broken ribs

i will tell you
once and for all
of the spaces
between my ribs
that you just can’t seem
to fit between;

i have tried for so long
to spread my bones
wide enough
so that you
could finally get in,
but my chest is bleeding,
my fingers are blistered,
and my heart
has seen too much
of your desperation.

my vocabulary will no longer
let me define myself
as half of you,
because if i
am half of you,
then i am only
half of me.

my ribs
protect my heart —
and i’m sorry, but i can’t…
i will not any longer, for you,
pull myself apart.

he loves me; he loves me not

my love for you 
is not a simple cause and effect;
it is not you love me, 
so i love you back
it is not an obligation
or an i owe you
or an act of service.
it is not a result
of convenience.

my love for you
is gravity,
is the only thing
my soul could do
after it finally found you,
is the breathtaking realization
of reality meets fantasy
and of years of dreaming
shocked to come true.

an A-frame on the water

i imagine
an A-frame
on the water,
smelling always
of citrus and basil.

the open windows
would remind us
of falling in love,
and with pens and pencils
we would write
every word
of our story.

over wine and bruschetta,
and with black and white movies,
and with you playing guitar
and me singing along,
we would walk again
through every mind-blowing
moment.

we would not forget
the hurt; we would detail
even our pain
beautifully, 

but most luminous,
in our story, would be
the ways in which
we fell in love.

living with intent

let us negate the expectations,
laid straight and narrow
like cobblestone roads,
by hands that were not ours.

let us pause and feel the pattern,
through our rubbered soles,
of brick to brick beneath our feet,
and let us imagine the texture
of summer grass on bare toes.

let us walk boldly in a direction
of our choosing; let us unlace our shoes
and strip our socks and feel the pulse
of our wild and immaculate earth.

let us inhale with intention;
let us not be afraid of change;
let us learn the art of stretching for
and clinging tight
to the dreams we so desire.

a revolution

we come from a beginning
that only we believe in —

every day is another battle
of no you can’ts and maybe
you should rethink thats,

but we remember
what they’ve all forgotten:

a revolution does not
require thousands;

we are but two in love,
and with our love,
we will revolutionize the world.

into your arms

i was alive
for 8,840 days
before we met,
before you walked
into my life
and altered my reality
in such a way
that i can no longer
see it without you.

for 24 years, two months,
and 21 days,
i dreamt of a world
with you in it,
but never would i
have imagined
that my feet
could eventually lead me
into the arms
of that dream.

every day loving

today, i woke to realize
the rivers run deeper,
the mountains climb higher,
and the valleys run wider

when i am in your arms.

the sunrise is brighter,
the nighttime is thicker with stars,
the world is grander,
and my love for you, too, 

is more immense than before.



weeks

on monday,
he placed ten kisses at the tips of her fingers, and he told her to save them for the forecasted rainy days.

on tuesday,
she wept; he carried her into the bathroom, filled the tub, and not knowing whether it was bathwater or her tears, he wiped the water from her cheekbones; at midnight, they curled into each other and dreamt of sunny days.

on wednesday,
she filled for them the tub again; through the speakers and over the sound of rain, she ran acoustic music and asked if she might learn about him; he told her about his mother and her laugh.

on thursday,
they danced with bare feet in the living room, knowing not a single word or the rhythm to the song the record played, but dancing still on each other’s toes.

on friday,
they baked cookies and sang along to blaring rock and roll; she sat on the counter and, with the heels of her feet, pulled him up between her legs; she whispered “i love you,” and, loud enough for the world to hear, he said, ”i love you too.”

on saturday,
he said let’s paint, and with colors smeared between their fingers, they tackled each other to the carpeted floor, covering themselves in yellows and greens; from his body to hers the colors blended; one was trees stretching towards the other, who was the sun; while one shone bright, the other grew, and never did they know who was who, until together, they reached the sky and realized that, as two, they were one.

on sunday,
their love was evidenced in turns of phrase that meant forever, and upon forever, they began their lives.

we’re not in kansas anymore

there was light
seeping in
between the blinds, 
dancing on your shoulder blades
as the sun rose
into our morning sky.

the day illuminated us
as, together,
we stretched
into dreaming,
following, like yellow brick roads,
the glowing paths
that led us home
and into
each other’s arms.

the battle of carpe diem

her life transformed
into a tug-of-war
with time;

it was a world echoing too soon
from a hundred voices
not her own,
and during the time it took
to defend herself and reassure
the world that their too soon
was, for her, not soon enough,
time ticked on,

and so many days, hours,
seconds, and minutes,
she missed.

Please know there are much better things in life than being lonely or liked or bitter or mean or self-conscious. We are all full of shit. Go love someone just because; I know your heart may be badly bruised, or even the victim of numerous knifings, but it will always heal, even if you don’t want it to; it keeps going. There are the most fantastic, beautiful things and people out there, I promise. It is up to you to find them.

Chuck Palahniuk 

(Source: hellanne, via lualua)

stargazing

your summertime love
is stargazing at four a.m.
and on every falling star
is wishing for you.

train of thought

her bedroom window
is fifty feet from the tracks,
one of the busiest
in the Midwest;

from dawn ‘til dusk
and in-between,
trains whir by, delivering
each time
reminders of her transient life,
the boxes stacked in closets,
still packed, waiting only
for the passing of time
for their contents
to be forgotten.

she forces herself to remember
that home is not a place,

but she is blinded then,
by the one giant headlight
in her mind:

this train and the next,
moving in opposite directions,
could both bring me closer
to home,

and yet,

in my train of thought,
i look to the board
of arrivals and departures,
and i wait,

knowing too well,
that life
does not wait.

http://momentary-poems.tumblr.com/post/82024506101/some-stories-are-told-through-voice-and

momentary-poems:

some stories are told
through voice and inflection
some are sung
through guitar song
some come in writing
on vanilla scented pages
some are painted
with fingers on canvas
some stories are crafted
in marble and granite
some are planted
in fields of whole grain
but the story I heard

2 weeks ago - 17

a collapse

i knelt on the concrete
helpless
and praying 
that this grand intervention
(an act of the universe 
in my so-well-planned life)
might better me,

might teach me that 
only through failure
could i learn to succeed —  
only through pain
could i learn to find joy —
only through collapse,
could i learn to rebuild.