Blistered Hands

my blistered hands
have forgotten what it felt like to
reach for something that isn't
running in the opposite direction

forgive me if i doubt your love
for i have never held something
that didn't slip through my fingers
whenever i looked away

every time i wake with
a kiss on my cheek and
my heart safely in your hands

you are giving me
a break from
reaching because
you are
always
right here

Haiku #16

Stronger than me… us.
Stronger than our voices scream.
Stronger than our fight.

Please Don’t Forget

Words roll off your tongue,
through your fingertips,
and onto a computer screen
before I can drag them into a
dark alley
and beat the crap out of them.
I can’t seem to touch the
thoughts that have a
grip on your mind.
I want to steal them from you and
bury them in the middle of
a forest on the other
side of the universe.
It’s been so long since you’ve
cracked a smile or
whispered “I love you”
under your breath in
front of a mirror.
With too many “I need space”s
as a response to your string of
“I need you”s,
you’re convinced that you are
not worth the
weight of your statements.

Your eyes rush to every
stretch mark and scar as your
mind rips itself inside out
without realizing that all the
flaws you see prove that
you have survived
wars with demons.
You beat them before anyone even
caught a glimpse of your battle.
No wonder they don’t
understand the wounds that
appeared on your skin and
in the depths of your brain,
they didn’t even realize
you were fighting.

You have yet to realize that
without every bruise,
crease, and
imprint,
you would not be alive.
If you were really as light and
easy to carry as your
kindergarten book bag, you’d be a
ghost and hauntings give me chills that
no blanket or jacket can cure.
I want you.
I want you as a person,
as a human.
I want to be able to touch and
feel and
listen to the crack in your voice and
teach you about everything you
ignore about yourself
until you figure out that
there is more to
love.

Haiku #13

You are poetry,
words too beautiful to write,
not spoken but felt.

I Don’t Know How (I Love You)

I sit here
searching for the words that will penetrate your heart, but
love poems remain on the
list of things I wish I was good at.
But
here I am, stringing together the
thoughts that have been
roaming my mind since my eyes first found
yours.

I spent most of my life
burying every fairy tale
ending of true
love’s kiss while
craving the touch that would send me into
space. There were
dungeons inside of me that I was sure
no one could bear.
You unlocked
the doors to my darkest rooms without
fearing the ghosts that
lingered.

Fast forward four years and
I can’t look into your eyes
without my heart reaching to
hold you.
Our futures tangled and knotted
together in our pockets.
There were no blueprints, no
outlines, but we can now see the yellow brick road
leading us to painting the walls in our
living room and filling
bookshelves and
photo albums and sleeping in
late because my arms
dread the emptiness that comes when
you are not near.

My imagination rewrites our
future as many times as it can,
outcomes so elaborate and
varying, but it can’t seem to
forget that your name is
written on the walls of my heart with
permanent marker.
With every beat, I am reminded that
you
will never
fade
away.

Your Eyes

They guard your heart
like an army.
Your brain grows
tired,
hanging it’s head as
tears form puddles beneath.

My arms wrap around you
and the tears no longer splash
into those puddles.
Instead, they soak into
my shirt and disappear.

I dig your pounding heart
from the pile of criticisms
and rub my fingers
back and forth
until it calms and settles.

We stand together
and I take your hand,
look into those eyes,
and ask them to
stand down.
I will take their post and
ensure no one passes.

I will lay you down
and watch
those eyes truly close
for the first time in
nineteen years.
Hesitant.
Relieved.

Ex.

I stumbled to her doorstep after
one too many shots,
or maybe 3 or 4.
I manage to knock before falling to the ground,
or maybe I just hit my head on the door on the way down.
I closed my eyes and imagined it was the waves that were
rocking me,
the moisture above my lip was from the
splash of the water and not
blood trickling since I banged my face on the
bar just before the bartender asked me to leave.
I imagined we were on that cruise we’d been
planning before she walked in on a girl
between my legs and screamed my name
louder than I could ever get her to
moan when we spent nights with our bodies intertwined.
She opened the door and placed her hand on my chest.
I’m not sure if she were checking for a heartbeat
or if she missed me too.
I opened my eyes to white walls and
IVs and a
note on the table in front of me.

Blood Alcohol Level of .19
Six months later and I’m still cleaning up your mess.