I have stolen all of the love letters
I will pretend they were meant only
For me
(Scratching out their names)
Blue ink conspicuous on black
Folding and refolding with each rereading
Until the fibers become ghost threads
A breath would tear
The dust of hearts that never belonged to me
I breathe and let my fantasy
Be destroyed

It’s not apathy if I still feel things.  These things are violent insecurity that assault every relationship, every word I’ve ever spoken or heard, every letter I write.  I still deny myself feelings when feelings are the most vibrant part of who I am.
I am a green thing that is not getting enough sunlight.  I am withering silence.  I am trembling ( Read more... )

I’m sorry.  I get like this.  I get like this, and I talk in these fragmented sentences.  Even out loud. Even in my head.  I was fine.  I was blissed out on a crush and late nights and coffee and vomiting poetry.  And… I don’t know what happened.  Not really.  And now everything I say sounds like an apology. And I’m afraid to speak because even in ( Read more... )

I hear my own voice change. The shrillness melts away into something dark and warm. My mouth opens and I am a Venus fly trap, offering anything he wants to hear. "Just come a little closer, darling. I'll give you anything if you'll just come near." But what will I do once I've caught my prey? He would be too quick a snack to sate any hunger; too ( Read more... )

I remember because it was my favorite part of spring.  The grass was a surreal ethereal green after seeing nothing but grey for 5 months and the earth was rolling and stretching and the sun... All the sun.  Numbness bakes out of me because I inhale all of the warmth of the soil.  That beautiful life affirming smell of hope and promise.  I told him ( Read more... )