Mercy

September is here but she is fleeting. I think I have always attached that responsibility with her- to come and go, almost whimsically with her ability to make new beginnings begin to feel at home. I owe a lot to this month. Year after year she passes with as much poise and certitude as I aim to achieve and believe in, in all facets of my human-being. An innate love; a connection to unnamed, unscathed pieces of myself i have yet to meet, comes dancing alongside her territory. I dance too. And while freeing, it is also often times melancholy. I’ve turned my cheek to September’s winds enough to stain my skin red with glowing, reminding permanence. Still time after time she brings me back to myself. With no hesitation. I am grateful for her forces of adaption and change, of depth, and of growth. Today I meet her with my gaze lowered and head bowed.

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Here

dreams-cleanI bet every evening the moon writes his hymn,
you dance alongside; harmonizing
as the entirety of the sunset
falls against it’s backdrop
of back-lit stars.
I bet you, too, are swallowed whole
by the dark cover of another day’s end,
just trying to find out where it all leads to
when the light goes out.
Just trying to hear
a day’s past echo
from the other side.
I want my darkness to look like yours,
I’ve been looking for the shores end
in the same spot
I’ve always been
But I’ve never seen you here.
Have you ever sat in one place for so long
you thought you could get lost
if you weren’t being careful enough?
Here’s my advice,
one floating entity, to another:
don’t be careful enough.
Getting lost in yourself is half the fun.

Me vs. Me

I’m cleaning out my wounds today. I’ve started with my hands.
I wish I could draw the grooves in my skin away but I think its almost too much to stand as I sit here and carve out 1,227 days of self-aflicted punishment some people call love.
My unsettled memories dance around my heart like dangling feathers being tethered by a magnet- revolving with, and with out.
They dwindle about a storm at sea, swelling, and repressed in the swallows behind my ribs.
Like moving in the dark without a light.
I suppose these are the days of putting to rest that feeling in the center of your chest
And putting out fires in the warm empty spaces it all started from.
I humbled any ill-mannered shuffle I was dealt, in the soft depths of the lightest corner of your heart that I could find.
I remember when I first found you in colors yellow and blue.
I tell myself now we just grew a likeness for red.
On a cloudy day I counted three kisses from the mouth of a pistol,
And swallowed all of his bullets before they hit the back of my neck.
Quick is the flame they say that no one can tame, but your mouth’s fire has manually faltered
Though I always managed to dodge your bullets with precision.
You told me you had a dream that we were trapped inside a depository,
And instead of trying to escape, we planted roots in the dirt.
We made a bed in the flowers and built our love from the ground up
I wonder if the roses I planted in your heart are still alive,
but I think now it’s best I don’t ask who tends them.
I may have overstayed my time in there already.
A slate of foggy glass separates me from the inside of our greenhouse.
It blurs my tunnel vision thats directed right at you.
Although I am always looking out for the heart,
I somehow managed to suffocate myself
while trying to line my heartbeat up with yours.
All I ever wanted was to breathe your same breath.

DRIP

I feel the words I want to say dripping down the back of my throat
like a faucet, forgotten to be shut off.
Shards of truth billow quietly within the troughs beneath my skin;
knowingly, unsteadily,
continuous.
The pieces of my heart that remain mull together in low tide pools of leftover sullen.
There is no end to this pitfall I keep pouring myself into.
If I spill over any more I’ll just be drowning myself faster.
I don’t mind today.
I see you drowning over there in your darkness.
I hear you gasping for air, and time, and love… real love.
The kind that doesn’t taste so bad.
Come take a sip from my cup
Drink in my remorse and sadness,
Taste the many versions of myself I had to kill to be here.
Taste the number of times I fell short of forever.
My drink looms over a weighted tongue, taking over what is left and holding space for what has gone.
No more vacant rooms inside this temple I cannot leave,
No more devout time and added effort to putting away the chaos made,
No more tossing and turning to the sound of that dripping faucet-
the stem of it, my neck, leaving drips
of my shredded words at the back of my throat.
Leave me here.
Leave me alone.
Take me somewhere I don’t know.
Leave me somewhere I have to find my way back home.
I would give anything to be lost again
In you.
I still loved you even though we were cursed.

Rain

Water flower, floating on glass
a stem so long it nearly stretches to the sky.
Thundering moon, lightning cloud
this storm is one I know by name.
These winds have changed, from thin to thick
And look what you’ve changed me into.
I’ve been dug up from this ground with my roots tied around my ankles,
and petals falling from my neck.
But I still find myself stuck in the same dirt I was planted in.
I wish I could mail you a letter
with words that dance off the page,
and metaphors that sit between lines only you would know how to read.
I’d stitch the pages with quieted hums
lulling each of them together with the strings of my heart that I’ve spent so much time with, trying to learn how to strum.
I would attach along my hands, paired in two,
swinging like pendulums on a metronome.
I would hang them above my “p.s- I love you” that I sign at the bottom,
just so you’d know that’s the last thing I ever wrote.
You should take a look at the puddles forming at my feet,
There are tear drops falling, disguising themselves in all of this rain.
They remind me that even though I can no longer tell the difference between good love and bad,
this will not be the last time that I am loved deeply.
I grab my own waist just the way that I like it
as I sway lightly upon the tips of my toes, that are no longer pointed into the ground.
My fingers trace the outlines of my skin from my hipbones, up to my sternum,
where I twist my index finger and allow my ribs to unlock.
I’ve never seen so many caged birds fly at once.
I never knew they could fly until now.
It’s humid out, my skin is sticking to everything it touches, so I let it.
I linger here, tip toeing around with the honeyed scent of remorse for all the people who want light, but refuse to let it in.
Everybody wants to be the sun soaked carpet spot but nobody wants to be the window pane.