i know, i know. all these promises to continuously write and read and praise that i can't always keep. so i won't promise again, i'll just give you some beautiful things to read, look at, and listen to in attempt to make up for it

enemy safety... and i love how your blood is like a lightning storm fain gentle and mythic
encroached with feet upon sand to print only, glimpse only, skeletons of light
blooming and buried oh! frightens at night; in spectral command the pulse that
quickens to drum through howls of beastly magic oh! fruitless endeavor... mine
only once before, and yours forever; a place that is never safe. icarushis eyes were made of liquid gold
and hypnotizing like everything
dangerous

i'm rushing around convincing myself
of how much i don't love him

but always catch myself wondering if
i, in fact, do

there's fragments of me
and there's bits of you
we're just swept glass under
the carpets

i know deep down i'm not even
close to being happy
but i've always been a fool

we fit like puzzle pieces
but the picture changes
every day

and i'm left breathless
wondering

why
and how
someone so difficult
exists

like all the boys before
he hurts

i wait and try
and beg
for something
i know may never
happen
but hard to give up
when i firstYou are what I see when I look in the mirror, every single night. It used to be love- that was what you and I were made up of, our cells fused together. Now, I think the distance has turned us into the same person.

You slip your dirty white v-neck over your head, you eat your microwaved food, you count the tiles on your kitchen floor.
I feed my baby, I throw on a baggy shirt, I wake my husband for work.

Wasn't this supposed to be us?

You smoke your cigarette in the living room, you look for the remote.
I sneak outside, I light my cigarette.
We inhale simultaneously, three thousand miles apart, different worlds.

You yell at the top of y fungibledecoding the coda
distracts from the glance
to chance a trance
code inked down her back

snowflakes from fingertips
rest, recoil and draw
the energy she's seen
in the space between

climbing only to fall Heritagesstuck
more than nothing
less than a whole
blood scattered across the globe
steps sunken into deserts, mountains, and rivers.
who had a touch like mine?
a voice like mine?
I come from a line of warriors, healers,
              cowards.
I come from a people of pain
shown not through my ancestral records
but the palms of my hands
the brown of my eyes. safetyin awe
i watched
breath stilled
you strolled in fire
as if in verdant pasture

you
though exposed
were composed
holding close secrets
flame in your spell
dispelled all madness

you appeared ablaze
that they
who would care to
come near
would not dare to

what was real
remains veiled
   yet remembered

what was not
memory dimmed
   is regarded

in grace
you walked
strong - proud

you emerged unscathed

   a Phoenix

having realized you
my heart stays
in your care

so it abides
guiding
from this focused mind
gliding to yours
   one third Earth distant

love and paperi cannot sleep

i count a thousand paper cranes

and paper flowers

there's too much time to spare

in the middle of too little time

i wash my hair and clip my nails

i count to three

and stare at you staring back at me

sitting on piles of dirty clothes

making paper cranes

and paper flowers rachisshe bent, over, spine bowed; kinked
to ensure, to see
the ground she walked upon
could support her

tree

long, the rise, a trunk, arms
open; terpsichorean
the sky she longed for
above one risky, gamboling

leaf

structure, sound; not crisp
the streets, the tweets
avian songs and flights
so swift, though light-like falling

feather

sweet, smooth; soundless
strong enough to die
she repeats, the bending from
sky, to ground beneath, to sky :thumb192974744: UnknownI wouldn't have described you with a word like
fierce unless I actually knew the colour of your
eyes.
Or perhaps something greater, something
kinder.
Like a thought
About you about us about the way our legs
touch.
Absolute absolution,
Absolve me.
Cradle me there, yes there in the crook of
your neck. Dear Poetry,I might be dangerously on the verge of being poetic, but-

Sometimes I don't feel me in my own skin.
I am too many breaks between pulses,
& a heart still living in the autumn of 99.

I'm telling stories about a girl.

A soul made of ink & godly metaphors,
too much for a non-homeostatic body.

There were once fireflies in her smile,
alight between the gaps in her teeth.

A rebel,
love letters carved into wrists
she never sent.

Poetry,

She is Porphyria, & you are her lover.

(i know! some of them are old old old but i haven't been around to revel in their beauty)

&Sounds:
[link] [Blood by The Middle East]
[link] [Home by Edward Sharpe & The Magnificent Zeros]
[link] [Something Good Can Work by Two Door Cinema Club]
[link] [Blue Spotted Tail by Fleet Foxes]
[link] [Ho Hey by The Lumineers]
[link] [Limit to your Love by James Blake]