On Friends

the beginning ig

and what if i started a secret blog. and what if i used it. and what if.

from a fall walk home

i walked a stranger's footsteps today,

there seemed a poem in that

i turned my feet to match his gait

slowed mine to his own crooked path

he walked with haste irregular

tempo change could not meet the eye

but i felt it, for a minute, we were one

on that path, in that space, he and i

he does not know, for a minute there

another walked his rhythym

his stride was longer, his steps were quicker

perhaps he sought to make haste

and sure, it was weird

he would have found it so, too

but for that minute i was him in delay

i understood his perception

and the give of his limbs

i knew of his body's affections

soon our steps fell into disfavor

before leaf underfoot gave way

we were entities once more, unique paths on the ground

before my door, i turned but he walked away

maybe i will see him again, on my mellow walk home

maybe our eyes will connect

i would not know him by feature nor face

but maybe i’d fall into step

and recognize a gait from a dream long ago

a temporal space once inhabited

it was you, i would think, i was you for a minute

and we’d pass by and walk on again

honeysuckle

i think gods would think humans foolish, for wanting so much and gaining so little and wanting yet more

but a god could never understand the fragility of life and the flutter of a heartbeat

a god would never know the swell of a touch and the vividity of a scent

like icarus to the sun, we're always climbing

but daedalus would never have held him back

and opportunities for a bountiful yet flightless life are opportunities seldom passed

and i know we'll never reach anything perfectly

but god, does that not lessen the wanting

and god, that just increases the reward

and by god, i will do anything for this

because a god may think humans foolish but i am not a god

and i will take what the earth offers me with all manner of claws and teeth

and when fate scratches me, long and deep down my side, perhaps i will take a little morsel as i go

and perhaps, though reckless desire never rewarded a hero, enough desire can drive a miracle

we are all gods, by birthright

as ants in this universe, we will make our destiny

we will have this dance

and i will take it all and more, thirsty and snapping, animalistic and hungry

and if that is all i am to a god, so be it

they do not know what hides beneath

they do not know churning passion, and

they do not know love.

on winter

come winter, i am flimsy,

waxen paper on dry breeze

crumpled by the pressure, and

hardened by the cold

come winter, i can’t. 

every breath hurts to breathe

frost forced down your lungs, 

spider fingers in your veins, it

peels off your jacket

it ignores whimper of pain

biting your skin,

frozen heartbeat gone

come winter, it hurts

and you don’t want to fight

it is someone else,

naked, battered,

beaten, bruised 

but it is you, knocking on that door

it is you, begging to be let in

ember dying in the cold,

frost-bitten fingertips and

stone cold pit to be thawed.

it is you, feathers sodden by rainfall

petrichor dirt freshly churned on your grave

and desperate plea,

and hope for something better

it is you, who shakes off the water

and emerges, drenched in warmth,

ready, now, yearning, 

to be set alight

the heart

i want to write poetry but there’s no words in my mouth

saliva foams to the surface and there’s no sink to spit it out

clogged with frustration and rage,

i tell you:

i stopped trusting myself a long time ago

the heart is not the guarantor of interest.

i go back, again and again

find solace in the cage,

my present moment unsatisfying, and yet

more concievable than a future where i changed

the heart beats and tells me to listen.

mortal hand, electric flow, i tell it no.

action potential, depolarization

numb limbs, itching skin, proof, here;

that my body mattered, in a way, in the end

when they pressed an ear to my chest

still warm with fading beat,

ready to rest,

it told them, whispered secret;

she tried to escape me, separate me, deflect

and when the soul goes unnourished, body suffers

the energy pervades, more spent on the physical

on mental toil, means none for the rest

when she hated herself, she knew it was wrong

but she couldn’t convince herself of the best

good was not worth it, and she sunk, and i beat

until she finished me, too, inevitably, like the rest

‘now bury me quietly’ it said happily, contract and release salted life

the heart was right, in the end, as it is

neglect mind, neglect body, neglect soul

i tried to love you, it was supposed to be you

but you were never the goal

cowardice (1)

you wish to hide from your mind,

you wish to not be real

you hunger for experience

you crave their artifice

you yearn for something better than this

the curve of smiling lip

you let the colors consume you

if attention strays, it never dips

you want to look and not be seen

you want the mouth to open

you talk of vulnerability,

you hide behind a screen

you indulge in habits you hate,

you hate yourself by proxy

it holds no violence, but it festers

a sight you cant unsee

you wonder how you got here

you wonder how to flee

it draws you back, time again,

its a funny thing like that

habits form, but once they’re there

they’re awfully hard to crack

temporary paralysis

maybe i need practice with heartbreak

maybe if i hold on i'll learn to let go

maybe good things were never destined for me

maybe futures aren't written in stone

i hate when things change

i want everyone to stay

people in my mind are unpredictable

and rarely comply to the rules of real life

it feels like a sort of self-harm,

to throw myself into it again

this cannot be good for me

every instinct tells me to protect,

every experience tells me to listen to my qualms

withdraw, reel back, just stop, deflect

my hope is incessant and endless,

don't talk to me if you don't want a fright

my spark of interest cannot be drowned

when i wake up and remember myself,

it will be you on my mind

until i create a caricature in my head

until i forget your face,

your actions wrought by shadowed features

memories in feeling, if not in sight

a day stretched into a year of groundhog memory

don’t hurt me, i want to tell everyone that talks to me

don't make me care for you when you won't care for me,

it will only make me hate you

and it only takes one night and one day

for nothing to be the same again

unsent

i don’t like saying ‘i love you’ because my heart catches in my throat every time,

the truth can be written with greater ease:

i love you so much it hurts.

and i know you so well, all of you

yet your favorite color still surprises me

i cannot think of who you’d get along with, or what you’d like

because you’re mine, even if i know, i know it’s just a little part.

i think the beauty and fear of knowing someone comes from the vastness.

because you are an endless impossibility,

a miracle.

shall i compare thee to a summer’s day?

or a winter’s night?

or the first taste of spun sugar, melting on the tongue?

shall i compare thee to a sunrise, all dusky blues and cadmium hopes?

shall i compare thee to the calm before the storm,

the silence that descends at the first pluck of a string;

reverent?

you are more than all of it, of course, and maybe one day,

when it feels a little less raw,

when a brush against my skin doesn't send ice skittering through my lungs,

maybe in a week or two,

i can show this to you,

all rapt nervousness and unmet gaze

even in the surety of reciprocity.

and maybe i would say, ‘i’m sorry’,

and you would understand that if i felt it any less

then i swear i would tell you so.

all the people i wasted poems on

i hope you get your peace

i hope this lets you feel release

i hope the hurt was worth it

i hope the feeling raw

i hope it scalds when you remember me

and burns the skin right off your lying maw

burning

to care for something is a delicate thing

to cultivate, to put a part of you into a vessel outside yourself with no guarantee of success

like chipping a piece of your heart that you might not get back

it's a gamble

but you take that risk because you always hope that what you feel, so may someone else for you

a singular attention

but people bite

and you don’t know if you’ll ever get it back

and what if you gave more than you realized

and when they’re gone, you look down and all that’s left is blackness

blindfolded in a ribcage, entombed by a heart that doesn't beat for you

by lungs that don’t breathe for you

by lips that don’t lust for you

and you are shunned and quiet and can only say, oh, okay

and give no sign of your smile chipping away, that skipped beat and the cold creep of dread

and give no sign of the disappointment, lest you look closer and know its because you had the audacity to have expectations

and give no sign of the hurt, lest you find yourself realizing it meant something

to be vulnerable is to be peeled open, raw and turbulent, strapped to a table with a knife hovering over you and a trembling hand against it

it's the pulse in your neck as something unknown grazes your skin

the flex of tendons desperate to recognize what’s beneath them,

the lump in your throat that never seems to go away 

it’s the hope that the contact was lips and not teeth

and some say the risk is worth it for the chance of love

but this year it is a brittle winter

and the truth is so warm within me, 

to the point where i may set ablaze 

and nobody will know why my body was charred from the inside out