Forgotten

the sun goes down so quickly these days
there is something safer under the moon
the sun is too loud, music is too bright
I have become a shadow myself

and I have preached a thousand sermons
on how it is easier to sit in the darkness
than adjust to the light of day
but I cannot open my own eyes

that is my greatest secret
I whisper it to myself when I am alone
protect it and hate it and nurture it
I have even forgotten how to pray

and I push so hard at the people I love
and I dare them to leave me and I wait
to be proven right, as if the validation
will cure any hope I had left

I do not blame you for getting tired
of watching me fall against the pavement
you would think I could pick myself up by now
instead, I embrace the concrete like an old friend

I suppose I have un-learned an important skill
over the years, and I cannot remember what it is

the sensation is something akin to drowning
and having forgotten which direction to swim for air

The First Poem Written for You

you think that you are not the kind of woman who inspires poems
you said that no one has ever written for you before
but that is only because you are difficult to fit on a single page
you have inspired novels in me, stories I have yet to tell
you have written music without knowing it
the muses must be flushed with envy
for you are a force of nature

and it is not your fault
that you have not yet found a man
who can hold the depths of you in his arms
you are wider than oceans and you are fierce and beautiful
you were never small, and some men are too fearful to love you
more than they love their own safety
it is not your fault that the world tried to bend you
and keep you tucked away in corners
it is not your fault that they called you names
and it is not your fault that you believed them

I know what you see when you look at yourself
but mirrors only do what they are told
and yours has lied to you for years now
the last thing you need is another frame around your edges
you have never been a straight line or a right angle
there are fireflies under your tongue and there is electricity in your eyes
you are a mass of swirling stars and a rush of river water
your glow is real and it is warm
and a mirror is ill-equipped to show it

so go and hunt down what you love about yourself
it will be hard to see at first, but your feet will find the path
gather up your best features like stones
and keep them in your pockets to pull out on bad days
speak largely and fearlessly and be vulnerable
breathe in your apprehension and do not let it stop you
keep walking, keep searching, even in the shadowed places
sometimes the things we hide are the most valuable
remember to hold your own hand when you are lonely
wrap your arms around yourself and love your own skin
you deserve to feel wanted and seen and you deserve room to breathe
you deserve to know what you look like in the light
you deserve to know how beautiful you are

Unthread

I am peeling back the layers of you
that I wore like a coat for so long:
the tattoos we never got together
the look on my mother's face
when I showed her the ring you gave me
you are fading and I am fine

I am surviving, I am starting
to make promises to my own ears
and circling back through the sky
only this time you are not my falconer
I have found new ways to love myself
I no longer need you to do it for me

you waited for me to need you, I know
you did -- you wanted to darken my sun
to create an eclipse so that all I saw at dawn
was a shadow of what I'd been missing
but, in truth, you were never quite tall enough
to block out the daylight

and we existed in the dark places anyway
my blood on the bathroom rug and my loneliness
the times you left me alone, trying my best
to bury myself alive in the bedsheets
I suppose I should have seen you then
you were the life raft, but you were the storm

it has taken time to unthread your stitches in my skin
the words you wrote to keep me quiet, the names
I called myself because you taught me how
yes, you wanted me to need you, but I cannot
be small enough for you to hold any longer
I do not think I ever was

101.

something in the curls you keep
takes me back a few chapters
I am too willing, too willing

never once have I played anything
not a piano, not a game, not hard to get
not when it comes to girls like you

I have been foolish-young, hoodwinked
but I am waking up in your sheets
with eyes clear of old pain

we can wait and we can be friends
I am not in love, love relax
but I wanted to write for you

it seems like the least I can do
for the wine and the conversation
and the relief in my lungs

no, you are not a savior
but you are beautiful
and I can save myself

Bruises Ghosts

you are something made of glass
dyed and placed in smoke
positioned perfectly to catch the light
glinting sunrays off your skin
you are a mirage

only now do I see
(through) you

melodies grasp at wisps
of your memory and threaten
to bring you back to me
to pull the cracks of you back
to my edges

only now do I know
it was always fog and mirrors

what I thought was skin
was not skin, and the heart
I gave did truly bleed and break
but when I miss you, what I miss
was only ever stage magic 

only now do I feel
the bruises ghosts can leave

100.

it's a gamble, it always is
standing in wet cement and waiting
for you to pull me out

you are the young one and I
should not count on you

midnight soaks my eyes in ink
and I make lists as I sit
counting the lessons I've lost

nothing sticks like it ought to
I should remember to forget

at the end of the day
we all carry mudslides on our shoulders
we all carry someone else's luggage

I am tired but I would be
your bag boy if you let me