when flying means freedom,

you cut out

the heart of you,

leave it

at your feet,

so to become lighter

unburdened

by whim and desire,

so not to stray

from the blue envelop

and cold clouds

at your side,

so not to fall

as Icarus,

except he flew

too close

to sun

and I crashed

at the last place

I abandoned

myself

All I ask for

are the seeds

of tomatoes

you discard

to make

the pasta I like

so to root

a token

of our love

All I ask for

is the bleed

of an infinity

on my wrist

so to see it wrinkle

and fade

in the last

of our love

All I ask for

is the scent of ocean

from your hair

the black of dirt

under your nails

the salt of sweat

of your chin

so to bottle

the essence

of you,

coming home

I leered at the sun

and gave in

to lies

of warmth

trapped

within this green house

of glass—

confined

to the dark of things

the upside

of light

held

bonded

to the pierced

influence

of infinite pinpricks

caught

in utterness

and

I am nothing

but semantic space

tumbled

and roused

to misdirection

aligned

and aloof

to reason

or permanence

a speck

on a floof

following sun lines

north

but

I am let out

after you,

there was no map

to open

to smooth

each crease

so to not overlap

on destination

or road—

unseen

no tangible print

to hold

firm as texture

or leave behind

lest we start—

lost

after you,

we were the maps

unfolded

and lost—

even now

because we are

only the terrain

and you—

were the stars

to follow

- offer me tea (but bring it, half-steeped with 2% milk—the taste of devastated water)

- show me dark, pregnant clouds with their petrichor breath only to scatter their burgeon

(and leave me in yearning)

- be brave for me and never tell me you’re afraid (I see you, you know)

- throw out a book you think I wouldn’t miss (I know where each one of my books live)

- tell me poetry is worthless in the real world (it’s not; you steaming big pile of shit)

- play Iris by Goo Goo Dolls once (and watch me never fall asleep)

- make me sleep without a blanket (you monster)

- ask me where I’m from (and then not listen)

- make me re-watch Dean tell his mom he hates her but still can’t stop himself for loving

and forgiving her (Supernatural Season 12, Episode 22, 28:21 minutes in, if anyone wants to bawl their eyes out)

- remind me how young I am (because I’ll probably watch everyone I love die first)

- say you want me and then take it back

Land gently and linger among the marigolds and asters, snapdragons and lavenders, daylilies and sunflowers. These buffet of flowers are yours to savor.

So don’t settle.

Play.

Strut. Twirl in eddies because you know everyone is watching.

Flit between sunbeams. Let light filter through your splendor.

You are beauty.

Be careful where you rouse your wings. You are power, rippling exponentially.

A creator of hurricanes, you change the world.

Emerge backwards into your cocoon. Disassemble each scale in your wings and strip.

Be cozy. Stay cozy. Invent cozy if you want to know it intimately.

Love your furry plumpness. Caterpillar, you are child again.

Unfurl yourself. Let them see you. Let them see your whole self.

Then fly away. Follow the tail end of summer with your brethren.

Let the wind guide you.

The sky is home.

Never be one thing. You are a child that flies. You are an adult that never leaves home. You are the essence of metamorphosis. You survive for sanctuary.

You die to live.

You don’t look at me anymore.

Your eyes

used

to meet mine

soft—a caress

of faith;

now,

they barely

touch the aura

of me.

Ours,

became a lightweight

love,

slowly leached

of light,

untwined.

Split apart,

I relive

our memories—

the drown of your touch,

consummate kisses,

our home in your eyes;

unable to breathe

within the frost

you stretched

between us.

So now,

my eyes

share

the pool

of your apathy.

Now,

I welcome

your cruel gaze

with my own.

Because, my love, you’ve taught me your hate.

1. Bury yourself in blankets, preferably clean, warm ones.

2. Sleep. Sleep to forget everything.

3. Consume a large amount of melted cheese.

4. Make fifteen pots of tea. Forget to drink them.

5. Cry until you can’t breathe. Cry to breathe again.

6. Find chips (Wise Hot Cheese Popcorn). Buy an infinite amount. Ingest them all. You will find yourself in a 14-hour food coma. Cherish the oblivion you’ve created.

7. Find a carton of freezer-burn Neapolitan ice-cream. Eat all the chocolate. Curse the end of chocolate. Eat all the vanilla. Curse the strawberry. Eat all the strawberry.

8. Open Voice Memos app. Scream into phone for five minutes. Listen to playback.

9. Cry until you can’t breathe. Cry to breathe again.

10. Use the underside of your palm to graze death. Decide if you like or hate its touch.

11. Sleep. Sleep to forget everything.

12. Dream yourself a beginning.

13. Wake up to prisms flooding your room. Remember the world creates rainbows.

14. Breathe deeply for the first time since birth.

15. Go outside.

16. Come back in fifteen minutes later. It was too soon.

17. Cry until you can’t breathe. Cry to breathe again.

18. Take a hot shower and drown yourself in its warmth.

19. Spread yourself on the bed, starfish style. Remember how much you like the ocean.

20. Book a trip to the Faroe Islands.

21. Never come back.

A cloud

mushrooms

my head

as it weeps

seeps

drips

from my eyes.

I am seized,

transformed into possession

and possession

is nine-tenths

of everything.

I am immobile

inside darkness

unable to look away

as it surges past

the confines

of my mind,

sowing

seeds of sorrow,

playing keep-away

with my strength

of will.

Black

fades to grey

as I defer

to detach

and dead options,

once again,

become viable.

I will win

I will win

Tell me

that someday

I will win.

Roses are red

and blue

I bury my dread

out of view

my love I spread

and grew

for my heart has fled

to you

Violets are blue

and red

you came through

instead

you confessed you knew

and said,

my love for you

I always bled