Tag: mine

i want to bleed tonight. 
when nothing makes sense
i want to bleed out because
my heart’s not beating right. 

i want to bleed tonight because
deep wounds heal eventually; my
favorite reminder that everything ends
up alright. 

i bleed because i need to know 
i am flesh and blood and not a ghost.

the night of 9/23/15: sometimes i still have the urge to hurt myself but i write about it instead of actually doing it. it is not the same. // a.s.m 

there are no words that i could write
to fully repaint that summer night:
the grass deep green, the sky blood red
the thoughts of death flooding my head

the ghost of your warm hands in mine
mem’ries of green eyes and lips of wine
the only thing i wanted to do
was tangle myself back up in you

i sat and watched the city lights
the day slowly melting to night
the way the moon shone– like your face–
drowned the city lights in grace

you left no beauty when you went
my mind gone numb, my heart left spent
i lost control, then came the tears
alone with all my greatest fears

those tears i shed, the guilt i felt
can’t change the cards that i’ve been dealt
and with each step your face will fade
one day i’ll breathe without you, unafraid.

it’s true, i still think of you: but i am getting stronger without you and soon you’ll fade // a.s.m

i’ve been cursed
by the ones before
to only know how to 
touch and destroy. 
may i teach my children to
kiss the cracks
in the parched earth, to
still the storms within their souls
by filling themselves with
leaves and soil and small miracles,
to love the collective 
life that binds us all
into one large breath, 
to respect all living, breathing
beings, to find their
steady pulse within 
the soil beneath their bare
feet. so that they may
finally feel the freedom
of knowing the truth: that
we are all soil, too.

a prayer to the universe: may the next generation be better to you than we have been // a.s.m

i’ve memorized the words
to every line
on your face. 
i know the notes that play 
in the background
of your mind. 
i know by heart the rhythm 
of your heartbeat. 
i know every single part of the song
you’re living, and
i love it.

you are my favorite song // a.s.m

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

words. sand
on an 
endless
ocean shore
slip through outstretched fingers
slip through my mind
bucket by 
bucket
strain out the gold and
stuff my pockets with
little puzzle pieces 
a mosaic of words 
i string together to 
make a key 
to the locks on 
hearts and minds.

the process of poetry // a.s.m