Tag: spilled emotions

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’m not yours to keep
wriggling between fingers
that grip so hard. 
drooping
wilting
pulled out of my vase
for too long. 
why this famine? 
your touch is no longer
gentle, no longer
soft. 
i’ve had enough. 
line the streets with
my fallen petals and
when the wind blows, watch
them spell my name.

i am stronger now // a.s.m

i’m still dreaming
about razor blade kisses
on my thighs
on my arms
teasing tongue
on my neck.
my first kiss
ever,
always threatening
to be my last.
the only kiss
to ever make me feel
something.

i still dream of razorblade kisses // a.s.m

ice cube 
goosebumps,
kiss me with snowball
lips. melt the ice
stuck between my teeth; 
melt me.
pour me in a pitcher, 
swallow me whole
so i may glide past your heart
to osmotize into
your cells
and never leave.

i just want to be the water in your body; i want you to need me to survive // a.s.m

tucking flowers behind your ears
watching the sun dance in the sky
waiting for the air to clear
i never want to leave your side.

from this hill we see the town
i twist my fingers between yours
to keep myself from falling down
because your love my soul secures.

and when the earth begins to shake
fear will not grip my stuttering heart
because with you i know i’m safe
though the world begins to fall apart.

love poem for nobody // a.s.m

craving the structure of a rhyme
to cry out a word and find
one like fingers intertwined
the need for the steady beat
of pounding feet on dirt trails
the answers to an existence
with no right answers.

i’ve been writing in rhythm lately // a.s.m

a 19-year-old virgin,
i am broken because
the cover of ‘Cosmo’ says 
“20 tips for the best sex ever" 
and instead of it sparking
curiosity, i cringe. 

a 19-year-old something–  
something that i’m not quite 
sure of yet– 
i am broken because i am the only one 
in my group of friends 
who hasn’t given a blow job, 
i am the only one who doesn’t understand
what ‘horny’ feels like. 

a 19-year-old something: 
something i am growing to hate and
to be embarrassed of
i am broken because the words 
on the magazines don’t talk about 
soul mates or "20 tips for the best
heart-to-heart 3-am pillow fort 
conversations with your partner
ever." 
instead of wanting what is sold, 
i am longing for something that doesn’t 
seem to exist. 

a 19-year-old someone 
who has learned that
words can steal the roof off your home
and leave you
exposed
i am broken because 
they can pull you apart,
they can dissect you and stick you
under a microscope,
they can make you feel less than
whole. 

a 20-year old demisexual, 
i am learning
i am not broken because
ten letters can be the foundation
of a home, a family,
to knowing you are not 
alone. 
ten letters can help you 
find yourself.

for people who say labels are stupid: i want you to understand why sometimes they aren’t // a.s.m