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i wish you knew how hard it is to hold backbut fear tells me over and over againbe still and be quietfor you know the hurt that awaits youit is all too familiarand this alone is enough to keep your words withinbut you do not knowwhat lies are givenwhat secrets are burningwhat monsters are hidden..…
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immortal. writers, poets especially, are such peculiar creatures..we can love you for a mere moment after knowing you for barely any time at alland then if struck in a particular waywe endeavor to fill a novel of pages about the almost of what we might’ve hadromantic realistsanticipating that it could not lastinstead we build a…
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do you ever think of how it feltthose few days whenyou chose me over sleep?just one more momentand then anotherand so onuntil we had almost gone too faruntil you almost chose me the blood& the bones
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I am the door never fully openedThe window halfway shutThe brand new suit that they bought to wearBut she never showed upI am the book that they start and never finishThe keeper never keptThe tears brimming in their eyesThat they never weptI am the plant they neglect to waterThe last drag of a cigaretteThe pillow…
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one. if there could be just oneone pair of eyesthat will lookfor mine firstone seat savednext to himfor all the daysthat remain for usone man to pull meinto wearisome armsdeciding that wemust never be partedjust onewho could findthe courageto want mefor who I amand not in spite of itI believe that I could ceasethis unbidden…
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Sunday morning.. I awake to you already unfolding me and taking me in..Your tongue is eager slithering through my syrup..Your fingers digging into the soft wet cake of me, pulling me forward as they curl deliberately within my body..My hips respond, rising into the sunbeams that force their way through gauzy curtains..And before my eyes…
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I have loved the worst of men and I have loved the best of themand somewhere in between thankfully not at the beginningbut also regrettablynot at the endI loved you the blood& the bones
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All the hidden lies and half truths live in the beautiful words they give you dig them out push your fingers into dirt and rocks, the sharp and jagged things beneath the softness.. I know your hands are bloodyand tireddo not stopthere is will be something waiting beneath the veil of surfacewhat they should have…
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She says isn’t it wonderful to be an idea? And I think of how it is more like a prison. Never getting out of the walls someone else has built around you. Never living up to them if you do. the blood & the bones
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• therapy • I would wait like this all dayif I knew it was the only wayto dull the rage that you carryto bring you back to yourselfI know some purge words for releasebut those wordsthose actionsdon’t feel familiar to your careful tongueso instead I invite you to find the things you need to say…
