You gave me sunset loveShe was grass-stainedwith bleeding, bare-footdreams,because she’d always saidthat shoes were for porcelain girlsafraid of callous skin.and she was not fear.not anymore.when it crept in on whitemanicured edges,she would make lions of trembling girls,which craved and devouredfrom her templesa sunset-blossomlove.You can't hurt me anymore.
lessons in surrenderi.She wished to be dressed in poetrybut she didn’t understand thatimagery fades and that metaphorsare too easily forgotten.ii.She asked why I didn’t utilize myalliteration eyes—why I hid the tag‘ hello my name is: writer ’beneath San Francisco baysand rotting ink grenades,still in dead crusade.iii.I broke pencil shavings inskybound veins, just to tastethe wordsand I bled like a sinnerfor mere dreams of some redemption.“I’m only a poet of capitulation”
InkbrokeI cry words of inkbecause my soul has not the worthof salt;and your heart had notthe capacityfor love:I can only gapeand gasplike krill,while whales digested,regurgitating me to aching belliesof sand; and I am burnedfor love and breath…but I became glassand dazzled in shards,while I wrote enough wordsto drown you an inkbrokeocean:the only heartbreak a poetcould feel.
Dear Foolish Heart:You don't match my sleeves today.
The FesteringBetrayal had never been my Mistress. Though perhaps before she had been gentle raps upon my door. Often we exchanged friendly smiles, but never before were first-name introductions or conventional greetings shared…Until Him. He gave her to me. He knew the time and the place, and He shipped me off to misery; He made filthy my soul, in the festering shame of places touched, in the childish girl who left sobbing shoulders for hidden why-me smiles; and with those smiles she wondered why her lips were of cement.The festering came twice thereafter, and still vocals stayed locked in rot and love.He did this... That man who collected so easily my trust…which then I suppose I am not blameless for; I had left the festering to boil silently… and still I loved him never less.That is, until the moment pain interjected, still stinging from the loss of my fragmented innocence, though never whole before this.For a while, I wanted blacktop streets to meet with h
had I wished for sight.My wish-on-me star,whose ears I filled to secret’s brim,whose implosions I hemmedstill layers deeper:I’m sorry I wore stitchesand scabs with try-agains.You sacrificed paper dreams,Crumpling and sending airplaneanswers until my skies werewishgiving.Apologies have sweetenedon tight-pressed lips—a thick and sultry wine—but you’re now constellatingapparitions, in city skyscapes;and my vocal chordsare coarse sandand silence.
Supernova WakeThey star-gazed in his brain(taking telescopes to lynching sanity)to see just how he breathed…how curtained eyes with lion’s maneconcealed inhaling pleas,which carefully fellfrom the shelter of paradox lipsand the crevices of chapped lies…how tombstones bled into his teeth—and heartbreak on his tongue—and how under the belly of manta ray skies,he laid to rest the dreamshe once did dare to dream.
In October.She is chameleons,bare-tree umbrellassomewhere beneathAutumn’s underbelly,beside once-remembered friendsof once-remembered pasts,falling fragmented in kitchen sinksand cleaning bottles,stillbreaking hearts for puzzles,stillbandaging wounds on tablesof answers without questions;and she is still unknowncome next October.
with the only apathy I could feign. You and I: makeshift souls of birdsong, because we’d only word-etched ribs and hearts incompatible with stillness. We’d breathe trust in parallel irises, just to see hope fall before ruin; darkness was learned better swords than opponents, and they stabbed as swift as sure. I and You: regretting in weeping, for love never learned to be held— for souls always seemed to be cracked by each stretching tongue of longing. Perhaps love is lost before it is found, and perhaps love stays lost to hearts gifted without the affinity for light; we were matches made in heaven, of hell’s most cruelest design… You and I, and I and you, forever longing to be whole.