Eyes fallen heavy on hard times.

My money is more than steady, but the scarcity is mentally.

My body aches, running unsteady.

My mind is tired from juggling what most do in a week, I do daily.

Clouded thinking, questioning why I allow it to overwhelm me.

Finally I realize that I’m a human being, not well oiled machinery.

Measuring all that I do, hoping I match what the world expects me to be.

Thats when I really miss what’s important to my self-esteem.

I need not treat each day as if I’m an assembly line.

Love's in the way you paint when you've drunk too much coffee

It's in the way you scrub the stove when you need a moment

It's the way the kitchen gets filled with the scent and sound of nostalgic Italy when you're happy

It's in the way you check on me even when sleep-taking

It's in the way you giggle at the slightest touch

Love's in the way you love cupid's mark on the human face

Love's in the way details ground my love for you

A million times i’ve died

before april peaked and spring

sung torrential arias.

Before a drop of bourbon quenched

August-shut esophagus, dark caramel tones

fragrant now.

A lawn mower razing you

strolling mixed concrete embedded with your pale flesh

Pappus soars as a squadron of fighter jets and bombers

Lion toothed and roots three feet under

Summer couldn’t strike you

blooming from nothing more than a talon sized emaciated twig.

Parts of your tarsal seeds germinate even as

you grow again after being met with scythe electric

silver tipped lashes scar never wounding: Am I your prey?

I never know if it’s better to feel loneliness or unity in heartbreak.

I want to feel especially broken; I want to hold a stranger’s pinkie

beneath bathroom walls because we’re both weeping in separate stalls.

But then I can’t unlock the door, so I consider spending my whole life

on the toilet bowl, hips numb as I sit that age alone, with cell

service but not willing to phone my mom because she’ll tell me

I need to come back home. & I’ll tell her I want to wear eyeliner

now so that people know when I’m most vulnerable; I want

to undress to blank bones. & she’ll say I am too sweet & sick

& I can’t keep living my life like a poem. It’s written beautifully,

but the ending never ends well, everyone escapes but me.

It’s okay, though terrifying. I love too much & won’t let

go of that mercy. Besides, the world would be boring

if it clung to my knees, if it always stayed to care for my body.