Closer.

It is the dark
and I force us to have a heart-to-heart
because there is something about nightfall
that makes my mouth
want to spill like a sieve
and your lips have no intention
of becoming a dam
to stop me.

It is the dark
and I am telling you about
how I might creep you out
and you bled me dry
and I had nothing
after  you had
up and left.
And I don’t expect you to apologize for this.
And you don’t.

But when I tell you
I know you won’t hurt me,
you agree.
And it’s that small reassurance.
that I haven’t been lying when I told others this,
that unleashes every hold on me
that believes I have to be my
caged self in front of you

so I come pouring forth,
rushing river,
and you take me in stride,
silent like every rock
that splits the water

and I didn’t get a chance to tell you
but I thank you for it,
I love you for it.

It is the dark,
and, sitting next to you,
I am who I am,
nothing more
nothing less
and I am content.

“The Witching Hour”

I sat by your side
and wrote about your shaking hands
while you spoke
about a project
that normalizes “otherness”.

You put your arm around me
and I lay my head against your shoulder
and I wonder why this world
makes you fight,
makes you explain
what makes you, you
and how it can be acceptable to them.

You rub your thumb against the back of my hand
and I don’t even have to think about fighting
for you,
don’t even have to second guess that the circus
is the world we already live in,
and if anything,
you’re the one with the top hat,
smiling in the middle of three rings.

I could watch you forever.
Listen to the way
you become passionate under a spotlight,
speak a world into being
so others can glimpse for a second
what you actually are:
my favorite kind of magic.

Are you lonesome tonight

and do you curl up on your side
the same way I do?
Know then that I am made
for you,

two apostrophes
to become quotation marks
telling our stories

two apron strings
hastily tied
so we are ready when we make a mess

two heads bowed
foreheads pressed
when we ask for grace

two mouthes
meeting once, twice
learning to share breath

Two persons
becoming one someday,
but for now

one head
on one pillow
dreaming about
them both.

Afterglow

I want a love
that feels like being sated;
where I am warm and sleepy happy,
but don’t need the sweet ache.

I curl myself into a comma
at night and pretend the covers
that cocoon me are instead
somebody holding me tight.

Tonight
my neck aches
and I miss the way fingers
used to massage me
in places I never knew were sore,
in places I’d never been
worshipped before

So give me a new one:
I want a love
that feels like the afterglow,
minus the hands.
A love I can sink into
soft and sure,

a love where physical
isn’t a necessity,
but a neck rub
will give me just as much
pleasure.

It only took me 22 to years to not fear.

If you were the person I need you to be, you would be here now. I would tell you how they burned down a mosque in Texas and that my heart is breaking and what I believe and those who stand for it are the same people who burnt down a place of worship.

See, if you were the person God wanted for me, I would tell you how I know I’m not meant to have children anytime soon because I refuse to raise babies in a time where this man is our president.

If you were the person that I dreamed you up to be, you would tell me everything that could calm me down and maybe you’d believe in prayer for a second and pray for this place with me, pray for our nation and this devastating power that has it ceased.

Prayer for our leader to be surrounded by Godly men and women, pray for him to know Christ and how the God I worship is a God of peace. How my God does not shun those who leave but calls them back and welcomes them with open arms, freely.

This is not a love poem.

This is an outcry of me wanting to make a change in a world where injustice is happening right inside our doors and I have no power to do anything.

If you were the man I fell in love with three years ago…That’s not even correct. More and more as I draw closer to God, as I rever being alone, I realize who I fell in love with was only a dream. I felt heartbreak at the thought of being lonely & you left me and there was nobody.

And yes I wrote it out. And yes there was so much on the point of obsession and yes, I don’t 100% regret it, because it was coping, because it made me who I am, even if I still fall for the same kind of man.

But you see, I am alone right now. I am breaking at the thought of our country’s future and yet I am dreaming and chasing goals that I can reach without the distraction of you and know that He will take care of me.

As tragedy strikes and you’re not here to calm the nerves, I know, more than ever, I’m where God wants me and needs me to be.

Take My Hand

Run with me,
not away from the pain,
not to some promised bliss,
but into the belly of this beast,
this present churning thing,
this changing of me
from self hating
and you, the aching,
into something that slightly resembles glory.

When the monster roars,
I will not give up on you.
Even if it swallows us alive,
I would rather go down, feet flying
then to be devoured standing still.

Run with me
even if we don’t end up
as glowing beings.
Run with me even if we have the skid marks
of shooting stars across our backs
and barely grazed the moon.

Run with me,
because though the future isn’t certain,
this will one day be memory.
Run with me,
because we both know it takes
being beaten in order to feel again.

Quiet Joy

You:
synonym for elation.
Cloud nine’s embrace.

With you,
I got myself so rattled
I couldn’t sleep,
and when I saw you
it was better than any
dream.

The hype,
is that I make you out
to be something
better than what you were.
I forget the ghosting
and the crap poetry
and I wonder what
you see when you
look at me.

Was I supposed to be a casual fling?

Was I supposed to want you back
without considering
the personal growth
and contrast three years can bring?

And I’m not saying
we’re meant to be.
Though there was a time
when I thought that.

I’m saying
every moment spent with you,
every text,
FaceTime,
adventure
left me on a personal high
and over the moon
happy.

I’m trying not to make you the standard.
I’m trying to accept that I can be full of
joy
without seeing you,
messaging you,
knowing you any better than before.

I’m trying to get rid of your memory.
Because when I remember
the heart speeding ecstasy of spending
a day with you,
I don’t realize the moments when I’m alone,
writing,
when you’re turned into yet another poem,
I look at what my life is
and I am happy.

Even without you knowing it.