the same way our first breath
is the beginning of our death

i knew the moment i saw you
that you would both resurrect
my heart and shatter it.

i’ve always known too much
i don’t believe in forever
and hope has always been a foreign
language i can’t quite understand

but still

your eyes were kind.

and they looked at me like they
believed in me.

when you wouldn’t let me kiss you
until i let you wash the word
“dread” out of my mouth,
i offered my entire anatomy to you,
do what you want, please,
just don’t leave


our first fight was when i had
a panic attack the moment i realized
how much i loved you

our second was when i ridiculously
claimed i loved you more

i don’t believe in forevers

i knew the moment i met you
that i was going to have to
explain to everyone i knew how i
suddenly believe in
love at first sight when i had
been its most vocal
opponent for over two decades

i also knew i would have to lose
you some day

because i don’t believe in forevers

but oh god,

your eyes were so kind

and i couldn’t look away from them

i let myself love you
you loved me more than i deserved

i don’t believe in forever
but i don’t care

so if pain has always been our destiny
i promise i will carry both mine and yours
on my shoulders,
i won’t let you feel a thing
please don’t worry
don’t think

just kiss me one more time


in barcelona
the sky is pink always
a soft tint kissing
every face that walks under it
a divine love reciprocated

and maybe
the stars fall gently into our
laps when we’re sitting outside,
a little magic we can hold in
our hands to light our way

in barcelona
nothing ever feels out of of place
and everyone belongs to everyone
and everything
and our hearts are steady
and warm and safe and light

and maybe
we don’t know what pain is and
death isn’t always hanging over our
heads like a guillotine
inching just a little lower
each day

and maybe
i can actually become

and maybe
in barcelona

i can actually stop loving


999 days

He lifts the sun at dawn and carries
it down when nightfall comes.
And in between, he pulls his heart from
his chest, slices it into equal pieces,
hands us each a portion on
a silver plate.
He nourishes,
and when the skies can’t
hear our prayers, he fills his hands
with wishes fulfilled and passes them
around the table, his love and grace
echoing in the silence.
We take, and we take, and he carries
the sun still, and the moon, and the
stars in his pockets and on his
shoulders, coloring the world as
he moves through it,
with love graceful and unconditional.
He smiles, and the flowers bloom,
and the sun shines warm from
having been touched by him.
And when the world goes dark,
he whispers lovingly into its ears
and all is light again
his voice healing absolutely
That day he got too tired,
I pleaded with him to rest.
I asked him to close his eyes.
I told him not to worry.

I said “rest”,

and it’s been over two years and
the world won’t let me take it

Maybe I don’t remember the day
I became a shadow of myself,
and maybe I do.
Does it really matter?
Today, I am all recollection and
no light, making homes out of
memories and locking myself in.
If you find yourself inside me,
ask to keep a key.
Stay focused.
Eye on the door.
I carry the weight and the want
of the world on my tongue and
my want is hungry.
It’ll devour you.
Ask to be shown the exits.
Carry a knife in your pocket.
Cover that heart on your sleeve.
Someone is always trying to kill
me, sometimes it is someone
carrying my own name.
Don’t get caught in the cross-fire.
Don’t believe my heart will save
you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
When you ask when I became this
person, I say I don’t
remember; but maybe I remember
every single little detail,
and maybe I don’t.
What matters is –
I don’t remember how
to be light

Why would they come for our sorrow?
When it is all that we have left,
why would they take it from us,
leave our hands open and empty?
Years of loving you have made me soft,
so soft that I just let it go.
I should have kept it with me.
What is it called, the grief over
this perpetual losing?
What do I call this melancholy?
If I had a name for this feeling,
could I have claimed ownership
over it?
When they came for my sorrow,
I couldn’t put up a fight.
I didn’t know how to hold on.
If they call me a traitor now, how
do I prove I haven’t betrayed you?
The moon, having been a witness,
is telling me to be strong.
But years of loving you have
made me soft.
So soft that I let you go,
scared that if I stayed,
you’d stay here with me.
And all I have are my hands,
arms outstretched and palms open
but so painfully empty.