He loves me; he loves me not.

“He loves me.”

He shared with me his secrets,

Hidden between kisses.

I stockpiled every last one,

Treating them like stained glass;

I avoided touching them,

But I loved watching the world

Through his colorful view.

 

~He loves me not.~

He only ever looked at me

Through a rainbow lens,

And it leaves me to wonder

If he saw me for who I am

Or for the person he wants to see?

Because through his kaleidoscope

Even a gray sky

Can be mistaken for

A perfect, cloudless blue.

 

“He loves me.”

He knew my body,

Ran his fingers over the war

I had scratched across

My wrists, shoulders and stomach.

His hands never shook,

And his warm touch

Felt like it was melting away

Every mistake I had made.

 

~He loves me not.~

But those scars weren’t mistakes;

They were choices.

Regardless of regret,

If I just let them disappear

Without confronting the reasons

I made them in the first place,

I’m not learning a damn thing.

In the end, his hands

Weren’t trying to heal,

But instead hide the truth.

He couldn’t love the scars

So how could he love me?

 

He loves me, he loves me not.

He loves my potential; he loves the thought

Of what I could be, the perfect future he sees.

He loves what might come, but he doesn’t love me…

 

“My breath is being forced down my esophagus and into my stomach, where it’s keeping my bubbling guts company as I choke on another dozen pills.”

I had the rights words.

Sweetling, they were here,

Careful carved into

The chalky remains

Of my soiled soul.

The perfect combination,

Equal parts desire and guilt,

Cloaked in the allure

Of a better tomorrow.

If you had waited,

Just through today,

I swear I had it all.

 

If you ever find yourself

In my tomorrow,

I know my words

Will still be there.

So please, listen,

Because I know,

Once you hear them,

You’ll know it too;

That these words for you

Would have been

The right words

To make you stay.

“I loved the way she touched me, the way she ran her hands over my past without reservation.”

Her hands trace over your body,

And as they move down your neck

The butterflies in your stomach

Melt into a solid mass

Of fear and uncertainty

For what her hands will find…

The scars you’ve tried to hide

In your summer hoodies

And forced affinity for jeans.

 

Her fingers reach your shoulder,

Burning a trail down your arm,

But the heat it quickly replaced

With an empty regret.

Reflexes kick in, and the tears begin,

Until you realize her hands,

They never stopped.

 

You expected a shudder,

A slight intake of breath,

But no; she never wavered.

She gave the same affection,

From your head to your wrists.

You know she couldn’t have missed it,

The war you’ve etched into your skin.

Yet she acted as if those scars

We’re just another part of you.

That thought alone

Is enough to make you cry.

 

You begin to pull away,

But she holds your arm in place.

Her touch is still fire,

And you feel that if she stays

You’ll both end up as ash.

Still, she won’t let go.

Even more so, her lips find your wrist,

And her fire has turned into the Sun.

 

It’s crazy, because you know,

Those scars are there forever.

They will fade, but never disappear.

But in that moment, you could swear

Those scars didn’t mean a thing.

The anxiety is still present,

But so vastly diminished

It might as well be gone.

And in its place, you find

A feeling you thought

You’d never find again;

Acceptance.

 

The scars weren’t erased,

And who can say if her fire

Will be here to stay,

But for a moment, you weren’t afraid

And if you found it once,

You can find that feeling again.

Who knows; maybe one day

You’ll wake up and see yourself

And realize you’ve always deserved

Forgiveness.

 

 

“For all the feelings I’ve managed to capture in my words, I’ve never managed to write down anything that could compare to the feeling of kissing you.”

Our kisses were the best.

From the very beginning,

When they were shy and unbalanced,

To spending whole evenings

Buried in each others faces.

Those exchanges were wonderful,

And time made them unforgettable.

Kisses through the Summer,

Seasoned with familiarity,

Containing a dash of desire,

A sprinkling of passion

And the unmistakable rush

Of a blossoming love.

If we were made out of the sky, I’d be the chilling wind, you’d be the Summer heat, and together we’ll form pockets of clouds, blocking out the Sun, throwing barrels of thunder and lightning over the edge of the world without a care.

Your lips were stained

The same shade as dandelions,

And I was caught up

In the promise of a short winter,

Where my wishes could be heard

Beyond the veil of stars,

Carried on those white seeds

That feel lighter than air.

 

A single taste was all it took

To reveal the obvious;

The scent of pine on your teeth,

The green edges of your tongue,

And the shimmering coat

I mistook as the reflection

Of a sweet spring flower.

 

You coated your lips

In the oil of distilled resin,

Making them shimmer in the sun,

As brilliant as any precious metal.

And in the end I gave in,

Letting my desires devour

The poison that was your kiss.

 

I can’t erase your taste,

So I’m afraid that with time

I’m slowly going to starve

In the allure of your turpentine.

“The scales are tipped in my favor, but I’m too afraid to make a bet…27 years, and I’m still unable to bet on me…”

They say the sky wasn’t always gray;

There used to be a white light,

A star close enough to touch,

But we wasted it’s warmth.

 

We let that fire burn the air,

Tinge our shoulders bronze,

Feed our flower petals

And guide us towards tomorrow.

 

It shared everything, expecting nothing.

So what did we do?

We took those flames to light matches,

And the matches to ignite black powders,

Delivering hot lead through bodies

Of everyone we’ve ever held dear.

 

We got close enough to the fire

To light our cigarettes,

And spread the ash over gravestones;

A flicker in the moment,

And everything is turned gray.

We burned it all down,

And left our dreams as dust.

 

Where has the Sun in the sky gone?

The place where dead things go;

Towards the heavens drenched gray,

Choking the entire way.

I’ve stretched out my soul to widen my shadow, the only part of me that seems to understand how much of a fool God must be for creating this bullshit.

The Summer flickers into the year with lingering regrets;

A medley of melted marshmallows and perfume laced bug sprays.

It’s not a storm like the Spring, raging in, forcing growth and change, no.

Summer stumbles with no direction, as if lost in all this sunlight,

As if the added hours of daytime and sweltering drafts have incited a lethargy

That takes a provenance in refuse cartilage of swollen anatomies.