On Fall

on spring

pastel sunrise, mottled green

flower bloom, thawed stream

spring is upon us, the air is clean

crisp cloud cuts the sky

and there’s a gleam in your eye

an adventure there, and i want to follow

outstretched hand, t-shirts at dusk

grassy knoll, abandoned park

mosquitos buzz and bat them away

air cool and perfumed with the breeze of the day

and there’s a bed waiting when you get home

and the silence is warm when you’re alone

sky open above you and dizzy with fear

the grip of nostalgia never felt so real

until now, grass flat beneath your back

and sand between toes, pretty rock in backpack

teetering on the precipice of all you have known

at once still so young, at once so near grown

living felt stagnant but the answer was clear

every me nested in me, stacked years upon years

the coming of spring still awakens such thrill

and the promise of budding spreads dreams anew:

this was never a middle, as the pond is never still

but the beginning of everything, and everything that will

three thousand

the days pass so quickly,

resolutions so fickle

and there is something old, very old, inside me

that spits on it all

the lecherous gluttony and

sick indulgence, stuffing soft, pink bellies

full to bursting

built into that, a stopping point

the shining stretch of flesh, hesitant,

untested, afraid to try

energy must exist in equal balance,

and the beast takes

yawning cavernous hunger,

a need never satiated, swallowing the world.

hurting, hunting,

it does not forget – it does not want to forget.

content in its loathing, superior in a void.

hating and hating.

but it forgets itself

fed by another hand, before it learned to take.

hurt by another's mouth, before it learned to snap

someone else's creation, it is not itself

it is residue,

it is fear

the days pass so quickly,

without reprieve, in delay

i walk alongside them,

and the beast always stays.

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.

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.

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

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

bygones

i remember that time when the sun danced on your face on the bus ride and you thought you looked beautiful

once, long ago, when your hair was soaked with water and happiness

your friends asleep on your shoulders on a bus, your throat hoarse from laughter

the light left as the planet tilted, but so slowly you didn't realize it was night until you couldn't see the sun

you used to press pen to the paper without hesitation

without an eye for your own failings

you would stand outside and inhale the fresh air and feel a lump in your throat.

i wish i was like you

that i could draw forever, and play forever, and sit on a bus and laugh

i wish i had cherished you while you lived

your golden days, to you, were brown

overlooked the happiness for the homework

i wish i could go back to that time, when i was you and we were one and our memories were events of the present

i wish that the days hadn’t moved like the tides, puppeteered by the swiftly tilting moon

but the times have turned and sand once dry has been dampened

i still see the stars

i’ll cherish each light until i'm left in the endless abyss

and i’ll realize that these were the good times too.

on scent

scent indicates familiarity; it’s always there but doesn’t really mean anything until it means something, 

and now its not just brownies cooking, but ours over stifled giggles at two am

and now its not just a car exhaust, but yours singing songs into a sunset 

and then, years later, you catch a whiff

and your head turns, inevitably, because it would be worse than shame, to miss something you love

and maybe a part of you wants you to be happy

and when you lose that forever maybe you’ll seek it in a bottle, or save it in fabric, or even try to rediscover it in the recesses of your mind, 

but scent is uniquely reserved for the here and now,

and i will never live this moment again, but 

maybe i will catch a whiff of it on the breeze 

and my head will turn ever so slightly, 

and i will remember oh, how i loved you so.

eggshells

i don’t tread on eggshells,

i treat them as such

but i don’t expect the same for my own.

there’s always that shell i’m holding back

but when i give it out, with a delicate hand and feigned lightness,

somehow it seems to return safe

i’ve always been one to beg forgiveness after,

my cowardice so endless i can’t crawl out

it’s almost easier when someone doesn’t have the right to care,

so i cant tell them anything raw and exposing

what a strange stuttered half-life existence i’ve sown

little kernels of truth kept inside me

i say that with some they can see all,

but i’m lying to everyone to an extent

they all get little eggshells to keep in their pockets

maybe if combined, the shape would emerge

maybe if combined, i’d be known.

it isn’t for naught, theres a part of me that wants it this way

even if it feels like a punishment

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