We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe.
In your arms I forget what the yarn knows of sweaters. I forget how to hold myself together. So if I unfold now like a love letter tell me you’ll write back soon. Tell me you’ll still come untethered.
The holy have done more damage to this world than the devil ever could.
We all have bullets beneath our skin we pray our lovers won’t flinch at when they find.
Every lover is a storm chaser. Every good heart has lost its roof.
We’re boxed in and labeled before we’re ever able to speak who we believe we are or who we dream we’ll become.
Say this is what the pain made of you: an open, open, open road, an avalanche of feel it all.
To think, a sweater, is made entirely of knots. My stomach could clothe a village.
Do you know they found land mines in woman’s souls.
But whatever However Whenever this ends I want you to know That right now I love you forever.
Autumn is the hardest season. The leaves are all falling, and they’re falling like they’re falling in love with the ground.
Touch me ’til my ribs become piano keys, ’til there is sheet music scrolled across the inside of my lungs.
When your heart is broken, you plant seeds in the cracks and pray for rain.
But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back. There is no bruise like the bruise loneliness kicks into your spine.
I don’t believe we’re hateful. I think mostly we’re just asleep, but the math adds up the same.
My heart is still a leather jacket I am waiting to give to someone sweet.
Yesterday i carved your name into the surface of an ice cube then held it against my chest til it melted into my aching pores today i cried so hard the neighbors knocked on my door and asked if I wanted to borrow some sugar.
I am wrong more often than i am writing and even then i am often wrong.
We have to create; it is the only thing louder than destruction.
I’ve written this poem before but always through a window, never through an open door.