We were never completely in sync. You were the lightning and I was the thunder: always right behind you, never quite fast enough.

you never walked next to me

Even When You’re Here

language fails to express
the most profound darknesses of the heart–
the small cracks between the fertile soil of the
soul where only God goes.
There is no one where I am,
seeing through these eyes or
hearing through these ears, or
feeling the darkness in my stomach.
In all that I am,
I am utterly, darkly, alone.

You Only Stayed While You Were High

You rolled me up
and lit me on fire.
You kept me burning
until I dissolved in the
wind and collapsed
into ash–until
I was small enough
to pinch between your fingers;
my ebbing embers smothered on
your skin.

Space Boy

you were my space boy.
i didn’t see that you were light
years away because i was
transfixed by the nebulas in
your eyes.

you were my space boy.
i didn’t mind that your kisses
came through the arms of
reaching stars, because they
tasted like the Milky Way.

you were my space boy.
it didn’t matter to me that you
only touched me with your fingertips,
because I loved hearing about
what the earth looked like
through your helmet.

you were my space boy, but
i tried to ignore the fact that
there wasn’t room for me in
your shuttle–
that all those stars must make
my eyes seem so dim.

you were my space boy, but
it is hard to love
a space boy when there are
heavens between
infinity and earth.

Winter’s Kiss

There are strawberry fields between your knuckles
that crack and bleed when you close your fist.
But you won’t wear gloves, you won’t wear mittens;
you say you love the winter’s kiss.

Even when the rest of the world has hidden
underneath the frosty snow and ice,
you stand outside with your arms wide open
and tilt your head up towards the sky.

Though your hands and legs are red and numb
and the snow and sleet begin to fall
you won’t come in until you’re frozen
because then you cannot feel at all.

I walked away from her believing I’d never be enough; I walked away from him knowing I deserved more.

i’m learning that i deserve someone who deserves me

Small Little Rocks

souvenirs from where i’ve
consumed.
sometimes they pile up and
build little homes inside me.
sometimes i can unclench
long enough to throw them
back into the water.

4/24/1915

i think I was born with
the taste of their blood in my mouth;
their story intertwined with mine
long before i was old enough
to start writing it.

the word genocide
passed down through generations–
an unwanted inheritance
laying heavy on our lips and
etched into the lines on
our palms.

a word small enough to hold
in the palms of your
hands holds the history
of a nation.
a word comprised of the lives
of 1.5 million, written in sets of
footprints in desert sands.

we are a people defined
by genocide.
we are the generations born
from the blood spilled before
us– a people who will fight to
have their history
bloom bloody red
with a stem of thorns.

their battle,
their blood, their lives
are now ours.
There is no their.
We are our.

Look where you want to go, not where you’re afraid to go.

my dad told me this when i was learning to ride my bike and i always chant it to myself when i’m anxious

Letter To My Future Self

When did you stop singing

in the shower?

When did you stop dancing in front of the mirror

in your underwear?

When did you stop being amazed

as colors melted into the evening sky? Or upon seeing

the stars peek out from behind the night?

When did you stop jumping in puddles and

catching snowflakes on your tongue

and eyelashes?

At what point did people stomp on your feet

so hard

that you no longer dreamt

of flying?