sunshine in the morning

loving you feels like

sunlight streaming in from windows
whose ledges are
occupied with greenery and

soft jazz seeping out
from the record player
by that
blue velvet couch and

your arms wound around
the stillness
of my
beating heart and

sunflowers in my hair,
still smiling

selfish heroism

I walk in to an empty house –
the first time in a long time that the space around me promises its vacancy.
This is hard to grasp hold of as lately any company feels empty.

I do the things I know to do but do them meaninglessly.
I scrub my body clean,
let the hot water sink in,
slip it into cleaner clothing.

Checkmarks on a checklist but nothing more than this.

And then it is time to dry my hair.
So I sit cross-legged in front of this pain inducing mirror –
the first time in a long time that I sit face to face with my own reflection.

This is when I feel it.

I feel the ache in my bones,
the stabbing in my chest,
the soreness of muscles that are tired from lifting the world onto them.


So I look into the eyes that stare back at me –
the pain in them much too hard to realize.
I look at her and whisper,

“You are strong.
You are beautiful.

Look at the things you’ve created,
the people you’ve loved,
the things you’ve done.

You are determined, a fighter –
growing beyond even the things you know of. 

You are magnificent

And I swore that in that moment she lifted her chin higher,
and thanked me.

drunk on stardust and the thought of you

and the night feels like a summer night but doesn’t feel like summer because you are my sunshine and what is summer without sunshine and do you see the same stars tonight?

the ones littering the sky with the bright moon by their side and I think of how this would be a perfect time to bring the car to the place where it all began and look up, look up for a little while.

though I’ll admit that when you’re next to me I barely look at anything but your face and your eyes and your smile and that feels a lot like I’m looking at the stars anyhow.

they say the brightest stars lead home so if I watch them long enough will they lead me to you?

it’s much the same anyways, missing you, as waiting to see the stars.

lasts all day and then I know you’re there but I know you’re miles away and on some days even the night fails to bring you to me.

you are stars to me because that’s what galaxies are made of and when it comes to you is there any other explanation for how you make me feel the way I do?

 

ghost of mine

It is funny the way the ghost of you follows me in everything I do.

I wander the aisles of grocery stores and pick out plastic packages of frozen mangos and I think about whether you would find it funny the way I explore the entirety of the store only to return to the things I know.

I sit and watch movies and pick them out from digital lineups and organize the pillows on my bed just right and I picture the way you would look if you sat there next to me, and the things you would say at the scenes I know you’d like, and the way it would feel to kiss you in the dark of the night.

I walk the streets in the morning and in the afternoons and I imagine the way my face would turn to yours and how the sound of our laughter would overflow the city, and how you would love the flowers and the rainbow colored crosswalks just as much as I.

You fit perfectly in every moment I know to exist, like a puzzle piece of my life I had never encountered but always knew was missing, like we were made to stand side by side and there was no version of reality in which I was not yours and you were not mine.

It is as if since I was twelve years old, I’ve been begging the world if only I could meet you.

letter to the consumer

In the age of information

overload, of ghosts with

flimsy paper power who

shovel cookie cutter thoughts

down our throats to keep us

busy,

I do not

desire to be

palatable,

I do not

ache to be

sweet on your

tongue -—

I want my

body to

burn as you

swallow,

so that you

cannot hear me

without listening,

so that you

must stop and think

about the way history

bleeds behind the

thoughts that you are

eating.