He's the quiet to her storm

When her dark clouds loom,

churning her unsettled mind,

he whispers softly

and shows her how

rainbows are created

I'm not certain we were meant to be.

I don't think the sun rises every day with us in mind.

The universe didn't wait years and years to bring us together, and tear us apart.

We did this.

We fell in love on our own time,

Each step taken with purpose and thought.

I loved you in metaphors and rainy nights, curled up on your chest as documentaries flickered quietly in the background.

You loved me in stolen glances and wine stained lips, as we fell through the streets of this city and brought each black and white tile back to life.

We left in the way we came to be.

Myself, a writer with a broken heart, looking for someone to pen my tear stained poems to.

You, in turn always looking for that next adventure right around the corner, putting as many miles as you could between us, in a half ditch attempt to push me away.

We were always enough for each other.

We just never knew it was okay to stop looking.

Maybe after this storm blows over,

We can try again.

And remind the sun what it was like to kiss our skin at the same time.

We could show the universe gravity doesn't apply here.

Maybe we weren't meant to be.

Maybe it's our job to simply; be.

When I was 18 I fell in love 

With the kind of man 

I always thought I'd marry 

Dirty blonde hair 

Broad shoulders, 

Dimples to melt a mothers heart, 

And handy in the garage,

Covered in oil, grease and sweat. 

In every way, 

He was perfect for me. 

We really had it going for us. 

Yet just as quickly as the spark ignited the flame, the world burnt down around us, our love was a casualty. 

Then I met you. 

The kind of man I knew wouldn't be around long enough to cause me any trouble, 

The kind of man I knew would be dangerous if I ever began to love him, 

And suddenly, 

I was drowning. 

I had everything I needed with you by my side, you were the cure to all my sleepless nights, and the voice on the other end of the phone talking me through every anxiety attack. 

I loved you so damn hard. 

And you let me go. 

Even in my writing 

Jonah was always a calculated and measured rhyme with syllables counted meticulously 

And you, Kane, are a tornado sweeping through my mind and ripping the floorboards out of my heart, creating the most beautiful destruction as I'm spat out from the eye of your storm, patiently waiting for you to settle. 

I can't write about you. 

But I will. 

And maybe one day when your storm stops spinning, you'll take the time to piece together each page of the manuscript of us, to realize what a beautiful natural disaster we really are.

Were.

were you

already broken

or were you fixed

before they

broke you?

I miss the way you kiss,

And the way you used to smile,

And pull me in a little tighter

When I'd ask to stay a while.

I miss the way you laugh,

When I trip over my own feet,

Or the way you'd sweep me up,

Carrying me out into the street.

I miss the way you saw me,

So careless and creative,

The look of a woman who loves a man,

And barely tries to save him.

I miss the way you loved me.

And for that I have no rhyme.

We always had our reasons,

But we ran out of time.

Give yourself permission…

Give yourself permission to feel every wave of emotion,

even if they knock you off your feet, crashing you to your knees.

You need to feel, you need to embrace them all.

Allow them to flow over you, through you.

Those emotions, both good and bad, will ebb if you accept them.

That way, they won’t get stuck inside of you, especially those negative ones,

the ones that eat you up from the inside out,

the ones that wake you up, shaking and screaming at night.

They only have that power because you tried to avoid them,

trapping them deep inside you.

Feel them, give into their power, appreciate your ability to feel them.

I promise, they will ebb, allowing room to feel even more,

opening you to the positive, the light, the love.

Give yourself permission to not be perfect,

to be enough as you are, right this very moment.

Embrace your imperfections and flaws, for they make you unique.

Allow yourself to accept your curves, dimples, scars,

loving your body as it is today, at this weight, in this shape.

Accept and praise your body’s ability, what it is capable of doing,

instead of beating yourself up about what it cannot do.

You are not your limitations, your disability.

Instead, celebrate your body’s ability to move

in whatever manner it is meant,

for it wakes every morning, taking in breath,

granting yet another opportunity.

What will you do with the vast possibilities?

How will you choose to Live?

Give yourself permission to embrace your uniqueness, being you,

the you that is deep inside your soul,

the you that is screaming to come out, the you that needs to Live.

Let go of punishing yourself with this unreasonable expectation

of how you think you’re expected to be,

both in appearance and personality.

Allow yourself to breathe, to no longer feel constrained

by what others expect you to look like, to behave like.

Embrace the gifts in your life that bring forth joy,

sharing those gifts and skills with others.

Allow yourself to let go of whatever brings you pain,

including people in your life; say goodbye, walk away,

stand on your own. Recognize your strength, appreciate it.

Cherish yourself, just as you are.

You are already enough. You are already perfect.

Give yourself permission.

Go ahead. You can do it.

(Written to the voice, screaming in my own head.)

(5-13-16)

Eyes closed, lips parted, strangled breaths pulled in, mangled pleas forming on my tongue.

Your hands wrapped around my neck, pressing my collar into my skin, an indelible mark of ownership.

Your teeth, marking your passage down my shoulders onto the alabaster curves.

Your voice, low and deep, reassuring me you know what I am; a whore, a slut, a filthy little cum dumpster, yours, even the dirtiest, most shameless parts of me, I'm yours.

I need you; to hurt me, to decide when I breathe, to leave your mark on me, to let me be yours, all of me, right down to my dirty soul.

On a simmering flame,

this heart, as it is, burns slowly..

Why is there such a restless, deep intoxication?