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I can’t figure out if love makes things too complicated. Isn’t it easier to be numb? To be whole and not shared? To never have your insecurities brought to light? To never be scared? Did you ever catch yourself saying why am I like this? Why do these things matter? Why does this hurt? How…
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you are the absolutepersonificationof every timeI have written about a lovethat feels like home the blood& the bones
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it’s the words that come just after the rush… as I am flushed breathless chest pulsing toward the sky legs agape and glazed in the wash of us I am a mess and a masterpiece divinely and wholly his after being used so rigorously so deliciously good girl he says and I am ready to…
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I have loved you in every lifetime before this one. And I knew that I would love you again. It just took a little longer, a few more roads, a few more mountains. But now we’re home. the blood & the bones
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I can see how, in life, being a controlled analytical man would be beneficial. I am quite sure the reserved and restricted man is an easier route to pursue.. How he would think the wisest move is to be a man who’s self governance protects him from indulgent pleasure and his heart from softening and…
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sans explanation. I will not fault themfor their lack of understandingthis love confuses even meand I am chest deep in itbut I refuse to waste my wordsto defend or definehow we fell in without touchhow we wade through it togetherhow we have made our offeringsand thanked our Gods for this oceanin hopes that they will…
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to be found. I went to those mountains to find words for these pages. I have filled the others with lust, longing and failed love. I have covered them with sorrow and grief. I was expecting more of this. But instead I only wrote about you. You. Three letters that capture so much. A word…
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• I left him there in unanswered .. Just as they had done to me many times before. Every promise I didn’t make was already broken. And every one he needed was weighed down with misplaced love. All he did was try to show me that it could be gentle too. That it could be…
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Because of my self-worth or I suppose my perception of my lack thereof, I’ve always had this very unique idea of what love is supposed to look like. What I mean to say is that I thought I did not deserve a love that replenished me, one that filled by cup. I sought fulfillment in…
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I can’t write like you. It’s not that I don’t want to. Sometimes I read your work and I think how creative, how pleasing. How safe. But I can’t do that. I can’t do that because I write from my soul. And when you go that deep it’s messy. There are bones strewn about. The…
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