Stop Forgetting

look up and inhale
there is water in the sky
and the rain on your skin
is growing mossy roots

try not to squander
the green of your breath

you will not be here forever

This Is Not A Love Poem

my skin is still laced with
mirror shards
from the day I lost
the fight
with the bile I had been
choking down

I can be hard like
dragon scales
and I will never let you
love me
as darkly, deeply as I
hate myself

so go ahead, I
dare you
watch me cut and drag
myself apart
and try to tell me you still
want me

(I will not believe you for a second
 I am rolling in the muck of my self-loathing
 and I would rather die than bathe)

Something At First Sight

they did not
ignite

nor did they fall
from some precipice
to their exquisite demise

they merely
breathed
for the first time
in years

Fireflies

I have watched lightning bugs dance at dusk
have seen them burn out every other moment
and relight themselves without fail
singeing holes in the blue twilight
encouraging other insects
to follow suit
and shine

I have invited a thousand fireflies
to congregate across my skin
because I no longer feel dull inside
and I would like my body
to glow as brightly as the space
between my ribcage and
my spine

I have decided it is a noble thing
to bring light to the darkness
no matter how small the beam
no matter how soft the gleam

What He Cannot Take From You

he pinned you like
a butterfly
to canvas walls

and you plinked
against glass
like a firefly in a jar

your wings are
wet
with the oil
of his expectations

so use your many legs
to crawl
over his eyes

sprout a stinger
and fence him with it

show him you are not
insect-small
anymore

A Promise To Do Better

I am tired
of breaking blood vessels
I am tired
of mending bones

I will not be your savior
I will not be your destroyer

come to me
cracked
but not crushed

let us sway
side-by-side

only Time
can tell our story

I will no longer be
the beginning
nor the end
of anyone

The Exquisite Burn of Hoping But Not Having

this is not about lust

this is about blood
beating in my fingertips
as I do not reach for you

and you are
awarding me the exquisite
burn of hoping, but
not having

you are not required to trust me

because you have already given
too much away
to too many
leeches

and I cannot imagine
asking
anything more of you

this is not about taking

this is about writing your stories
into songs
about the bruises on your hands
and on your heart

and about your resilience, because

we are not unhappy endings
we are not warning signs
we are not cautionary tales

we are a thousand blazing funeral pyres
banishing shadows and turning death into warmth

we are the shattered glass
and we are the mosaic

so this is not
about lust

this is about showing you
the you that I see

and showing you the me
that I am sketching to life
with cracks and smudges
and golden arms for holding
and wholeness in my eyes

and you are not required to love me

and something new is blooming

and I can hope
without wanting
to have

(and all of this can be
 true
 at once)