What a day is the day that we fell apart.
What a day was the day that I felt my heart begin to beat again.
The days before were a blur of tears and mess and pain and the black that came...
before.
Before there was nothing; there was blood running down my wrists, and my lips from where I bit too hard to keep myself from screaming.
The secrets I held inside to keep the pain away from you. My ***** little vice.
The branding of myself with a match and then the fighting and yelling and worthless feelings set in from all around.
But that was before.
Then a supernova hit; it refused to let go, demanded to be seen.
His presence was ripe and I felt him as surely as the draw of oxygen into my lungs.
I learned the ways of he through long nights, and shared music, stupid inside jokes, and the way you eye a stranger you'd like to get to know.
I fell in love before I knew it.
The salvation I sought came in the form of emerald eyes, smatters of freckles, and the laughter of someone who has known true pain.
What the days have been since my world exploded into a collection of everythings and nothings and in betweens;
what a day will be the days I learn the deeper inner workings of his mind just as surely as he will come to know mine.
My days go on and on; rambling poems, and collections of words that make my heart swell like the finest symphony, and of course the minutes or days or hours or whatever where I was lost in his eyes.
What would my days have been had he not burned the impression of himself unto me?
Cold and lonely, dark and desolate; my over dramatic tendencies would know no bounds.
The blood would seep into the fabric of my life, slashing away anyone who tried to get too close.
The pain would burn bright and rare like a comet until eventually the darkness would fall and I would be alone: numb, broken, destroyed.
But every time he opens his mouth, whether it's to curl his lips upwards, or to speak with that tone I hold so dear, or to lean towards me and tangle our mouths together....
The pain recedes, my breath leaves, and I am left hoping and praying for that which is impossible even if I don't have anyone to pray to.
I pray, oh how I have prayed and wished and hoped and believed, that he will stay.
What will be the day when that eclipse that is he that lit up my life when all was empty and gone, decides to take his leave away from me and my love and heart and all my promises I dared to give to him?
The desire to burn and imprint myself so that he will ne'er forget, and every day, when he is gone, he can look back and think fondly of me and the memories that I have scratched with all my might onto his soul, that desire exists in every single pore of my body.

I stand, all alone, in the desert. It’s night, but the sky isn’t dark—it just hangs there—a deep blue background for the millions of stars I was never acquainted with while I lived among the light pollution a thousand miles from here. They tickle my eyes as they fade in and out of vision, covering everything in a cool, silvery glow. I stand beneath them, letting their light wash over me too. They have this way, I think to myself, of making everything seem beautiful—the kind of light that catches you in all of the right places.

There is nothing to interrupt my thoughts here—nothing to deflect and offset my own harsh criticisms. I hope for an interference of some kind, but there is just silence and the churning of self-reflection that hums hot through the sides of my head.

I think about how you would revel in this kind of quiet—this sort of loneliness. I imagine you swallowed whole by it—the space, the silence, the darkness; how it would make you smile. And I smile thinking of your smile. I smile so hard at the thought of your happiness that my mouth suddenly cracks into a scream. What comes out of me is so loud, so long, so full of everything that I had tucked into the secret niches of me, that it shoots out into the night and smatters the whole of the sky.

The gorgeous dark blue fragments come down first; slowly falling from above like fine silks, decorating the curves and edges of this dusty desert.  The millions of stars hang there for a moment, still glittering over nothingness. They hesitate, handsomely, and one by one, they start to descend. Then, by the fistful, they come crashing down. What follows is a sound— a thousand cymbals in a rainstorm—deafening but peaceful and powerfully calming. I let them cover me, exploding and splintering as they make contact, drenching me in a marvelous warm light. It drips from the ends of my hair and the tips of my fingers. I taste its tinny glow on my lips, and I can feel its brightness catch in my lungs and cloud my breath. The sensation brings me to my knees.  I hush my thoughts into the happiest unprecedented tears and exhale.

It won’t be long now until they find me here.
It won’t be long before they realize that I’m the girl who misloved so deeply, she up and brought down the whole **** sky.

People chatters, smatters,
clatters, flatters-
and sometime hugs,
as fake as their smiles.

They dilute, salute,
pollute, elute-
and sometime thugs
as ingenuine as their personalities.

she carries the sun
with her bare
inexperienced hands.
she smatters the sky
with stars for you and I
and the birdsong
in the early hour
and the berries
flowering on the mulberry bush
in this hush, serene scene
that she was responsible for.

she has lived on this Earth
but two decades
though the daisies in her hair
imply longer;
and the babies in the field
in her prenatal dreams
explore a learnéd
old soul to be reckoned with.

the child is her saviour
though she is but a child herself

In this envelope
with a smattering
of nothing more
and curious

there is nothing
on the cam
or on radar
or in earshot

this noisome
absent sound
or reason
cacophony

smatters to be
so why do i
need a poem
to prove it

as if elbows
solved all
of life's ills
as intended

my bag your bag
in the bag
i'm killing it
here

one giant
connectionless
construct for you
to smatter on

oh me and me
don't forget me
say somethings
'bout me

whom you know not
and are too lazy
to imagine
very deftly

so I'm elbows
on a keyboard
rhymes on ****
oof i love that

sealed with
imagine it
you getting
to taste it too