to press my palms against your cheeks and rest your head to my chest
i want to tell you how much you mean to me
over and over and over

it's pretty simple, i guess
no crows picking at the thoughts under my skull
no claw marks on my back from everyone who ever tried to stab me there
no knots of hair in the corners of my eye lids built up from years of trying to hide behind a frizzy blonde
life can be simple because it's all only metaphors
most things i think could be so much simpler

so instead of
me being a small cactus missing many ****** and him being the sun that allows me to grow tall anyway
he's just a guy that i love who makes me think a little clearer and feel a little stronger
and instead of
sitting at the bottom of a lake with the whole world still raining on me, seaweed wrapped around my hips so tight it stung
i was just a girl sitting in the tub under shower jets, letting the water wash away the blood

**** metaphors

i wonder where your hands will be in a year
i dream your fingers might still intertwine with mine