once i let myself melt into

the cracks and crevices

of a man i barely knew

and we held each other there

like glue,

a new vessel

we fired ourselves in a kiln

violent heat,

quick, relatively

the water never kept

a slow drip,

it oozed until it gushed

and when the last drop fell

i decided i’d stop repairing you

sometimes now i hold my hands

in the shape of our vessel

retracing the shape

if i focus i can remember the heat you held

but like anything in this world,

most things aren’t meant to last forever.

Original post.

i remember the color green

when you dug up some earth

to place me in

i remember you,

you made my leaves reach

upwards to the Sun

held me gentle and tender

to watch me lift

grow

gleam

and bury my roots

then, my limbs stretched

new and furious

angling for any and all

sustenance i could manage

now, they grow steady and tepid,

for expansion,

for freedom

i found myself my own soothsayer

the color green is Spring and new growth

it says:

soothe

green as lush

as tenderness

as vulnerability

earth as safety

as trust

as home

now, place me

in the earth we’ve dug up

and remember

to tender and tend

Original post.

i want to scatter myself like

the petals from the cherry trees when

the breeze rushes through them

that way you can all have pieces of me

the good ones

the softest parts

but i can’t so instead

i sprinkle words here and there

and offer incandescent oaths

if you ever lose light

maybe these will brighten you up

i want to rejoice even when

all else leads us to mourning

i want to strike a match to your joy

and light it aflame

and maybe it’ll melt you

you and our collective slump

been really masticating on what there is to say - if there’s anything to say at all. still trying to rejoice when it feels like there is only mourning left.

Original post.

bliss is something i wrote about

when i hadn't yet grasped

exactly what grief was

because grief is that big swooning gut check

and the smell of rain at night

when the concrete hasn't yet cooled

from the heat of the sun

it smells like the pillow case i haven't washed yet

and the oil in your hair

but you don't know that

it tastes like that meal we cooked together

do you know it took me years

to understand that scene in Tampopo?

i counted every curl on your head

constellated every freckle on your cheek

but grief is forgetting the number

and i’m no astronomer

so you see

bliss is all these things

grief is just remembering it.

Original post.

i fall in love with fresh flowers

when i pass by them on the street

i remember their smell and miss them later

and that barista that was kind to me on that snow day

and i worried if he would get home safe

and when i walk past buildings on foggy nights

and the lights in each room are different colors

i fall in love with everyone inside each room

and every idea of what could be

i guess my love is slippy and expansive and it’s fleeting and it flutters and when i see flower petals stuck in cobblestone streets i shut my eyes and wish for them to settle.

Original post.

a kindergarten kind of love

when your hands held

are still wrapped

in nerves topped with a bow

and i’m sorry my hands are

so clammy i guess

my bliss isn’t perfect

but still you grasp with tenacity

and i remember when you held them to your face and told me they didn’t bother you

and i knew in your eyes you were being honest

it’s more than something sweet

it’s sumptuous and unctuous

it’s covered in dirt

and sweat but the good kind

and looks the way summer sun

does when it glistens on

a freshly shaved head.

Original post.

I’ve tried endlessly to scrub at my skin

willing the old hurt and pain to rub off

and however much I scratched and pick and slough

it won’t go away

So then I cover myself in mud and dirt

and rain and maybe the

leaves and trees and debris

will cover it but on nights

like these while the soft snow

falls it rinses off and again I’m

left with this skin

Maybe that’s why I scratch and itch

ripping off every small imperfection

because I want to be smooth again

untouched and maybe when

I’m back that way I won’t

wake up between dusk

and dawn wanting neither to

settle again so instead

I’m ripping at myself perpetually

and maybe something will give

Original post.

so i keep finding myself in incoherent spaces

grappling gasping grasping

for something lucid

but is there ever any sense in these things that involve emotion?

i was never the type to go out with a bang

and instead i wait and watch things slip shrivel and whimper

and it’s probably because i’m stubborn

and someone told me that i’m too nice

to everyone aside from myself

Original post.

I’ve got bedsores now-

not really, but you know what I mean

Tiny festering wounds that refuse to heal

because I still haven’t gotten up

from the bed we made

Our dreamy evenings - turned sleepy dawns

thick with honey-coated future plans

and as the sun rose to kiss our eyes

I peeled back the covers

To find only that I was stuck

to honey-colored sheets

pulled over my eyes

and that you rubbed me the wrong way

and that sleepless nights are not for me

and that now I’m bed-sore

Fresh linens and new skins

It’s time to make my bed

but one just for me

Original post.