An archive as of late. Click a title to read. I don't really think I'm the best poet, most definitely won't win any awards for anything. But they come from the heart. If you think they're cringe, it's probably because I am. Also, some of these are old, so don't worry about me too much if I'm upset in them.
My most recent poem, just inspired by what I saw on a walk
under all that ice
a stream continues to move
the stars that lined the pavement
are gone
but
I still seem to feel
a bit of hope
Written after a friend told me about their beautifully wistful childhood routines
all I can hope for
is a beautiful autumn,
with her flittering leaves,
And sweeping winds, brush my face
—my only lover
Twinkling water upon a river
Delicate
Halo
when looking through astigmatic eyes
Hush,
Drop pebbles in a creek
Tell me about your tea drinking
Perfectly melancholic childhood
Scrape your knees
Cable knit sweater
Weather cold enough to force people to inch together
Finding hands in each others pockets
Hope someday I can be someones
“Beautiful-perfect-special”
All I can hope for is a beautiful autumn,
and the chance to do it
all over again.
Written for a friend as a gift for them working my shift
Yellow stars line the street.
It’s warm enough to pretend
nothing’s ending yet.
I think adulthood might be
the long apology
we give ourselves
for needing people.
Hold you in my hands
Think I’ll pick you apart
Think ive figured you out
You belong to me
You just don’t know it yet
Written after listening to Imogen Heap
kaleidoscope of a life.
bundled up in heaps of scarves
tangled-up wires with your mp3 player
longing to go back to your childhood
before you worried about wasted potential
pry your rib cage open and look at a flaming heart
am i the virgin?
will you venerate me?
will i make something of my life?
collages of everything you’ve ever loved before
roses with prickly thorns
daydreaming in coffee shops
you are struggling to grow your little moth wings
youre taking off, the window’s open
flying out to fall into the same routine
A little pit forms
At the bottom of my stomach
Wells up like a seed,
With its hardened exterior
I feel it rattling around
It starts whenever I’m
Driving home alone
On a brisk march night
No music in the car
Reminding me of
Vacation,
With the window rolled down,
The humid wind prickling the skin
Never returning home
Regretting not doing homework
And never wanting to see my
Classmates again
Starts whenever I’m
Done away with myself
And all is still
And I can no longer focus on
Anything else but the
Glowing stars overhead
And the little pearls that welter
Or when we’re watching
Music videos, sat up in
Your bed newly made and
You yawn
And I’m worried I’ll get too
Attached and loose you too
A little pit forms
At the bottom of my stomach
Like the kind in the movies
The kind that doesn’t exist
Where everything feels perfect and I never ever have to settle or compromise
Someone who loves me for me and what I am, not what I can be
I want holding hands in sweaters while it snows
I want kissing ivory lips and tasting sweet cherry ganache
I want gazing up at the stars on an autumn eve and
hearing all about the Orión and Artemis and Perseus and
your plans for becoming a marine biologist, a nomadic theologian, and a best selling author.
I want listening to music on shared earbuds as we are lovingly confined to a twin size bed
Feeling secure, feeling safe, and never feeling embarrassed
Proud of being together because we have
A love that is our love
And only ours
That we don’t share with others because it’s enough for just us
Sitting together and speaking nothing
But there is nothing to say
And you get me
And I get you
And we are enough
I wish to be loved in the way a man loves another man
The way he sighs when he looks at his tender breast and creased trousers
Although it’s a sin, it is his sin and he loves his partner in a divine way