Heaven rained on me,
I breathed in the petrichor,
Bathed in the downpour.

you aren't sweet
you're salty.
but i like to lick
the sweat from your
lips.

you aren't soft
you're sharp.
but i like the way
your nails feel against my
back.

you aren't loud
you're quiet.
but i like to sit and
just think with
you.

you aren't poetic
you're poetry.
but i like to write
you into
immortality.

i'm prone to doubt
so i kept a list
of each and every moment
that my heart (mind)
asked me if i loved them
until the entries were too numerous to deny
and all that was left
was yearning
and an answer i could trace
in real time

Take a photograph,
Let it develop slowly,
Patience is virtue.

You can always tell a self destructive writer
By their poetry

Because sometimes they are redundant
And other times they are expressing pain

But they always tell a story of being hurt
And locked into their own head

But this my dear, is why they write
Because the person in their head is trying to get out

Self destructive writers
Are usually dark

But when they are light
They tell you how perfect you are

So that you don't do the same thing
That they did to themselves

Self destructive writers
Don't want you to make their scars
On your arms

Truth is still water,
a gentle whisper,
a soft touch.
Easy to ignore
yet
persistent
consistent.

Like water I am fluid
taking guidance
from the rain
blending with
the madness
as one movement
we stay sane.
My emotions swim
to deep ends
some days I drown
in shallow waves
suffocated by how lonely
even blue tides don’t
come and stay.