Tag: love

i can always find home
in a well-lived soul. 
i want to wrap myself in a blanket
cocoon and fall asleep on
an old couch that devours me the way
your arms do. 

i want to curl up on 
your broken-in body and
read the stories in your scars; 
i want to read every damn book
on the shelf. 
i want you to tell me stories about all 
the different places you collected 
the wisdom in your eyes. 

i can find home in you 
like my favorite sandals: the ones with
my footprints molded in, the ones with
creases at the bends of my 
feet, the ones with
creases at the corners of your
eyes when you smile.

you are my home address: living in a box with a barbie is boring // a.s.m

i don’t want to lose this
but don’t know what to say
to make you believe that
i want you
to stay.

i know i’m not very good with words, but please look into my eyes and feel that the love i have for you is real. // a.s.m

I’ve always had strong sea legs and 
a need for perpetual motion.
When I was young I’d stand at the edge
of my father’s boat
and let the waves sway me as they
kissed the hull. The ocean’s child,
she’d rock me to sleep
with sea foam kisses and promises
of serenity.

And when I walked
on the solid ground that
nailed my feet into this planet like a crucifix,
I’d hear no promises of the ocean’s serenity.
I’d put my ear to sea shells just to hear her
whispers, but
I could no longer fall asleep at night, no
matter how much
I rocked myself to and fro.

But last night, as I lay
my ear to your chest, I heard
promises of peace
in the ebb and flow of
your breath. I saw the calm to come
after the storm I have become, and I think
I’ve been waiting my whole life for the ocean
to find me through you.
The way you hold me and rock me like
the waves do;
after years of insomnia, I finally fell asleep.

i’ve been waiting my whole life for the ocean to find me through you. // a.s.m

I am so tired of having to try so hard to make you happy, only to lose myself in the process.

If I cannot make you happy simply by breathing, perhaps I cannot make you happy at all.

if you really loved me, i wouldn’t have to try so hard to make you happy: a person who loves you will be overjoyed simply because you are alive // a.s.m

You were only
the second person
I understood how to love. 
I was naive– I still hadn’t learned
that love isn’t
bleeding out onto the card table
and showing everyone your hand;
that in order to win, 
you had to bluff.

And I came in like a hurricane and
tore apart the small space
you had just started feeling like you could call home. 
I asked for a room– you weren’t sure
you had any.

But I made myself a copy
of your keys and slept
at the foot of your bed until 
you finally started leaving
extra eggs in the frying pan for me
in the mornings. 
But you never were one for routine. 

You were a runner,
you said. You didn’t like to stay still. 
You could find home within yourself but
were too scared to rent out property
in anybody else. 

I told you I was looking 
for a tenant. 

When I finally started making an indent
in your mattress, 
you locked me out. 

‘It’s too risky,’ you said, 
‘this real estate game.’

i just wanted you to want me, too // a.s.m

My therapist once told me that overcoming an addiction is a daily battle: I will always crave a cigarette on my lunch breaks, and I will always instinctively reach for a razor blade when life is on overdrive. Every day is a war with my mind to not give in to itself. I wonder if it’s going to be like that with you, too. I wonder if every day I will fight not to pick up the phone just so I can hear your voice.

people are drugs, too // a.s.m

Loving someone who doesn’t love you back in the same way is a suffering unlike any other. Every minute in their presence is a reminder of what you are not, what you never will be: enough for them. And in the process of loving them, you end up hating yourself.

don’t you know this is why i had to leave? // a.s.m

She was always so animated when she talked. You could stare at her for hours, observing the way she used her hands when she was excited, or how her eyebrows would furrow and wrinkle when she was deep in thought. Her face was a poem you knew by heart.

But her eyes– there was something about her eyes– the way they darted and fluttered like a bird, never landing anywhere for more than a few seconds. Never finding home. Always wary of settling anyplace for too long– as though if you had a second to look into them you might see pain you’d never noticed before; and if she looked into yours, she might see love and not know what to do with it.

please don’t look me in the eyes