My heart is dipped in bourbon and my bones are coated in salted ocean.

Yet, my soul ebbs and flows like a pulse in the vein of the Universe.

I am just a Crystal child of this Earth that is composed of the Seeds of dead Stars.

Love.

I

will

tell you-it’s

the way your uncle

walks faster when his husband

is home alone. how your mother sleeps

with the lights on when your dad is getting a

flight in early the next day. how your brother runs fast

when you fall over

how your friends

say: “If only you

could see you the

way we do, it’d do

amazing things for

your ego.” and the

way ’oceans never

stop kissing shores

no matter how many

times they’re sent away.’

True to my Piscean moon,

I concede my needs (to consider yours),

mold my desires (to accommodate yours),

and crumple under disillusioned dreams (they don’t matter to me anymore, for that is not how you want us to be).

But I am in love.

It never stops...

I’m once again,

looking for something;

I wish I knew what it was

this not knowing is depleting me.

I try to find my sea (here, the sea is symbolic of my sense of self, my peace, my calmer tomorrows)

I still don’t know what it is that should be completing me....

But maybe it’s too late;

the foam on my waves has started to dissolve now, (the foam here is my innocence, my happiness)

leaving behind only sharp,

hard salt water... (the harsh reality of my impending ruination)

it dictates that no part of my unloved heart or weary soul shall escape unscathed, unmarred in this quest for love.

But I am in love.

True to my inner Piscean Venus,

I want to tell you that

I’m your mermaid,

I’m your baby...

you know I’d always swim right back

no matter how far I am

if you’d just give me an inkling

that forever together we would be...

Oh! I’m but a love struck fish.

I rise to the surface (still hopeful)

one last time...

blue waves a stark contrast against the white sky (here I’m talking about how different we really are, at our core selves- and how it baffles me that I haven’t seen it until now);

I look for you by the shore...

I cannot find you.

I watch, search, and wait

I cannot see you.

But I am in love.

My sky is dark grey now

and the waves crash violently...

they tear and rip at my fins and scales

taunting me, laughing mercilessly.

(This is my inner psyche, the one that tells me that you and I won’t end up together).

I scream back at the waves-

but I am in love

but I am in love

but I am in love;

hoping that all the purity and innocence of this single emotion,

which is all I have left in me,

will be enough

to confront a possible new reality without you,

to maybe one day I (naively) hope,

bring you back to me.

Oh thank goodness! There you are...

I take your hand, relieved...

you follow willingly.

We come back to the surface

one last time

gasping for breath

before we take the final plunge...

And then we drown urgently in the depths

of our soft pink love,

explosive crimson lust,

ill fated romance and

strengthened trust (as I know now that you didn’t leave, just like you promised).

And I am in love.

As we descend, content just to be with each other,

we reach a metaphorical seabed,

where the dark blue, heavy, gloomy waves end

and we cross over to the other side.

Oh! It is lovely!!!

The sea foam glitters,

catching the pure sparkly sunlight...

(here, I speak of me and you)

and the sunsets always have a soft peach pink hue....

It is all I could ever want, and more!!

Here,

I’m yours,

You’re mine,

We’re ours

and like diamonds,

we shine.

And I am in love.

~Love.

-From the part where I write that the skies are grey, I talk about how distraught I am at not finding you, not having you here with me; I retreat into my mind, and from there on, it’s all in my head, and heart. We never end up together and this is the only way I know to deal. I’ve become pretty good at fabricating illusions.

-The sea foam(me) glittering in the sparkly sunlight (you) is exactly how I feel when I’m with you.

-I interchanged the adjectives sparkly and glittering because, you are me and I am you and it doesn’t matter which is which, it only matters that we are us.

-In another reality, I stay in the dark, vicious waves and I wait for you, and you don’t show up.

-In another reality, “I dissolve into sea foam and get mixed up with the choppy, turbulent waves (again symbolic of my despair) disappearing completely. All that is left is a bluish green scale from my tail fin.”

-But I am in love.

But I am in love.

But I am in love.

I look in the mirror and see a ghost

A pale shadow

Quivering

Clinging

To reality

I reach to her

And she reaches out

Our hearts contract

My soul is cracked

In every mirror I look

I leave a bit of my smile

A bit of myself

My being is fracturing

Fleeing

Fleeting as the

Wind and

I am a ghost.

A pale shadow

Clutching reality

Like a life bouy

In a ceasless sea.

I hate being a poet…and by hate, I mean love.

And by love, I mean only, that I am compelled,

driven here.

I hate that I can’t write about Israel,

or sunsets and daisies, or in the voice of Sophocles.

I hate that I still write best in the language of a teenager

full of angst−− and by best,

I mean, I’m most satisfied.

I hate that I write poems to you

and that I write poems about writing poems.

That emotions

more than imagery

crowd the page, panting.

That I forget that moods aren’t facts.

I hate the need −− the greed for words. I hate that I tend

to complicate with forced routine.

I hate that I’m readable and relatable and I hate that I just presumed that.

I hate that I’m confessional. I hate that I’m not more academic,

scholarly, referential, clever, or elusive.

I hate that that’s a fact. I hate that I worry

I’m meant to write not poems but rather drivel in a diary

and that I want to

wring the little neck of Philomel.

Most of all, I hate that I sling words like hate and words like love around.

I hate that the evidence is in.

#love #poetry #poet #hate #writing #confessional #words #israel #routine

Hello to everyone I specifically tagged and all of the prose. I got a job as a content writer for a small newspaper company in my hometown. I felt too weird sharing this right away because I have a lot of doubts about my work, but right now, I feel like I need honest feedback on the pieces.

I still feel weird posting a link to it like I’m trying to sell something because, on one hand, the articles need the views and clicks. So, I’ve thought also about posting the articles here directly. So, What do you guys think? Should I post the articles or do you feel okay about going to the website through the link?

Thank you for your thoughts! I’d greatly appreciate any feedback or comments!