Tag: spilled thoughts

hands grab hearts
only when they are ready
to be touched;
a middle ground where
nonsense forms beautiful truths. 
i am speeding down
the road to
eternal madness, and
all i can see is poetry
on the horizon.

too weird to live, too rare to die  // a.s.m

i never learned to
walk. i learned to
tiptoe
around eggshell grenades
on tile kitchen floors, 
to dance gracefully 
dodging projectile dinner
plates on
Sunday afternoons, 
to twist and crawl from
torrid gazes, to leap
out of the trajectory of
missiles spat under one’s
breath, and amid the floods on the
kitchen tile, to land
unscathed.

i’ve only learned to move in avoidance: do not live your life simply to dance around eggshells // a.s.m

do you see the red stamps
underneath your own
on that screen?
dismembered mountains
pay the cost
to save the trees.

what about the wasteland you
leave behind?
a place called home.
we destroy others to destroy
our own: to crash cars 
because we smudge our
fingerprint stamps on screens
while driving.

we kill the mountains in an effort to save the trees // a.sm

it is hard for me to believe
sometimes
that you were once naked
and crying, too. 
you were once
twenty and counting
the ways to escape. 
you were once taught truths
which later dissolved
underneath you.
you were once soft
and glowing with hope and
the certainty of tomorrow. 
you once laughed
without the reek of bitterness
and stale cigarettes: 
you were in love, 
once. 
you were once
free. 
and i think 
that perhaps i could have 
loved you, once.
perhaps when you look at me, 
you still see
yourself.

Nectar // 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