WAITING GIRL |
as a young, fragile girl, i conjured only longing poems wishing girl, waiting girl yearning girl– always searching, girl dreaming of a life and a love unmatched, she sat patiently painting a future sure to hold heartache, but never rage, but never fear wishing girl, she knew the day would come when her heart would find it– the soft place to land, the hand to hold, the gentle warmth of a lover who wouldn’t keep score– here, the glory of fate here, the kindness she’d been awaiting fell right into her lap longing girl, the pain of existence may still cut deep into bone hurt of ghosts past may still linger but the future is here. there’s a soft place to lay your heavy head here, we can rest, Knowing the future was in us all we had to do was stop waiting for it to come to us |
to wake up next to a lover who takes you into her arms, not having to be asked their eyes on you like all the poems you’ve ever written captured in a glance to kiss the truth into someone’s mouth like unspoken love, and outspoken adoration |
Content |
touching my hands to my face is like petting yours; if i close my eyes, i can pretend i'm better than i am. my fingertips try to register solely the sensation of skin. for a second, i consider putting ice to my cheek, a numbing agent, so i can keep the daydream alive, so i won't ever forget the soft roughness of your skin, something to help quell the ache in my gut. the hollows of an empty hand could shatter me, but for a moment, lying in my bed alone, i swear it's like i can touch you. |
elusive |
12.14.17
not just water
or air could fill
my body with the
gentle force that
the tides do,
and so it is with you–
not just your kiss,
your smile, the cold
of your hands on me
just out of reach,
the same power
that brings sea to shore
is behind us,
or around us
there’s vulnerability
in the way i even
think your name
or air could fill
my body with the
gentle force that
the tides do,
and so it is with you–
not just your kiss,
your smile, the cold
of your hands on me
just out of reach,
the same power
that brings sea to shore
is behind us,
or around us
there’s vulnerability
in the way i even
think your name
April fourth |
i am touching you without hands, and you know. i am singing for you, silently, just a humming in my chest, and you know. i can only hope, can only pray, you'll touch me, too. you'll sing for me, too. |
the difference between us after everything was this: when faced with losing you, i bent over backwards to right my wrongs. when faced with losing me, you packed your bags, and didn't say good-bye. |
A.T.L. |
tangled hair, empty glass |
i wonder: what part of your heart do i occupy? when you think of me, where does the light go? where does it come alive? |
untitled a
the novelty of cold feet tangled up under covers is not lost on me. like moth to flame, gnat to honey, we find each other. it's like this: i am whole without you but each second spent not loving you is wasted on me. not unlike the moon dancing in the cosmos, salmon swimming upstream, so we go. something bigger is at work when we wake up next to each other. |
out-of
getting you out of my skin, my head, out from underneath my fingernails (i’ve bled, god, how i’ve bled) has taken some Digging, some maneuvering it’s taken some (un)learning some reconfiguring of all the molecules in me see, i’ve always thought we were one in the same. your soul connected to mine, our beings intertwined having come from the same star or galaxy i’ve always thought we were written in the moon, our love destined to be told through to the end by the tides (you wore over me for billions of years, turning my hardness into crumbling sand, weaving canyons into my rock) but only in losing you did i finally realize, even souls created together, seemingly brought together by the fate of their common roots, can be destined to grow apart |
on losing your best friend
more tiger than lily
what happens when you’re missing her? through the blush of the petal of the casablanca lily, there, you see? where the light gets fractured by the veins? she dances on the other side, shadow swaying in time with her short-lived petal sister. loving her was like lying on my back in a thirsty, lifeless wheat field, watching fervently as clouds of dust roll their way towards me. while eventually my lungs are itching and, with every breath, i feel the sting of sand and dirt against the softness at the back of my throat; in front of me, there, as darkness swallows us whole…. my casablanca lily, she blooms. in the moments of the modest unraveling of her petals, she dances through her good-byes with an ineffable ease. if you can hear any last words from me, nightbloomer, let me write them here. you always did love my poetry; what better way to eulogize my love for you? loving you was like walking into quicksand wearing shoes of gold, or lead. like coming back to the places our souls touched to remind myself of you. like taking a picture of every lily i pass, being sure to get the veins and creases in focus. what happens when you miss me? does your chest ache when you hear those first few beats of the songs we sang together? do you skip the painful ones, or do you put them on repeat? i hope you do. i hope food loses its taste. i hope you find yourself cold without me, i hope you become inconsolable, beside yourself with grief. finally, i want to be the veins that fracture the light. |
on loving someone you haven't met yet
burning girl
WHAT IS IT YOU WANT FROM HER?
the sweltering hot hot hot of her eyes on me | her words on my neck like the Pacific Northwest shoreline, horizon bleeding into ocean | an endless life with her, my muse, and I, her rock | the touch of her fingertips on mine like a blue-bright fire, turning her ashes back to phoenix | a symphony in major key, a full marching band playing in 5/4 time, when she lets me brush her hair from her face | the light in her eyes will dance as we do
WHAT ABOUT THE PAIN?
what of the pain? I’ve felt the worst there is | give me a life filled with love and I will take the hurt, take the bitterness, take the Hardness and make it soft as i always have | give me a lover who will open Her arms to me and welcome my uninhibited adoration without hesitation and I will ache for her when she has gone | if I just get to touch the palms of her hands, Lord, I will be grateful for the heartache
WHO IS SHE?
she is the lighthouse and I am the seaman | she is the seaman and I am the lighthouse | or maybe she is the Siren and I am the seaweed through which she navigates to lure men to their death | she is the smell of hot asphalt after a summer rain, she is Spite, she is Greed, she is Bitterness, she is all-consuming | she is Rage and beauty and she encompasses me with her softness and I will adore her | her tenacity is earth-shattering, and if she must leave me, I pray she will grant me the honor of breaking me
WHAT IF SHE STAYS, WHAT THEN?
Mussorgsky’s Hopak will forever play in our home-- we will dance with agile, joyous togetherness through our kitchen, hands and faces covered in flour | my heart will know pain, will know ache, but nothing of longing | she will, I pray, wake every day knowing that she is the softest of kisses to the cheek, she is the feeling of sleeping on brisk summer evenings with nothing but a sheet to cover your feet, she is, in all her flaws, Holy, and Burning
on finding strength in softness, and softness in strength
waking up
I know this body Inside-out. From pole to pole, Each fracture of the plates etched into me. Always, with Hands too rough, Scars too dark, A little too human From the Pacific To Atlantic of my hips- Hips that continue to Grow, hips wide enough To birth another body from me now-- I know Her. If the trees Concentric circles Tell the story of their Survival, So my scars and Stretch marks tell mine. Each callous a symbol Of my body's glorious Strength The tremble in my voice Isn't a sign of my Weakness You wouldn't call The flutter of the Willow tree frailty, Would you? Every ridge, canyon, Plain, has a purpose. The last vestige of Fragility fled, The moment I woke up. |