it is thundering.
Fact: There is a cold wetness on my forehead.
Fact: The droplets on my glasses blurry my vision.
Fact: I used to love the nighttime.
Is it raining?
Maybe I’m seeing wrong. Maybe,
I’m not remembering
the weather prediction right. Maybe,
I’m too tired to think clearly.
You don’t have wet hair that clings your face
like mine does. You say I’m insane
for shivering and pulling my jacket tighter.
Maybe my mind is fooling me. Maybe,
I’m not drowing. Maybe,
I’m not gasping for air. No one else is.
You’re making things up.
It wasn’t that bad.
You don’t remember it right.
Why are you making things up?
Do I not remember it right?
The memories are hazy, but I felt
thunderstorms that flooded my bones and
swept away the oxygen. I felt
lightning that struck my hands paralyzed.
Or was that you? Holding my wrists down as you screamed
how much you wanted to hurt me.
But you stopped yourself, because you would be the bigger person.
I remember thanking you
for not hitting me.
Fact: It is raining.
he made words
sticky in my throat,
burning caramel choking my airways
only letting escape the words
i can’t do this anymore
you’re so beautiful.
even if we’re not made for forever,
i’ll remember you
it rained all night
time slips in the puddles of our late-night thoughts, and i stare in giddy disbelief at my hands holding the winning tickets to a seat at the orchestra of your mind. through the open ceiling, i stare at the constellations that paint your eyes a brightness unmatched by the stars. i’ve never liked sunny days, so drench me in the complexity through which you see the world. i’ve never liked small talk, so kiss my mind with your rambles on ethics and morality. the downpour makes my clothes sticky with you: your voice, your likes and dislikes, your stories, your way of thinking. my soaked t-shirt and sweatpants cling to my limbs, your beautiful presence in my life seeping through my skin and spreading into my being an appreciation for everything you are
broken windows and shattered
glass: a crime scene deserted
until the red occupancy signal
clicked vacant. empty ever since, board up with
i had to make do
because i was afraid of moving
because i deleted the weather app predicting the hurricane
because i hoped the rain would pass
now even sweeping up the glass shards is too overwhelming.
i may have survived you, but my walls remain bound.
my splintered pieces remain scattered on the floor.
the hollow rooms remain quiet.
we used to blast indie pop in your hand-me-down car
at 5 am, mcdonald’s hot cakes in my lap
as i fed you
not enough maple syrup, you would say,
i’m too spoiled by the sweetness of your lips
i drive an extra 25 minutes to avoid the mcdonald’s on tulip street.
it’s silent in the car
expiration dates are meant
for things like milkandeggs, written lazily on a crumpled yellow sticky note
folded and thrown in a purse too soon
the ink dragging between the letters
expiration dates are not meant
for things like love, things that are
not really thing-like at all
but you plastered a sell-by date onto my forehead
and kissed it too soon
the ink dripping, seeping darkness into my eyes
sitting in a tub of
warm water tinted red
because once again
you smeared your sharp words
into the cuts you’d already made,
half-healed skin breaking open
because you were angry and you needed
to take it out on me.
you were always
it’s 10 pm and it’s raining and i’m getting coffee and
i miss you bringing breakfast to my house at 5 am.
i would get in the passenger’s seat,
and in between bites of pancakes
we would kiss, lips sticky with
young love and maple syrup
didn’t even call me a cab
i am tired
of wasting so much on
you don’t even care if i got home
dead or alive after drinking to forget the world
did. forget it, for a while. it was nice.
my head spun so many times i wove pretty details
danced until my feet hurt so bad i couldn’t feel
the real pain.
i am so