untitled 12

"I was raised with an angry man in my house. There will always be an angry man in my house. 

I will find him even when he is not there."

untitled 11

 I want to drown in the spice of wild sunflowers. I need to feel the heat of the blazing sun and the cold, damp dirt. To listen to the grasshoppers wings pop and crack as they fly, flashing the colors of summer; blue, red, orange, yellow. I want to taste the first rain, soaking the Earth and I to the core. 

I want to feel alive, I want to feel alive, Lord, let me be alive. 

I need to scream in to the thunder of a spring storm, rumbling deep in my chest where my heart aches. I want to watch the nimbus clouds grow and rise in the horizon, engulfed in an array of colors. I need to feel the cool rush of morning mist against my skin. The crisp air burning my lungs and throat in such a beautiful way.  

Only then will I know that I am alive. 

My Beloved Friend

I am learning not to chase anymore. I am holding myself firm. I will allow myself to feel the longingness for you; hearing your laugh, seeing your smile from across the room. Hardly ever in my direction. I will want to go to you, to see those eyes and to feel your warmth. But I will not. I cannot. Not anymore. 

I am tired of crying from my soul to songs that speak of you. Words that I can't say will tie my tongue in knots and burn my eyes. 

So I will lock my jaw and look away. Your riveting voice will continue to pull me, to dig out the yearning from my core. But I cannot. Not anymore. 

Your light is vibrant and I am the unfortunate moth drawn to it. I question myself almost every day on why. Why must it be so chaotic? Why must it hurt more than soothe? Why can I not accept what is and not itch for something more? Something that will never be. Not anymore. 

May 3rd, 1966

"Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die."

untitled 10

Kisses dried and our hands clenched back to hug our own bodies, departure felt like the arms of death. 

touch

 “i didn’t know what it was to want, to crave something so badly you feel your soul ripping your insides, trying to reach out for it. i didn’t know what it was to want something so desperately your heart ached at the absence of it. that night, i craved your touch as if you were in another universe, far away from me. i craved your touch so much i repeated in my head, like a spell, like a mantra, ‘touch me’. 'touch me’. 'touch me’. please please please i am begging you, put your hand on my heart, your lips on my neck, your eyes on my soul. touch me, god fucking damn it.”

saccharine

"i have always tasted
saccharine promise in
autumn's return, for
the crumpled leaves
cascading from branch
through apricot sun
taught me that
we too can shed
all things outgrown
and still be
born again."