One day, when the moon is in the sky, I will reach out to touch it. I might hope for an embrace that it cannot reciprocate. I might stumble in its light. I might weep. I might struggle to move that insurmountable rock. I might try to replace it with other rock. I might lean against craggy walls, learning what every cliff face looks like from the bottom. I might hurt.
One day, when the sun is in the sky, I will tap my fingers on the dining table. The wood might maintain my prints. It might not. I might stare longingly out the window. My gaze might race to meet the horizon faster than my legs could ever run. I might lie down on the floor. I might rest. I might face my greatest fears. I’m not sure I yet know what those are.
One day, when the moon is in the sky, I might not be there to see it.
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Smoke and soot.
A candle left to burn for too long.
A campfire just waiting to become cold.
Waiting for another winter.
Beige and brown and chopped.
A recently demolished treehouse,
now a childhood memory.
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My bed still isn’t pushed up against the wall the way we talked about, but I don’t mind that. What I mind is that it will be half empty tonight and not nearly as warm.
Speaking of mind, I can’t seem to get you off of mine. My brain leans into thoughts of you the way my body might lean into a reassuring hug. I feel embraced and not suffocated by that presence. I didn’t know that was possible.
I remember your arms. I think of how they look reaching, how they look working, how they feel safe.
I used to fantasize about fantastical places and a luxurious life, but this safety is more than enough. In fact, it is what I didn’t know I was searching for. It is everything I ever wanted.
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If diamonds form under pressure, then I am not a diamond.
Or maybe I am.
Continue reading “Diamond Lies”
A Free Verse Poem
If I were
the wind whipping through your hair
on late night drives with the windows down
after the rain just stopped,
leaving the road shiny and slick with wetness
and the smell of damp asphalt still permeating the air,
would you then believe
Continue reading “If I Were”
used my spirit as kindling
I built a campfire over me, used my spirit as kindling,
added some branches,
layered log after log, log-cabin style,
lit it with a match.
The wood burnt,
things shifted after being singed to dark and lifeless hues.
all the same.
I’m now trying to find the ashes of myself at the bottom.
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it was what i needed at the time
a goldfinch burrowed into my chest.
that is not what goldfinches do, I know,
but this one did.
it was what i needed at the time anyway.
Continue reading “Wings and Things”
and the nerves are electric
The heart is a muscle,
and the nerves are electric.
Through this ongoing bustle,
the world skews geometric,
Continue reading “The Heart is a Muscle”
On the edge of a cliff
the wrought iron form
of my heart,
not wanting to drop it
but needing to let it fall.
Continue reading “What is Love?”