Tag: spilled ink

i know he is
secure and safe.
your mother will not shudder
when you bring him to
dinner dressed 
in a suit and tie, and 
he will know how to start a fire 
in the fireplace without looking 
it up on yahoo answers. 
you can marry him 
in a church and not feel 
God glaring 
down at you. 

but please know that 
i will always laugh 
at that video you love of 
the guy with the cup feet 
no matter how many times you 
replay it. 
my future already has
your name in it. 
we are so much alike that 
i sometimes wonder what 
part of me doesn’t have a piece 
to match up with you. 

everything i am is another 
heart on my sleeve: 
my biggest weaknesses, 
because they are everything 
he is not, and 
he has you.

excerpt from a letter i wrote to an old love // a.s.m

you smell different
when you’re awake: slightly less
of dewy dreams, slightly more
of espresso machines
behind the counter where
our hands touch when you give me
my change
and call me ‘Sir.’
I sit at my table from
noon till two while you bus tables,
thinking of all the poems
I could write about just your eyes:
so goddamn
wide, with the whole world
still in ‘em.

it’s Tuesday– your shift ends at four,
and i think about how you will
take the bus to your apartment
downtown; how you’ll put your
stocking feet
up on the coffee table while you
drink wine and watch
Gilmore Girls reruns on the CW.
How you’ll fall asleep, empty
glass in hand, dreaming of
versions of a future life in
a world i do not exist in.

i will go home and drink
malt liquor with my dinner
while listening to NPR,
and fall
asleep to the
smell of dew and you
saying my name as our
hands brush together when you
reach for mine.

the smell of burnt
espresso and
the sound of your voice
(it always seems
so much softer in my dreams)
in the morning
will wake me up
to the continents in
your eyes
and i will only be able to smile
as you
hand me my change.

the girl in the coffee shop // a.s.m

your hands 
on the outer walls of a mountain 
you are about to climb into,
dig your hands within
the soil. feel her move
beneath you,
hear the wind scream his name. 
hear it echo in the distance,
hear it slowly begin to fade.

climbing mountains // a.s.m

1. If their eyes ever falter as you walk into a room, walk away. You may not believe it, but you deserve to be reflected in their irises.   

2. If you’re sitting in your bed with their voice echoing in your head, using your sheets to wipe your nose, and can think of sixteen reasons to go and one to stay, you should go. You will find someone better for you, I promise.  

3. If you go into it hoping you can get them to smoke less weed or stop saying ‘fuck’ so damn much, don’t go further. Old habits die hard, if at all; make sure you can live with their quirks.

4. If they hold their glass of vodka closer than your waist, let them go. You do not deserve to come in second to their vices.

5. If they pinch your love handles and tell you your curls look better straightened, leave. The way you were created deserves to be adored.

6. Know you are worth millions of atoms, of stardust and spiraling staircases of double helixes, and do not accept anything less than love.

you are worthy: things i wish i had known when i met you // a.s.m

you’re too young to be hiding
in the closet
full of clothes your
mother bought you. 

you’re too young to 
hate yourself so much
that you dream of hiding
in there forever, just so you
never again have to wear a dress
on Easter. 

you’re too old 
to be living as anything but
what paints your stomach lining. 
project it in color on city walls. 
scream it drunkenly off of rooftops
to the whole world, a reminder: 

your tiny planet will
never stop spinning as long as you
continue to push it.

your life is too short to be squeezing yourself into clothes that don’t fit who you are // a.s.m

Even before it hits
it is there, building up
in the depths of my ocean;
churning and ruminating
in my darkness.

When it crashes within me
this time, I gasp for breath; for hope
that I can do this alone.
For the first time you are not here
to help me float.
For the first time I must learn
to swim on my own.

Waves // a.s.m

It would be a joke
to think I could ever forget
what this day is.

This will always be
your day.

For the rest of my life, I will
fight hard daily
not to miss you, but today
I will. Today you will
flood my mind as the rain
outside my window 
engulfs the worms. 

Today I will
wallow in the regret
I have been bottling
in jars and collecting in my closet.
I will tilt my head back and
empty
every single one until 
I am drunk with self-hatred, 
projecting black-and-white images
of you on the inside of my forehead
when I close my eyes.  

Today I will
finally take the unopened gift
sitting on top of the fridge
I bought for your birthday 
last year and
throw it away
alongside the wilted
beets
I never cooked.  

I see you sitting in
the grass blowing
out the candles and I hope
I am a psychic; but how
contradictory it is 
to wish 
your loved ones well and 
hope they are missing you, 
too.

October 28th, 2015: happy birthday, leyitah // a.s.m

a picture worth a thousand words
you wanted the world
to hear me say the ones
hidden
underneath my tongue
for you.
i wanted you to
taste them when you kissed
me.

i turn my back
to the lens, cover
my face with my hands.
i only want these moments
as they slide between my
fingers. i only want the
blanket of your lips on
mine. i only want the
heat of you running
up my spine. i don’t
want to press flowers
between the pages
of a book. no
lingering scent
of you on my
bedsheets, no
ink on a piece
of paper to
prove you
ever set
foot
here.

i just want you in these moments: why do we need to prove we’re in love to everyone else? // a.s.m

the bathroom smells like blood
and when they open the door, 
you look into their eyes
as they’re crumbled on the floor. 
as you open your mouth
they put a hand to your face; 
exhaling reassurances to fill the empty space: 
‘this will be the last time,
i just had a hard day. 
some days i feel i’m at war
i swear i don’t hurt anymore.’

all of a sudden
they’re a million miles away.
through the back end of binoculars
you don’t know what to say because
you know you can’t do anything
to take away the pain. 
even though cuts fade to scars, 
sometimes the blood stains.

even though cuts fade to scars, sometimes the blood stains // a.s.m