Tag: spilt ink

slip dreams into my drink tonight 
so i may write you poetry 
from the skies within my mind. 
knock down the dams and let the water flow 
from the nerves in my brain,
through my veins,
out my hands, onto this page.
twist your fingers between mine
and pull me back down when i get too high.

a.s.m

I. i remember how you sat next to me
in the backseat of her car
as it sped down the highway.
we smoked
out of a sparkly pink bowl, watching our cares
disintegrate as we blew
them out the window.
i remember pretending
to look outside so I could watch the way
you collapsed into yourself 
as you exhaled your last hit. 

II. i remember the way you reached for me
in your sleep that night, and
i whispered that i loved you
because i knew you couldn’t hear me. 

III. i remember the day i saw you
for the last time. i walked you to the bus stop, 
waving goodbye long after you had disintegrated
into the horizon. 
i sat by the side of the road and
cried because it was then that i realized
you take the happiness you bring me
with you when 
you leave. 

IV. today, i forgot how long the
drive down
that highway becomes without the
anticipation of seeing you
to keep me company.

little notes to leah: i still replay memories of you all the time // a.s.m

you cracked me
open
and started reading at
chapter 12.
this was long before i knew you
liked to read the last page before 
you started the book.

you wanted to skip the intro and jump right in; i wanted to savor every page. // a.s.m

i asked you for space, 
but i don’t think your shadow understood
because i see it’s reflection in the sky
in the shape of the crows when they fly.
i know you have no reason 
to not want to say goodbye,
but remember how i made you feel 
when i whispered my way into your ear
to form mountains up and down your spine, 
where your imagination would crawl to 
places i did not know existed.

maybe you’ll always exist in me somewhere, but you wanted more than i ever thought i could give. // a.s.m

You always used to say if something was meant to be it would happen, and yet I can’t help but wonder if perhaps sometimes we are meant to fight for things to happen.

 to my first love: i’m scared to stand idly by and hope for things to work out between us, because what if they never do? what if i was meant to fight for us? // a.s.m

i don’t want to lose this
but don’t know what to say
to make you believe that
i want you
to stay.

i know i’m not very good with words, but please look into my eyes and feel that the love i have for you is real. // a.s.m

do not ignore what
little love is given to you for free, my
dear.
you can’t just
store me in your kitchen pantry
with your non-perishables.
i am flesh and hollow bone and
i am rotting from the inside out.
if you do not make use of me soon,
i will be gone from here: when the wind blows
through your open windows, i will be
dust on another man’s bookshelf.

you can’t just save me for later // a.s.m.

i am i am i am
nothing
yet absolutely everything.
i am my decomposing
grandmother, six feet under Michigan soil.
i am being rejected from thirteen jobs before
falling in love with the one i have.
i am the insecurity and self-hatred
i have shed like a snakeskin,
insatiable wanderlust, and
falling asleep early on a Friday night– 
trying to write poetry with invisible ink
on the apartment walls in hopes that the next person
who runs their  fingers on them will carry
a small piece of me with them.
i am both my aunts and my mother,
so much history for a soul
that feels much too small for its body.
i am struggling with existence these days
unsure if it’s a game or
a dream, or something in between.

mosaics are made from broken pieces but they’re still works of art, and so are you. // a.s.m.