Dear Sun

l used to follow your footsteps in the sand,
but they are lost to me in these winds of change.

The city seems colder now,
closed to me in my time of need,
the doors have darkened to my magic,
long nights have set their chill into my bones.

(I carry the knife with me, always.
I carry your heart with me, always).

I search for your light along the horizon,
but I am slave to the moon, her pull
beating me endlessly against the sand.

(The tower breathes in the distance,
pulsates that familiar thumpthump…

my chest is hollow, craving, aching, tugged toward
that unavoidable expectation).

This is no longer an oasis,
the water turned stagnant from lack of sun.
There are no shadows, just infinite rivers of ink.

(I carry the knife with me, always.
I carry your heart with me…)

it is your name etched on the box,
but it is her face I see in my reflection,
her teeth grinning from the corner–

(she can still taste the worlds you left behind;

I can still taste the love I left on your tongue.
I can still feel your soul buried in my spine).

I continue to chase the sun, born back to
the beginning, ceaselessly.

(destiny drags me along the well-worn streets,
blood dripping from my hands, inescapable).

I feel the heat of the sun,
the light breaks the horizon…

I wake.

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stone cold sober

You remain.

I have buried you so far in my darkness,
and prayed for your suffocation.

But still you breathe, still you beat,
A steady rhythm in the back of my mind,
a metronome of mistake tick-tick-ticking.

you remain, you are not remains.
you should be a skeleton, stark white and starved;
shoved to the back of my closet, all bones and death.

But still, you breathe, still you beat,
you are pounding down the doors,
screaming through my hallways.

you remain,

you remind,

you have become the darkness,
creeping in, crawling across my skin, caressing my heart.
You breathe, you burn, you beat (ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum).

you remain.

lifebringer

my magic is quieter now–
gone are the times of wildly tangled sheets;
mornings filled with whispers of sticky skin
and bursting with an overwhelming recklessness.

my magic instead resides in sleepy awakenings,
tiny hands and toes prodding me into reality,
and a warmth spreading from the nose pressed to my hair.

my magic sparks with gentle kisses,
and precious giggles.

I am filled to the brim
with it every time I hear his words:
you’re beautiful, and I love you.
before he slips back to a half-concious state,
his hand a comforting pressure against my hip.

my magic still aches through my creaky bones,
but it is no longer from drunken 2am adventures,
hasty hands fumbling to own my body;
it’s from a natural agelessness, a wisdom of the world.

I overflow with life, my skin left with the scars of
the overwhelming responsibility of what it means
to be a mother; I overflow with love.

wishes from the undertow

I never claimed loving me would be easy.
(you begged me to make it fair–
I shoved a knife in the space between your ribs
and ate your breath to the rhythm of your surprise).

I always had this notion,
that you belonged not with me
but to me.
(that was our final undoing. that
act of possession over partnership).

I can still feel the slide of you lips
against my skin as I took your first kiss
(the world you were all to happy to part with),
the spark of your body as, years later,
I took your innocence, your convictions
(it was all too easy).

(you never quite gave up the hold on your heart).

I never wanted it to end this way.
(you made me your villian–
I took the shape of the words you left unsaid,
and in their absense became brighter than the force of your soul).

you spent years asking me to write
the final page,
gloss the finish you couldn’t
quite grasp.

(the beginnings that sprouted
from the pages I burned
are more beautiful than I
ever could’ve put to words).


my last gift to you.

the right kind of anchor

-the smell of his skin keeps her alive, in those small moments before the dawn breaks when she wants nothing more than to let the breath rattle from the depths of her soul until there is not even a whisper. He is there, in those moments, and his hand is brushing her waist, and his chest is pressed against her so tight that all she can do is breathe. Steady now, in and out. Steady now, follow the rhythm of his heart beat.