Coping Still

And if I had stayed,
I'm not entirely sure where I'd be coming
home to.
If your lap would become rest stop
for my head,
would your fingers travel through my hair
a map made by tangles, the way they did
the first night I kissed you?

Were we really like that once?

And if I had stayed,
would that home be welcoming?
Would I not miss you the way I do now,
except be physically closer?
Would you leave the sound of lasers and
boss levels to stay with me until I slept?

But I didn't stay.
And lately I miss you more than less.
But I don't regret leaving,
because in the process,
I reclaimed myself.

So I'll stay lonely.
And the questions can remain unanswered.
It hurts, but it's truly for the best.

Star-Gazing

Tell me what the hood of your truck feels like.
I think i want to melt into warm metal.
I think I want to look at the stars so much
that my love for constellations
causes them to tremble.
I think I want the sky to fall on me.

Tell me that that is a kind of love.

See us sitting in a field,
flannel blanket amidst wild flowers.
You murmur about life’s imperfections and I laugh a garden.
We entwine under an indigo sky
and there are vines connecting with pinpoints of life.
I think I want to root into earth.
I think I want the soil to take our fingerprints
twist our DNA
until we are nothing more than dandelion fluff
and children are wishing on the fantasy of us.

Tell me that that is a sign of blooming.

Tell me we can be something
under a dark sky
amidst swaying stems.
Tell me that summer is more than just “I think”
and “are wishing”.
Show me more than
“kinds” and “signs.”

Promise me
that we, too, can be wonderful.

It’s a Given

It’s got to be summer.
The windows are down.
“Chicken Fried”
or “Brown Eyed Girl”
or something that is
irrevocably
warm, wind-in-air
plastered smiles,
hands raised through a
sun roof
good
is playing off the radio.

This is my version,
so we’re driving down the Causeway.
And the reeds are whipping
to and fro
and your fingers are locked with mine
hand is raised to your lips,
because you know I like that.
And you let me sing,
you smile when I dance in the passenger seat.

We hit the bridge
the same time as the chorus.
I look out over the river
I’ve grown up
and around
and between from
and thank God for the marshland.
Thank God for the tiny hometown
where I spent summers feeding ducks,
writing on the porch swing,
letting the sun kiss me in all the places
you will touch so tenderly.

And when we reach the curb at my mom-mom’s,
you walk around the car,
open my door
and start singing to me,
as I lead you down the street,
past my church,
holding your hand,
taking you through my childhood,
enjoying a summer day,
realizing love can be
warm, no traffic,
fireflies at the first sign of dusk,
laughter in the
moon light
good.

GSA:

God had a reason for you coming back into my life: some kind of life lesson. Even if it wasn’t what I hoped for.

 Even if we are left farther from each other than we were before.

Maybe this time is to let the illusion of you go. Maybe this time is knowing you don’t want me when you could easily have me and realizing

I deserve so much more.

Future Realities

“Lovely”
like a stain on your lips
that doesn’t come from kisses.
Like the first ray of sunshine
that signals spring.
Like believing this life is not the end,
like hoping for bliss.
Like kindness.

“Lovely”
like a sugar rush.
Like constant laughter
running like light
through an open floor plan.
Like children falling to the floor,
rolling on their backs and giggling.
Like sanded furniture.
Like wild flowers,
fresh flowers
springing from every crevice.

“Lovely”
like silence,
like an honest promise,
one that’s kept.
Like moments where it is you
and God
and the birds singing on the window
ledge,
and maybe you’re in that townhouse
or that cottage
but you’re smiling easier
and in awe of the littlest of things
like the way ice cube press together,
share space with tea
with citrus
with everything that represents simplicity.

“Lovely”
like possibility.
Like this life you’re living,
like what the future could hold.

“Lovely”
like waking up
and realizing
this world
is your dream.

When the “Best” Comes Pt. 1

It will be something simple like:
we will dance
in the kitchen,
and I’ll be cooking something edible.
And you will hold me from behind
still swaying to the music playing off
of whatever medium it comes through.
Our shoes will be kicked off
and the table will be set
and there will be a vase full of
lily of the valleys or hydrangeas
or peonies
and from the window,
light will stream in.
I will sit across from you
in our dining room,
we will join hands and
thank God for the food,
for this life,
for everything that aligned
just the way He wanted it, too.

Dear Future Love,

You have
five o’clock shadow
like sunset on your jawline,
like constellations peppering your chin in moonlight,
like letting the morning kiss your skin
and hairs stand on end
just so when your face brushes mine
it burns in a way
that I grow to like.

Because it’s not a forest fire kind of love,
it’s something subtle
and natural
like waking up to a new start,
a way to change yourself between
cleanliness
and grit.
Like we may never be perfect,
but our bed head and morning breath
is entirely worth it.

And God knows,
the last thing we need is
another love poem,
but let me say,
because of you
and what you will show me,
this love will be,
this world is
a more beautiful place.