dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.

I know what it is
To want revenge
To believe that
Killing my own
White Whale
Would give back
What I've lost to it
I know what it is
To lose all of myself
To the things
That only wanted
Parts of me

I had no filter
I said what
I was thinking
Like I was talking
To my walls
I ran in messy
Spoken circles
With no
Conclusions
No concise plan
No destination
And you, you
Followed my
Footsteps
And thanked me
For the walk
You'd never seen
Such scenery

i danced with your heart in my hands last night
the pulse of beating blood in our veins
drowning out the distance between our bodies
and i loved you in the stillness
in the shift from song to next song
in shift from love to lust to love again
my teeth glinting against the harsh sparks
we've turned up our bassline and
i doubt i will ever be satisfied like this again
your eyes became twin suns against me
burning me alive in the heat, mingled
mangled inhibitions lying with our clothes
and ferocity lies in wait behind your smiles
wolflike and hungry for the bisous, & more
that only we can bring to life in the darkness
between the slick of my thighs, phantasmic
in the starry stealing of moments under canopies
of wavelike sound; and nothing else mattered
but that your heart kept beating in tune
& my feet kept pounding the fear down into dust.

i've just realized
i am a little too hungry
for the world's delicious hidden things
to sit here idly still
waiting upon those who watch over me
to figure out i'm not a figurine
to handle with care and
twirl on pedestals for the eyes of family friends
as though accomplishments
are only made of paper and years' hardships
and "look, dear, she did it!"s that
only bring bile to my lips
not proud smiles like i plaster
as though i'm only yours, nothing more

can you feel the furnace in my roots
lapping at the scraps of solitude
and fanciful imaginings that i throw
to sate the beast begging for death
of your dominion over my wellbeing
i don't want to be safe right now, love
i want to feel the rain on my face
and have permanence taper
until all that's left of me
is lived experience, no paper trails
and accolades that gather dust and wither.

She sits rather still, stitching her loom
shackled and bound to the whispering room
While the walls shutter speeches
she slouches then reaches,
her stitching resumed.

Threads of silk pool in spools
cast to the floor
Hushing the voices
as they pour

the voices repeat their crippling phrase
dancing the space
bound to their maze

Lying embedded in velvet gloom and night,
You and I are gazing up the northern hemisphere.
Within the sea of darkness is the stars' stained light.

Hidden inside the fabric of interstellar space,
Might be a kind of universal truth
That answers all the questions of human race.

Sensing the pull of the universe
I feel like we're lost between the infinite vastness
That none of us could ever dream to traverse.

Suddenly you get up on your knees -
Head in the sky and feet on the ground.
“Perhaps the stars only made us feel lost,
because we both wanted to be found.”