Tag: spilt ink

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

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

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

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

The people you love are flowers that take root in your heart. Some of them have shallow roots– they are easy to pluck and be forever rid of. However, some have strong, deep roots that intertwine with your veins– roots that you cannot remove without drawing blood. And when you try to yank them out of your heart, no matter how hard you pull, you will almost always leave some root underneath the surface. There are some people you will never fully rid yourself of– there are some people that will always have the tiniest parts of their roots still splintering your heart.

i will never know how deep your roots go, but i know you’re still here // a.s.m