me

I am combination of demons,
blended in with the most beautiful
flowers.
I am a thunderstorm,
on a summer day.
Don't let me
destroy you
with love.

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.

do you understand loyalty

you had me in the
palm of your hands, but you thought
hurting me was fine.

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.

recovery intertwined with relapse

just when I think that
the world has stopped spinning
too fast for me to catch my breath,
and the sea has slowed down
so I can stop drowning
in its salty arms,
I get washed over
by a wave of
frustration,
anxiety,
despair,
and I have to learn to crawl again,
to the sand,
so I can rest.

children understand love better than i do

I wanna love you innocently,
with no history,
like a kid.
wrapped up in your arms
until my heart feels safe again.

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.