Tag: love poem

My Name Never Really Fit On Your Lips Anyway.

Your grand plans 
reflected in your irises but
your mind was never here
with me. 

You only knew how to
listen with your ears, so
when I spoke with
my eyes, I could scream and still
not be heard. 

Your hands were frantic–always
moving, always reaching, always
grabbing– for something in the future.
You zig-zagged across 
stepping stones. 

You wanted to crown everything
on your to-do list, and my name
was at the bottom. So
I will check myself off for you,
my dear, because
my name does not belong buried
at the base of your toy chest. 

Two In One

I knew the lonely parts of your heart. 
They were my campgrounds
when my walls began to burn and
the ash and smoke threatened
to suffocate me beneath my
crumbling ribcage. 

When it was winter in my heart, 
and my veins became 
frozen red rivers, 
you always had a fire going
in yours. 
I would huddle inside the 
crevices between
your atriums and swim in your
bloodstream until I, too, was red
underneath your skin. 

I Tried Not To Sink, But I Ended Up Drowning

Saying I love you was never a question.
It was the answer
to the way your fingers fit perfectly
between mine.

It was the pause where I knew
it belonged
every time we said goodbye.

It was the way I laughed
instead of rolling my eyes
when you’d fart under the covers, and
the way doing the dishes together was just as fun
as the actual party.

I love you.

It would run out of my mouth
without me thinking,
just like love is.

Without thinking.

Without blinking.

Without sinking. 

You Break It, You (Don’t) Buy It

I. She was a wide-eyed wonder with 
   a virgin neck of porcelain. 
   Her body did not know what it was like
   to be dropped on the concrete. 

II. You’d put her in your pocket
    while you walked, wrapped
    in bubble wrap and styrofoam, and
    only exposed her
    when you needed the time. 
    But you’d always wrap her up again; 
    you could never be too careful. 

III. All this 
    wrapping and unwrapping has become
    tedious, and your
    fingerprints are fogging up her eyes
    anyway, so maybe there’s
    no point. 

IV. You walk with her in your palm; swinging
     your arms to 
     the rhythm of her breath. 
     She’s covered 
     in stickers and flower 
     thorns. 

V. She slips from your fingers and
    hits the ground. 
    Shards of her veins
    explode on the pavement. 
    Her eyes glaze over–sticky
    with your fingerprints. 
    Her neck is covered in 
    blossoming violets and roses
    you willed to bloom with 
    your breath. 
    Her hands are
    cold and cracked. 

VI. She is too far
     beyond repair, 
     and all you know how to do
     is destroy. 

VII.You step on her and
     walk away.