Elpis

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

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

summer

summer strings you out and stretches you

leaves you to dry like meat on a wire

frayed thin, tendons close to snapping

nothing but hot skin and buzzing flies

rough sheets and restless nights

summer is seamless and raw

leaves you prickly and itching all over

flushed cheeks and peeling skin,

tantalizing and torrefied

like something shaped for burning,

like something waiting to be set alight

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.

agape

i love him the most in the gentleness of sleep,

he is at his softest then

eyes closing to the sounds of the world,

nose buried against my leg

claws retracted,

mouth soft and yielding

no twitch of the ear,

nor flicker of the eye,

vulnerability earned and cherished,

a kiss and gentle pet accepted,

i adore you most in the quiet of the night,

sparkling eyes slip shut,

soft belly bared to the world

breaths even and unmeasured,

curled up, awaiting

indefinitely, unknown

on friends

i love you because you know me

even when i’m scared no one does,

when i think no one will.

you are my mirror, but in your eyes i might be more than pretty

but rather something beautiful

and maybe the terror isn’t a bad thing, but an anticipation, waiting

for someone to love me like you do,

patiently.

you know to have a gentle touch with my heart

you know where it hurts

i love when things remind me of you

that we’re past insecurity,

that we don’t skirt.

you make me want to be tangible, perceived

in the little things like this, maybe there's value in belief

maybe i can find myself, to be a home for you

if you know me it must mean i exist.

i love that you inspire me endlessly

i love that with you i don’t have to pretend

thank you for being here, always

it's a heart swell to know someone who cares.

we have grown up together but we continue to choose

and every time i know i made the right choice when it's you

neptune

we are simply the universe interacting with itself, a tentative touch, a shared breath.

and we must be tender with each other, for we are fragile

and we are real,

and you are real.

and you know yourself best, so you should know best that you are deserving of joy and every delicate softness that you stop to rub your cheek against, to feel that conjoining of two forgiving things.

to know that you can love, wanton and gorgeous, sunlit smile touched by every person who has treated you with care,

and possibly treat someone else with care, too.

you can have everything you want, dear

you only have to know that you deserve it

you only have to forgive yourself

dread has no place in our ecosystem, in our tangled, finite hearts

we are the universe, of the same stardust sprinkled onto fertile soil

we are the universe, nursed and nurtured into our positions

we are the universe, laid gently to rest when we are done

we are the universe, and we can help make it a little more bearable before we take our final bow.

don’t go chasing the rest, darling, because you can care without reciprocation

you can simply love

and it is a vulnerability, yes, but not a weakness

it is not a weakness.

shuffle

i think that when i saw something pleasing in the cut of your cheekbone and the cruel uptick of your lips, that i wanted something to call mine

and i knew you looked like someone who would hurt me but the all the tv shows in the world taught me that danger is exciting, and all the warnings in the world couldn’t stop me from getting in too deep

even though i never really lost anything, it sometimes feels like i lose everything, again and again

and i want to find that happiness, the sparkle of an eye and the softening of creases, i want

someone to make plans with, i want to be so in love that it’s disgusting, and all the tv shows in the world convinced me that to get to the happy ending, you were supposed to find love on the way

but i’ve kissed a couple guys, and none of them stayed, and as they fragment my trust and my perception of loyalty, 

i’ve more frequently stayed my hand, and perhaps a part of me looked at the patterns and recognized that something easy might not be in the cards

and that i was maybe unloveable or simply incapable of loving in any way recognizable by someone with the capacity to love me back

so i try to decline the danger to protect my heart from getting hurt, but its a self fulfilling prophecy, that when you don’t show your hand youre on the defensive

and it’s a perverse self-torture, but i imagine you reading these and knowing me, an exchange of understanding that doesn’t have to involve spoken words

so often buffered by meaninglessness and impulse

but there’s hurdle upon hurdle of expectation on reality and movement slow and fast, and besides, love isn’t real anymore but simply fighting, in a game that was never supposed to have sides

and once we draw, we reshuffle and try again 

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

cowardice (2)

it's not you now, its something else

it's easier to love

a vesicle for influence,

torpid machine of thought

and its better this way, it doesn’t hurt

when someone hurts something you’re not

but when the colors blur,

it always comes to end

in the darkness of the bedroom,

in the darkness of your head

when you close your eyes to sleep

when there’s noone there to tell you

a part of you, the one thats you,

always, it will know:

the truth is the lump in your throat,

the truth is in dexterous hand

the truth is in a crooked smile,

pointing to the sand

they taught you to hate yourself,

but what you should hate is them

we were borne from the lake,

to the lake we meet our end

the mirror was not meant to be

neither silver nor black facade

something we weren’t meant to see,

wan face reflected back

it's your fingertips on petals,

it's your toes in the grass

it's your lungful of fresh air,

even if it is your last

you wish to fulfill potential,

you wish that you were tough

don’t weep nor mourn what cannot be

you always were enough