my words have energy

Let
My
Words
Create
Galaxies
In
Your
Heart.

love

love.

the nutrients that fuel

my every being,

pulling me closer to the

sunlight

on the dark days.

even when I feel alone,

I feel as though

love is still holding on to me.

grasping my hips,

holding my hand.

the maiden name

of my ancestors.

my destiny.

what I walk towards

every morning when

the sun whispers over my skin,

and the sound of birds

bury themselves inside of my

ears. 

beautiful.

love makes everything beautiful.

even the dirty things,

getting your toes muddy,

having your eyes 

covered in 

salt water.

still beautiful.

I've learned that love

is the very meaning

of my existence.

The very thing that

takes me out of the physical world

and puts my words

my spirit.

in the hearts of others.

distance

Distance was the best teacher for me,
about you.
And though you’re far away,
I constantly feel close,
to you.

lovers in a broken city

he considered me a
beautiful catastrophe,
a city
that built itself up
and let itself fall
over and over again.
we described my mind
as the most intricate
architecture.
he became my favorite
late night phone call.
my favorite
only distant lover.
he was a transfusion,
that would flow through
my veins,
explaining his need
to be there.
he was different,
and he needed nothing more,
but to show his
genuine intentions,
and he received love.
he wanted to grasp
he wanted to understand
what made my skin crawl,
what made my knees weak,
what made rain fall from my eyes.
he wanted to understand how
the sun set every night,
into darkness,
and rose again
in the morning,
as strong and beautiful as before.
he wanted to walk with me.

welcome morning

i like the mornings after
painful nights
the most.
my soul likes to listen,
heal,
and repair itself
while i am deep in slumber.
i'm thankful that my heart
likes to piece itself
back together peacefully.

forgetfulness

Your name is another collection of letters
in the alphabet I learned when I was younger.
It no longer forms a specific word to me,
nothing special,
just a cluster of letters
that will be forgotten as soon
as I rest my bags at the door
and start a midday snack.
Comfort.
Because when we were young,
we weren't confined to our
memories of the
hurt,
the boy that picked on us,
the girl that had the "cooties".
By the time the day was over,
we only had our future dreams.
Your name is just another nightmare
in the past,
another thing I'll forget as I rise
in the morning.

i happy you

i happy you,

is that possible?

is it possible for you

to emit a happy.

for happy to be a verb.

like love, 

it makes you feel good,

makes me smile.

when i happy you,

i want you around more,

i want you to feel 

the joy that i am trying

to shed onto your shoulders.

leaving you awake at night,

smiling,

because you have been kissed

with happiness. 

i want you to fall asleep

when you need more rest

because i happy you.

i value you.

i desire your happiness.

your happy 

makes me happy.

your happy requires my patience.

my happy requires your patience.

understanding.

maybe happy is the cousin

of the strong drug of love,

but i think happy is much stronger. 

i feel much more intertwined

with your heart

when i happy you. 

i love you,

but i want to happy you, more. 

watch how love lights up when you bring spring into the winter

to love someone else,
unconditionally,
asking for little to nothing in return,
is giving someone a handful of
their favorite spring flowers
in the middle of a snowy winter.

i love you like the sun

you are my favorite kind of love,
one that reflects
the brightest,
sweetest
parts of me.

insomnia

I forgot how beautiful things were
at three oclock in the morning
when the lights shine too bright
and the streets are silent.
The beauty in feeling someone's
scent brush against yours,
seeping in spots
you didn't know were there.
The whisper of words
from an unfamiliar voice
that feels too much like
home.
Everything is so beautiful,
so honest.
The whispers become honesty.
The caress of a finger,
the grasp of a hand.
The feeling of not knowing
what the next step is,
but feeling exactly what
you know you need to feel
at.
that.
moment.
and for a second that's all that matters.
those 3 a.m.
memories.

Tired

You’re still stuck in my head,
and my god,
I’m getting bored with
the fact that my mind has become a
slave to the
“thought” of us.
of me. and. you.
like you were the only river connected to the sea
and I, just could not get enough of your scent.
how you touched me like I was
the last soft thing in the world,
and you couldn’t just wait to indulge in my soul.
and I can’t get over
how your mouth feels on mine.
 I gave myself, so openly,
so freely, raw
like I didn’t previously build up every wall possible
a lock without a key
like I didn’t want to taste any other man,
except the king that I was supposed to love.
and you brought those walls down.
there is no other one that can open me up
 like you.
I can’t get rid of you
the trees
                              the stars
                                                            the sun
they all whisper your name.
and early in the morning,
when not even the birds are awake,
it makes me sick.
you, you make me sick.
I just can’t fathom that you
might not want me
like I want you.
and I secretly hope that I could get drunk off of your scent,
and you can get high off of my love,
and we can balance out our lows,
sort out all of the puzzle pieces
we thought would break us.
stumbling over each other’s feet.
 you’ll fall back into my gaze,
the one that won’t even last five seconds
                              now.
and you come as quickly as I cry,
and you go,
as easily as
you make me cum.
and fuck, I mean I crave you in me
even when you act like you don’t
need
me,
like you didn’t fall in love with me too.
you’re like a bad spell, a good spell,
and you can’t tell how I feel,
(cause lets be real, I don’t know how I feel)
and you took out a piece of me,
the same way one took the forbidden apple
off of the tree.
you left me bare
and I can’t find anyone
who mentally intoxicates me like you do, taking my existence.
my breath comes so easily
with you.
and I am tired of writing
poem
after poem about you,
and having dream after dream
about you
about someone making you their home,
like MY heart doesn’t still sit so deep within you,
waiting on your front porch
for a cool breeze that may never come.
and I’ve waited and I’ve waited, and I’ve waited
I cannot take, how the love of my life
how I might not be the love of his.
you were so delectable
and we were so beautiful.
and I can’t figure out how to keep my heart from hurting,
while I wait for the moon to show.