I hope that your every passing thought is of me and all we’ve lost.
I hope you lie awake thinking of the things we’ve done,
I hope you regret the monsters we’ve become.

I hope every wilting flower reminds you of me.
I hope I’m the only reflection in yours that you’ll see.

I hope you say my name in your sleep.
I hope you hold me in your heart like the secrets that you keep.

Eventually, hope dies.

But, this was a ******.
And your mouth is wet with lies.

Now my hope is dead,
And your hands are the bloodiest of red.

Today I told you I loved you.
I tried to be cool with it
And ease it into the conversation.

But those three words stuck out like a sore thumb:
I love you.

I wish I could say it again,
But I don’t want to overwhelm you.
I love you.

I can only hear those three words on repeat:
I love you.
Over and over.

I don’t really know what it means to love you,
But I know this.

I know that I think about you with every passing second,
I know that I always feel complete with you,
And I know that my day is never enough without you.

I love you.

I love you,
Every single piece,
I love you.

I love all your flaws,
In my eyes they create perfection.

I love your smile,
In my eyes they put heaven to shame.

I love your voice,
In my eyes symphonies could never compare.

I love you,
Every single part of you.

Can’t you see?
I care about you deeply,
I love you inevitably,
Is that wrong?

I confess that I love you,
And I don’t think I’ll ever stop.

My eyes close gently
Like butterflies finding peace.

My breathing is soft
Like the winds that move music.

On my back,
Covered with duvet,
I come alive.

Don’t you hear it?
The call to an ancient rhythm?

I start to dance.

My eyes clench shut
Like doors to an argument.

My breathing picks up pace
Like the smoke of heat in winter.

On my back,
Covered with sweat,
I come alive.

The dance begins:
It starts at my toes.

Clenching, curling,
Pirouette Princess.

Moves up my thighs,
Shaking, sliding,
Shimmy salsa.

My hands join in,
They create foreign mundras.

Massaging circles into soft flowers.
I’m blooming all over again.

The rhythm picks up pace,
The drum beats vibrations into my existence.

The process repeats,
Pirouette toes,
Salsa thighs,
And flowers blooming from fingertips.

Faster,
This time,
Faster.

My eyelids play movies I’ve never seen,
My breath hitches in my throat,
I’m coming alive.

Suddenly,
I feel everything all at once.

My head starts to spin,
The good kind of dizzy.

On my back,
Lifting up,
Soul leaving body in unspoken essence,
I’m coming undone.

In a estranged voice I’ve never known,
Your name leaves my parted lips.

The music stops,
The dance is complete,
And the petals wilt.

Fingertips sticky with nectar.
Or is it pollen?

Doesn’t matter—
It still tastes sweet.

I don’t want to pray about you.
Not because God and I are taking a break,
Not because I’m busy,
Not because I can’t close my eyes without blinking away tears.

But because I’m scared.
I admit it,
I’m scared.

I’m scared that God will take you from me,
I’m scared that he’ll smite me for loving you.

I’m scared that God will cast me out of your garden,
I’m scared that the snakes and I are tangled into each other.
(We’re unrecognizable. Who knows where slither starts and fingertips end.)

I’m terrified that God will tell me that you and I aren’t meant to be,
That we are abominations.
That this wasn’t a match made in heaven.

That we are slowly falling,
In love,
Back to earth,
With wings scorched black—

Please.
Don’t ask me to pray,
Or you just might catch me with my eyes wide open whispering sweet nothings to a God I’m fearful of.

I’m tired.

Why am I doing all the work?
Because I care?
Because I’m a woman?
Because I’m stupidly in love with you?

You’re crazy.

And I’m tired, tired of it, and
Tired of you.

Get up and help me.
Get up and put some effort into me.
Get up and kiss me for once.

You’re right.
We aren’t learning anything here,
But how selfless devotion is a waste of time.
You were right,
I’m not the girl for you.
(I never will be).

And
You’re definitely not the man I thought you’d be.

You taste like hypocrite.
You taste like dark stupid masculinity.
And, baby, it doesn’t taste sweet.

Let’s just hope you taste as sweet as you feel.

I’m not supposed to speak to you.
It’s this unspoken law.
This girl code,
This human silence.

So,
I let my poetry speak.
Let my words sing to you.
Let my stanzas sway you.

I miss you.
[Let me say that more poetically.]

My soul is longing for yours.
My heart is crying for you,
And the tears are the bloodiest of red.

I miss you.

This isn't anything new,
But I can’t tell you that,
You know I can’t.
It would go against everything that society programmed into me.
It would go against our very religion.
[and you know good and well that we aren’t the type to sin.]

So,
I’ll let my poetry speak.

I’ll never know if you’ll get this,
I’ll never know if you’ll read this,
But there’s the chance that excites me.
The hope,
The glimmer, and shine of aspiration.
It’s beautiful, isn’t it?

I’ll leave this here.
I’ll cast this poem into the world.
I’ll let it touch a million hands,
I’ll let it feel a million tears,
I’ll let the millions of people think that this is for them,
But maybe, just maybe,
We’ll know it’s only for us.

The words are only for us:
I miss you.

Poetically, I miss you.
What other way could I tell you?
What other way could I reach you?
I’m not sure, So till then,
I’ll write.

Will you be my Valentines?
                                                                                                                 No.


Oh, okay.

You rip my heart out of my chest,
Pink ruffles and all,
And crumble it up.

You swish swish swish it into the trash,
You feel so powerful.

It lays there,
Bottom of the barrel,
Crumpled and beat black and blue.

The pink ruffles are now zig zag bright red.
It wheezes out in desperation.

I scramble to the bin,
Trying to scavenge the leftover pieces.

I pick through the trash,
I look ridiculous,
But I can fix this.

My fingers run over broken glass,
Paper, and even banana peels.

I find it,
The last remnants of my beating heart.

It’s still crumbled up,
But this can work.

I start from image.

I steam press it,
Whisper it sweet nothings,
And kiss it back to life.

It beats.
It beats,
It’s beating.

My heart is alive once more.

Will you be my Valentines?

Yes, heart, I will.