When I say I love,
I mean
I fall in 
whole,
swallowed up,
while it licks
its lips.
I am
human ruins
in
a wild man's fire.
The last fallen leaf,
victim of 
a strong storm's breath.
The empty lungs
of a collapsed truth.
The drained ocean
lost in paradise.

I am 
the bloody gurgle
of a war cry.

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how many times did we justify a scar
because we love the person
holding the knife?
how many times did we equate
a deep cut with equally deep love?
how many times did we convince ourselves that if anyone was allowed to hurt us,
it should be them?

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I don't have the vocabulary to describe it
because there are no words in any language
that would do it justice

"hopefully we have a very long time before that happens"

it hit me.
im very likely going to spend the last half of my life 
on the outside of what i want,
looking in at what i deserve.
wondering if that will be me next.
will you be in someone elses eyes?
and how that perso...

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I hope me leaving sparked something in him.
Something that shows him that
not every sacrifice made 
in someone else's name
makes you noble.
that you can be selfish and still be a good person.
that staying where you know
you don't belong is
a crime against yourself.
that we have one life
and we should act accordingly.
and that I love him, still, so deeply.

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my heart screams in echoes
and
I wish you could see
how far I've come since
you died.

how I brave the unknown
with my face in your hands.
how I leave no trace of fear
dripping from my mouth.
how every "yes"
is said with my whole chest.

this is how I love.
and every step I take
is with you

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I asked the universe
for you.
I asked for the scar
on your face
so I knew it was you.
I asked for 
the soft strength in your voice.
I told her 
that your eyes were made of gold
and you'd love books too.
I told her you were
quiet and patient.

and she listened.

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Falling in love can feel like failing when you look at it in the right light. Like surrendering to the unknown when you brush against the familiarity you once knew but now on a new face. A face you knew you'd meet months before it happened. When something in your gut told you he's coming and to stay put this time. When you dream about a scar that marks the person like hidden gold on a treasure map...

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it began with a glance,
a fleeting spark.
eyes meeting in silence,
washing away the dark.
the universe held in pause
while time stretched thin,
his hand brushes mine,
he feels familiar
against my skin.
a little less buried
with each time we kiss.
I cannot help
but to be swept 
further into bliss.

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it's all so violent,
to live and feel connected.
the things we do
and say
and make
and break
in the name of love

how many times we've waited
for the dust to settle before
we stand up and brush
the wreckage from our cheek
only to fall again
and again
and again

how we fold ourselves
so deeply into each other
only to recognize the vacant space
they used to hold for us

and when...

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dear diary,

I am 40. And Im just now starting to find my footing. or a new footing. there's so much change that it's difficult to tell. But, love always has been and always will be the main plot of my life's story. Sadly it seems, though, that no matter how ferverently I emote what love is to me; how deeply, purely, selflessly I love, I am met with an abundance of resistance and find myself los...

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my eyes did give worship
to every hint of olive on his skin.
I whisper a Hail Mary
and surrender 
to the kiss of another bullet.

his armor, amatory.
mine, antiquated.
pray,
prey.

a pair of tangled beasts
never knew such beauty.
 

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it is in the safety of the charred night,
one whose stars have been hand plucked
from the sky,
that I observe myself
in an infinite bliss.

the cosmos purr this sacred psalm of wonder,
this fresh breath of a new love
spilling from my lips
sets fog from core.

I thrust myself to the sky
time and time again,
and time again.
this precious consequence
leaves me 
numb and hungry
for an...

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to grieve is to know love intimately.

to pluck his voice from a crowd,
though I've not heard it in years.
to reminisce about my fingertips
reading his calloused hands like braille
and finding my next breath in every tactile.

to recognize any morsel of his being
in any dimension
and pledging patience to the search
in every lifetime.
to finding him.
and knowing he is ever present.

...

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it's
fearful stutters
on lips with a lisp,
gaping wide open,
autopsy of the chest.

it's wretched.
and painstakingly
beautiful.

and oh, how I love it.

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I am covered in
bruises.
i love them because
they are proof
of all the times i fell...
in love.
i am covered in
scars.
i love them because
they are proof
of all the times i thought i fell...
in love
but something else was there to catch me.
i have scraped knees
from being dragged
thru life by my heart
because it moves
quicker
than my feet.

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the woodland hoarfrost dressing tendrils
 could no less love the light;
it is in this very conflict I find myself
in cavernous worship to both sides,
this delicate balance of paradox,
pirouetting on a sheet of glass,
untinged
by the busy of the world,
alive in its own concention.

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so I become this wrought iron
that I have forged with my own two hands.
I sharpen myself,
tip to hilt.
but
my mouth,
the very blade that can cut the sky,
chose to speak in a healers' tone instead.
I remind myself
of the violence it took
to become 
this gentle.
this cup of earth in my hands,
with home beneath
my fingernails.
I remind myself
what it means to be
pierced to the marrow
...

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i'm always the girl youre not sure about.
people have tried to make me
the girl you come back for.
but i want to be the girl
you never left.

and there are gaps in my happiness.
gaps in my teeth.
gaps in between breaths.
air, just...
slipping away.
fading away 
like colors on clothes
that have spent too much time
in the sun.

and what a funny way to say
theres always light in my l...

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