POETRY
Writing poems is more of a form of release than anything else and I find writing them entirely therapeutic and cathartic. Here you'll find a few of them.
june, you make me miserable
Love it when it's summer & June and how every day feels like you've gone back 5 years and the need to get out of bed becomes hard to remember and all the progress comes undone and there's sweat clinging to my skin like grief. The only noise in the room at 1 AM is the hum of the fan and it's so empty and the windows are dark and why is there so much sweat on my skin? My head feels dry. Love it when your eyes sleep not because they're sleepy but because it's easier to just close them and see not the pictures on your phone nor the "take care <3" messages. Your eyes open sometime later and stare at the bright screen and drift shut again. It's still summer & June when you wake up.
You go through the motions - dust and clean and bath and eat and now it's 11 AM what do I do (it remains a statement not a question). The bed dips under my weight and I stare at my feet seeing nothing and all I can think of is the hum of the fan and the sweat sticking to my goddamn skin and the slow ticking of the clock because it's suddenly 1 PM now and you're hungry. A whole day passes and it's still summer & June.
THE EARNEST NEED TO BE KNOWN
I'd want to be known like the back of a lover's hand; lazily, earnestly, contentedly
"Where did you get this scar?"
childhood memorabilia, I'd say
"and this one?" as my palm faces our eyes now
a mark of adolescence
and this? I'd ask back.
Taking turns to be a lover's hand, you'd tell me
CINNAMON HANDS
(An ode to platonic love)
i think i could
sit
two ankles intertwining in hidden
discomfort at the thought of you
sitting silently across from me
tall and darker
from your trip
with love but twisted tongues
falter my speech and
pause my lips
from another embarrassing reprieve
but your teeth peak a hello
as you laugh
with me
not at
as many tend to do
or so I think
but you comfort
and sigh with me
at boys that bring
me
and you
butterflies from the meadow
where the cinnamon
dominates
and the wind makes way
for it to reach me
as I bite into it for the first time
and now i sit beside you
your arm under mine
intertwined
