7.09.18

He says that I have been making so many metaphors that I am starting to look like one.
I fall in love with those words, before asking for an example.
“Which metaphor am I becoming?”
And to my dismay, he can’t think of a single example.
It seems I’m always intrigued by the ones that say the right things,
but I’m also a sucker for things in writing:
the details.
Right now I am sitting in my car and wondering to myself:
Do I want someone who thinks of me as art
or
Do I want someone who makes me into art?

-the specifics

2.12.18

Red cherry romance
Red cherry realm
Red, I’m really ready
to ravish your realm.
I hold you by the stem
myself I overwhelm
I try not to taste
this ruby red gem:
Red gem,
Red berry,
Red blissful Cherry,
I say one thing
and mean the contrary.

So, tell me would it be a total waste,
to not divulge
in a little taste?
To not sink teeth into
Flesh I’ve known:
a flesh much sweeter
than my own
A flesh so ripe
holds nothing too new-
just a Red that is red
after a season so blue.

-the waiting game

12.05.17

Here it is Tuesday, December 5th,
perhaps it is where you are too.
Lately I’m not where you are.
I haven’t been paying much attention to calendar dates
or what time my head meets my pillow each night.
I say “Goodnight” but
I can’t claim I sleep at night-
unless night is just another word
for the start of an early-riser’s day.
You see,
I’ve been sleeping at 5am
and I only know this because you
have been too.
As far as I know we are together,
unless I know nothing.
But, if I know that I know nothing: that is still knowing something.
I know it’s raining outside
and you love the rain;
I wonder if you
love me like I love the rain.
If we were together 
I’d ask.

-paradox is your favorite word, right?

9.11.17

I remember little from when I was little.
You watched me grow.
You sure remember more about me than I do.
You tell me stories about myself and I listen intently,
discovering new things each time.
With every silly catch phrase and habit I once had,
I was me.
I was as me as I am now.
So I hear that I was shy and sweet.
I went through a stage where I referred to everything in the past
as “yesterday” even if it took place a few hours prior.
I ate pasta every day,
I didn’t share my feelings much,
And I had the biggest eyes:
eyes that took over most of my face.
Those eyes:
still mine,
still bigger than they should be,
but they once saw the world in a much different way:
a way I will never remember,
but you always will.
-Yesterday

8.19.17

Is it worth all the anguish-
worth all the trials,
worth every maybe
before ‘nother denial,
worth every sadness
and madness
that stays
and worth all the waiting-
heart-wrenching delays?
Is it worth the confusions, silence and wishing?
Because one day I won’t be missing
you.