My poetry does not flow through me
Its not a river, its never constant and always flowing
It is instead a dam.
Storing and storing until a night like this causes a crack and everything starts to trickle out and then all at once, flooding everything in its path

We used to believe that storms lived inside us,
That with every touch was an electric current and we thanked the soles of our shoes for keeping us alive for one more day.
We knew that arguments were just thunderstorms needing to be heard so we let the loose as if we really had a choice.
And you so often made my eyes pour and i would water the desert and make every flower bloom.
But darling the storm didn't just live inside of you, no you weren't fortunate for that
You were the embodiment of a storm cloud.
You'd leave after hailing down everything you felt and then, without a word drift away to only come back and reack the same havoc.

You over stayed your visit
I invited you in with the promise of shelter and you took up residence
At first i didn’t mind the company
Someone who would listen to my rants
Share meals with
Hold in the comfort of a storm
But a house needs the compliance of all residents
It needs to be as equally cared for by each individual
I maintained the foundation while you watched cracks in the ceiling form
Only pointing them out to later disappear to your own confines
I called in ever repair man asking for advice even bringing others in to help and you just stood in the doorway silent eyed and reserved
Thats how these things happen I knew
Silence became louder
The drop of a plate would resonate throughout
The life of the house seemed to disappear
A mausoleum is what you left me in
A trap made of marble once decorated so lively but darkened over the years

Now i stand in the house that we shared
I see the outlines of picture frames
Nostalgia clinging to the furniture
I can feel memories but they are fuzzy from all the dust collected
Your plants all died from neglect and so did a piece of me as well
I am stuck with a heavy decision to find anything left salvageable and remain here working from the foundation
or to up and burn this entire place down and start on a new site.

I refuse to shrink myself down to a smaller version that you can handle.
You never wanted the whole of me,
You wanted the small pieces that would give their all.
You didn't want that parts that always put up a fight
You wanted a smaller version of who i am and I'm sorry because i refuse to condense myself down for you any longer.

I cant hear you now. Theres always been a voice in my head, often jumping from person to person. And for a prolonged stint it was my own paranoia. She was irrational and brash, isolation was key and i didnt mind being alone with her. Then his voice carved a space in my head uninvited he stayed there with dignity, he was the one who tried to bring me down, see me wallow on my hands and knees. As distance grew and nostalgia blurred old wounds he was replaced with a quiet voice. Wouldnt talk to much, mostly just hummed and sang a broadway song but there was a coexistence between us and we had a deal worked out. She would push and i would pull. I couldnt keep that voice. It hurt too much after the fall. I pushed and pushed and finally something snapped or maybe its because i can no longer remember what she sounds like.

It is summer now and things are quiet. I am still searching for my own voice, it got buried over time but I’ll keep on.

The older I get the more conscious I am of the way pain and trauma move through my body
I have spent the past 6 years continuously moving to avoid the gravity of everything as it tries to settle itself on top of me
Through distractions and over piling my work load I was momentarily freed through acts that would require my full attention
Rarely things would slip through the cracks
But it was easy to maintain then
Now here I am as pain rests on the top of my skull traveling forward, slipping its way to the roof of my mouth or traveling backward and seizing the nape of my neck
The body doesn’t forget I was told a year ago
It reminds me of trees recording their own pasts
Vulnerability was something I had never been taught but have forced myself to face as I knew that what is dying will rot if not cut away immediately
To deal with this pain and to hold it in my hands after long sessions of back and forth pleading and probing
I set out now on a new mission to properly bury the remains and in return I will grow again

Do you remember flying kites
The anticipation
The frustration of trying to catch just enough wind to feel finally caught
Through extension of a thin line we would be flying high and oh how the air felt nice and as the wind pocked up we would soar higher into that mesmerizing blue sky
We werent in control but that didnt matter for the sky is a much more forgiving sea
We sailed the skies reaching as far as the amount of string we had

What is it about summer nights that seem to stir the insomniac inside of me?
Is it the warm weather that wakes him from hibernation?
The feeling of despair at 1:09 does not help instead it encourages the tossing and turning whenever i try to rest my head.
Maybe its the nostalgia and memories that keep me awake as I remember all of the wasted conversations of trying to keep him alive.
Trying to keep him interested, trying to make him see that life is worth living even when its 3am and you know you need sleep.
Maybe its the loneliness that hurts worse than a dull blade in my chest because shes not lying beside me
The absence of her warmth and her unconscious way of clinging on to me no matter how many times i roll over.
Maybe its the words of the world breathed only when it 2:32 that keep me awake, begging me to listen to their stories because no one else will.
Mainly its the feeling that theres more to do and sleep can wait luring me into the trap of sleep deprivation which awaits the crankiness that will crave coffee in about 3 hours.

Stagnant like a rock. That's how i feel right now like i can’t move until the rain withers me down and lets the current carry me away.

Baby pour me some love it looks like my cup is dry.
I spend my money like quarters at a game ball machine cashing out on a measly 3 tickets.
You know love, I never had much of an aim but I shot right for your heart and we were both pretty surprised when my lips met yours that fateful night. What courage that took but now here I am too many years down the road wondering if I had ignored the signs what turn did I miss to deserve this

Youre in love with the story,
The details of a broken heart.
You romanticize the words but not their meaning.
Your ideals are toxic,
with expectations that only heaven could fulfill.
So you burn every bridge someone builds for you and blame it on them for trying to love you.

I will not apologize that i stopped writing for you.
However i will remember to be thankful that I disappointed you with an unfinished story and your heart still intact.

Reality is a freight train and im tied to the tracks

Summers of golden rod chewed to a pulp and juniper berries wrinkling with time
Wooden forts abandoned in search of a new location
mosquito bites speckling young legs later to be pressed with x’s that cure the urge to itch
Hours spent in the cold, isolation becoming a comfort when accompanied with an angsty album
Memories of biking turned to racing ending up with crashing and the marks that will arrive either on sight or appear and stay for days later
Nights by fireside surrounded by warmth and the smell of gasoline one to **** pests the other to dull your senses and ability to remember
These traces that i can barely follow back are like animal tracks slowly being buried as winter ensues on its journey to engulf everything
Maybe its best that these memories stay faint and become indistinct for who knows what I will find within the wolves den

No smart man loves the sea
For she is unkind and unmerciful
The sea does not care about a single soul
Rather she is a beast with an enormous appetite
You cannot trust the sea like you can not trust the night
For danger lies in the deep
You can take the challenge
Sail out into the world of a god or fear her like a smart sailor does

My words can start fights,
That's why i often do not share them.
They will pin you to the ground and spit in your face till you’re shaking.
My words know not when to stop, instead they’re consistent and will leave bruises the shade of agony.
The syllables that spill out will cut you till you’re left a ****** mess and you will wish you never knew my name.
I do not speak to you because I’m afraid of you,
I don’t speak to you because even my words know you’re not worth the time.
- Good Riddance

How do you heal from words when you can not speak

Came into this world
Told i was a little girl
Daddy never raised me right
So now i just cry at night
Wondering why my body doesn't feel right
My skin seems to scream
My chest feels like a weight
Dont know how much more i can take
Little girl makes me cry
I always wondered why
How do you say its he not she
Please someone just let me be
Im not your little girl
You never showed me the whole world
Everything is a lie
Please stop coloring me pink
When I've always been blue