Most days I dislike the chime of the clock
It reminds me time flies away

But today I like the chime of the clock
It reminds me that I’ve had one more moment with you.

some kisses and liquor are best left
when left
alone

I started screaming more
god not at anyone
but just out loud
to the wind
to the sky
just because

Because I could
and I should
and I can.

so I will.

it is a little funny to me
how little words jotted down in moments of feeling have become touchstones to my soul.

where i can trace the etches of love, lust, and loss with you.

but not even just with you, with myself, and apparently, you the reader.

it is a little funny to me.

how my touchstones, have also, in turn— become yours.

where you could see i couldn't sleep. maybe couldn't breathe. where soul aches and loss weighs, and memories become whispers against my skin.

and i could almost feel your laughter skate across my shoulder, or fingers against my cheek.

so i guess i'll continue
jotting down little moments, hoping a few more come my way

sometimes we must realize
that there’s a reason
lovers who sit beside each other
last longer
than those who do not
because
how can you hold the rope
together
when your constantly tugging against
the other?

I’ve stopped looking at you in wonder
not because you aren’t wondrous
but because I no longer see us as too good to be true
I don’t know when it happened
Or how
But I know while you rest this afternoon with hands on my limbs
I can feel the dust settling on a midsummer dream
and while the dream remains light, wondrous and new
The home I made with you
Was built slowly through slow dances and arguments and patience
Built by long conversations and silent smiles
Home with you
isn’t wondrous, it’s a cup of tea after a long day
Home with you is a choice
and I chose you

The wolf sits in the corner
Waiting
As
Crumbs
Drop to ensue his survival
Waiting
For the day

The wolf sits in the corner
Waiting
For crumbs that do not fall

The wolf grows larger straying from the corner
The wolf grows smaller hiding in the corner

The wolf waits
To be fed crumbs of jealousy
Or to be starved of peace

The wolf no longer waits

In these moments
Where I crush against pillows
No longer to muffle sobs
But
To replay his touch
On my back
Where I can feel his arm
Resting underneath my head

I know

Something special about the way you meet strangers.

We were never supposed to talk to them, but everyone is a stranger till a word is spoken.

Or does it have to be spoken?
Because
When you
Looked

No,

Stared
At me

You went from stranger to someone I’d met before,

Just in dreams

And memories long forgotten

Something special about the way we speak to strangers.

sometimes my bones forget
that being an artist
being a creator
is not having the ability to create something beautiful
to be marvelled at
it is simply
the cry
the urge
the fire so deeply churning
to produce
to recapture
to create

I can’t anymore
whether it be time a cross or sea
the fog makes it impossible to know
just where to leave
the words
for you
from me

I don’t think we let a good love die.

It faded sure. but it didn’t die. It’s very much awake. Clawing at my bones,

but it wouldn’t be different ***.

because how could it be different when our conversations became nothing but comfortable silence. Neither of us could make it work anymore.

and we didn’t know why.

so I guess we just wait to suffocate a good love, and hopefully let it die.

he whispered
and it echoed across the hall
down my knees
across the teacups and the bookshelf
it rang along my bones
Beating against my ears

Till it rang empty
against the window panes
As they shuddered
after the close

if it was my turn to stand up
but I sat down
who do you look to first?
those standing before me, or those sitting behind me?

I am the definition of a god’s love

I may come bearing gifts
Showering you in adoration and devotion
wrapped in the most pleasurable ways
caring for you in ways you have never known
caressing your soul in the most intimate ways

only to leave when you least expect it

left begging at an alter
I’ve vacated and no longer visit

it was the sea And it’s uncanny ability
To wash you into me
So that
The particles of I met the particles of you

tonight is one of those nights
where the stars would’ve looked perfect waltzing across your back
As candlelight flickered on fingertips where kisses just passed
I want to hear every murmur and sigh
as you flick the strands over my shoulder
I know the whispers won’t stop till starlight tucks itself in
and our giggles and dreams echo till day breaks in

dad told me

he’s always gonna run.

before you ran the first time.

then the second.

and finally, the third. when you fed me to the wolves because it was easier than facing them yourself.

and I didn’t have thick enough skin for that

as tears leach down onto pillows starved for attention

I have to reconcile the man who I fell in love with.

finding empty spaces when my fingers stretch, and grasp at nothing — like the day I tried to hold your hand when you let them take bites out of me.

I didn’t have thick enough skin for that, I had already been gnawed at. Stripped bare and bruised and battered.

but even then I still would’ve offered up my the morsels left if it meant you saw me. if you saw me.

But I have to reconcile that with the man who tries to hold it all.

You can’t carry someone when you won’t carry yourself. Sometimes grocery trips can’t be done in one.

(Much to your dismay, I know)

So I curl in, pretending I can hear you beside me

Until I want to scream, because I also hear the way you didn’t defend me.

and I’m left with pillows starved for attention and sleep deprivation.

it’s funny how something
that started barely as flickers
can become enthralling
with a single hello
misspelt
with nerves
and unbridled excitement

sprinting
like the wildfire

well see who gets farther

it’s staring at the text
every day
but knowing they wouldn’t respond anyways

It is in the way
they held me
mended the tears with different patches
that they all collected
mismatched
and adored

I love the quilt that is me
and those that have loved me
in moments like these

I used to be able to taste
your wonder

Between holding my bikini, cold beer, and hyper fixated on dives

I used to be able to taste your wonder
on the tip of my tongue

drunk on your smiles and perfected lies

I used to taste your wonder

but then
you stopped drinking
and I guess so did I

I respected him for his ‘hmm’
Over and over
No utterance whispered
Or even shouted
Simply ‘hmm’
like the glass shattering
was of no consequence to him
just a ‘hmm’ would suffice
as the door quietly clicked shut

some nights I wonder
in the space between the stars
and popcorn ceilings

if you are thinking of me

if we both reached out at the same time,
to roll over
and pretend
we don’t know
how right it felt

but I guess it doesn’t matter
at 2:39
as I remember the comfort
that seeped into my bones
the second I felt you lay down with me

but I guess it doesn’t matter
if you’re thinking of me
anyways

as much as I love its whispers
the tangle with the heat
the littlest deaths
of everything but ego
and idolatry

the heat left scars
whispering ink
just left stains
nothing
really pretty
or even very neat

I quit drinking
and that was that.

do you think
sometimes
that when our parents asked us
to dream so big
they did it
so that
the achievable goals
only a breath away
were no longer conceivable?

it felt good today
crying after the third mile
enjoying the sweat
the heat

winding down to the sounds
of a home
and a quite loud snoring puppy

But besides the point

it felt good today
finally

I miss the wildflowers
when the forget-me-nots were in bloom
when I smiled more
and laughed often
writing of the ways I felt you etched on my skin
or jams and clementine

but the teardrops
wilted
shedding blue on the floor
the rain didn’t really stop
and the glass sits half empty by the couch
the jam didn’t pop right
and I sit a lot more

I miss the wildflowers
I hope they bloom once more

when I asked you whether I should go turn out the lights

You said “no. why?”

and for a fraction of a second I could see myself through your eyes

and I never felt the need to ask again

he felt like springtime
and a cup of coffee
it was really bad coffee
but he always offered to make me some
and maybe that’s the best thing
budding friendships
in the springtime rain

few things are more finite
than the terror
whisperered across your cheek
telling you
‘you are not good enough’
and believing such a fallacy
could even be true

Nothing is more frustrating
Than watching the words
Sit
On the edge of your tongue
As you stumble and mutter around them
They scratch their heads at you
and you wonder why the words remain
Stagnant
On the edge of your tongue
Rather than telling
How it actually was

echo the sounds my heart makes
when the rain beats outside
humming along to a song I know not
but the bass line
and that it never
ends

and thank god for that

maybe I’m a hypocrite
and that’s something I’ll have to work on.

but why in the hell did you hear me say ‘this is my favourite thing’

and you preceded to give me an itemized list of the reasons you didn’t think it was good enough

and couldn’t tell you were breaking pieces of me, as you continued on through the pages and pages

I wanted to show you a piece of me

it wasn’t for you to judge and find wanting.

but that review wasn’t really for me anyways

as she held the brush in her hand
at 3am
with nothing but candlelight to illuminate her tears
she found home
in the satisfaction of the strokes of her brush
the ease of the colours
splaying
as she burned alive
at the sight before her

“at last, “
Etta James sings
as I crawl into blankets once more
tears
at last.

don’t mind if I do
crawl into your lap

seeking the comfort of familiarity
and knowing where the coffee cups are

and the way your sheets feel curled against my legs
and my back against your chest

but
I know we’d mind

so don’t mind me

to realize on a cellular level my body was rejecting you

because I couldn’t do it for myself.

I want to scream I hate you
and maybe you do too
but I knew your (our) traumas
more intimately than I knew you

the lies you (we) weaved
a better quilter than me
with “opportunity” scattered across the floor

luring (us) me between sheets
moans
and presents

rotting like me

because nothing screams “I’ll get to it”
Like the maggots of our (your) dreams crawling back to me

cause I kept feeding them

why does that half glass of red
taste so much sexier
when cuddled in bed
with a snoring floof
and a fresh set of sheets

it is in the moments where we want to scream
and yell
and wander the streets like a madwoman
screaming your declarations for the world to know
but instead
we must sit in silence
and stare at the wall
acknowledging paint flecks
like Siken said
laughing till you feel no more

grief used to sound like it was a few sad days
like you wandered on the road, but knew where you were going

it took but a moment

Or it sounded that way.

But grief felt like nothing. or everything. It felt like a bubble encased the world, and continued on without you. There was no road, no wandering, no movement.

maybe just static.

and nothing else

but that’s not even true


because it was absolutely everything
a cacophony at the highest degree

but just with silence
and an empty seat

you know it's real
when the songs I used to sing
are sung
with thoughts of dreams
laughs
and dances
with you

I hate
that you say my name with such careless abandon

just so that my soul would ache

but god I love
the way you touched me

in the dark of night
just to leave me in the morning

It was the way he smiled

and

i knew.

the rustle in the sheets
as you start to wind down
may be my favourite sound
as your head
sinks on the pillow
and I can tell
you’ve found a home

I remember the rage in your eyes
when I told you
about that late night
with tears in my eyes

you said it was my fault
and I thought it was mine

but I think
“you made that decision”
doesn’t feel the same
when she pulled me away
and asked me if I was okay

I remember the rage in your eyes
directed at me
but it wasn’t for me to find

I spent the day
humming the hymnals of spring rain
of rebirth as I washed up to my elbows in dirt
reminded of how unassuming a tangle of roots can be
and the way rosemary smells like a violin sounds
That being kissed by the soil, cradling a cheek with a swipe
is more fulfilling
than I’ll ever
be able
to articulate

In the quiet mornings
And the passionate evenings

I love you

In the tear soaked laughter
And the tongue stuck gnerfs

I love you

In the lazy afternoons
And echoing snores

I still love you

Because I am me
And you are you

So I will stay
Waiting for you