my love

faint lines traced by fingers soothed by lies and aloe vera they spell out my failure touched by an angel or cursed by lightening  spending my life on lightening oils and creams when they get angry and red stretching my patience and my confidence thinner and thinner oh to be thinner how beautiful would that be yet here they remain a constant reminder  that i used to be bigger my thighs thicker and stomach softer than right now fear penetrates through me the desire to keep proving that i can lose it and be wonderful i couldn't possibly keep it and be wonderful that's impossible to me yet maybe one day i shall see them as lovely tiger stripes earned in a lifetime  proof that i have existed loved and grown my body moving with me wherever i may go

i'd never seen them so clearly the freckles on my skin felt weather-beaten upon their first meeting in the very early evening with the brightest stars in the sky, walking for miles with reason just the desire to keep going fresh air slowing my breathing as my mind races freely writing love-letters i'll never send stories without end i could hardly comprehend the beauty of it all the feeling of being small yet a part of something bigger these walks began to trigger something inside me not sure what it was exactly but i wish i could spend an eternity walking in faux safety underneath the blanket of the sky that gives me the freedom to cry and dream away from others judging eyes it makes the time go faster a temporary plaster to bigger problems set aside but i can't stop thinking that after this endless sleeping and struggling those stars are awaiting my return

and i wonder if we lay there a little while longer you looking into my eyes for what felt like the first time you'd have seen the things i wanted to say floating around inside my brain because none of them could find their way through my lips and off my tongue stuck in the back of my throat and i choked every time i tried to say something you'd want to hear maybe in reality my greatest fear was that nothing i'd ever say was what you'd want to hear at any time or any place so with my hand still resting on your face for maybe the last time i'll kiss you instead so all the thoughts inside my head will remain the things i left unsaid but maybe you felt them just for a second i'll allow myself to pretend

i could never keep a journal or a diary anything with a beginning a middle and an end whose lines must consist of reality facts without a shred of uncertainty it all felt far too grandiose to think my life was worth writing let alone reading as all diaries ultimately are by stranger or by lover to be critiqued and compared to inspire yet i could never get the words out the voice was never my own i spoke as anyone other than myself anyone more interesting captivating groundbreaking in contemplating than me, a third person who remains a mystery is it not enough to write impulsively? on emotion on accident in haste and in love letting feelings rise above the un-writable normalities for a poem written in a moment of passion or foolishness, of despair and of hate will last generations longer even if just for an hour at a time every time these poems are not just mine they're in everyone i just write and write and write them once in a while a journa...

i don't usually write anything before my poems, but i thought this deserved a comment. this was intended to be a prose piece but i'm usually incapable of coherent thoughts and decided to just keep writing until i'd said everything i wanted to say. i'm finding lockdown is hard and i just wanted to talk about it. so here's some poetic prose spring is fleeting yet eternal. we are constantly waiting for its arrival. it arrives loudly and leaves quietly. cherry blossoms are encapsulating and overbearing and gone within days but for two weeks the earth is decorated with dancing pink silhouettes stretching across the sky. the relief from winter and the prerequisite for summer, spring works hard to bring the earth back to life. i think spring started not long ago yet i have hardly seen it from the smallness of my window. an appreciation for my garden has inexplicably grown as high and strong as the flowers climbing the bricks of my home, without it i might have never ha...

please i want so badly for the good things to happen sweet Sylvia i'm trapped in your jar looking unto the world from afar the glass so thick it's like i'm oceans apart from these good things you dream so much about, the fig tree is falling and dropping at my feet i'm surrounded by decaying fruit yet every person that i meet is gorging savoring on ripe opportunity theirs for the taking as i continue to starve to death of my own making, give me something i'm suffocating on the smell of fresh linen and warm air queer and sultry perhaps flowers will grow over me, like a lavender field in the country i deserve a spring and a summer and another and another and another so the good things can finally happen i will not succumb to the jar and the heat Sylvia one day we shall eventually meet and i will tell you about the good things that you never got to see

the sky is a lovely shade of lilac and i want to sleep this year has been an eternity i've lived a lifetime within its weeks despite it being march my friends are few and far apart separated  by distance and disease  and immense uncertainty  the sun is shining almost tauntingly with the knowledge we cannot enjoy it in each-others company  we're in quarantine  self-isolation and social distancing words not in my vocabulary until the start of last week yet now their meanings consume me they are our new reality for an unforeseeable future and all the phone calls and texts and pictures we've shared from gardens and bedrooms none of it will compare to the day we're reunited under this vast blue sky holding onto each other tightly  with such happiness we'll cry but until then i shall be content  with hearing your voices on the phone and your face through grainy filters  from the safety of my home flower...