I’m not saying

Behind me, through a crack in the door, a guitar ballad cries out to me. I see golden-viridian orbs of mischief twinkling up at me, inquisitive.

I’m listening to music from my childhood, where life was hard and I shut myself up inside. I’m connected to a deeper part of my psyche in this moment, drowning in a land of my creation.

I’m fantasizing about young heartbreaks, when I first learned that nothing is perfect. During the experiences I shared with long forgotten lovers, with family I’ve exiled, with my own lost innocence.

When I became cynical, became jaded and hard, I lost sight of the world around me. How amazing is this world we’ve been gifted, these emotions we damn, these scents and tastes?

I first lost hope when I learned that those assumed protectors we’re forced upon didn’t really want to sacrifice. They weren’t willing to do anything for a solid life, for happiness and love.

But I am. I am different. I am a new breed of myself, a species diversifying, an atom splitting, a new day of promise.

When I learned that no one is perfect, I hadn’t yet learned of you. Your flaws, your traumas, your idiosyncrasies, your scars. Your fears. You are an awe-inspiring creation, the perfect culmination of complexities that make you absolute perfection.

You grow and thrive, becoming a garden for my soul to become lost in. The murmured lyrics on my television make my chest long for your breath.

They make my fingers ache for those velveteen, secret spots of skin. They make my tongue ignite, awakened by the pining I have for the taste of your whispered “I love yous”.

Before you, life was the slow road to my funeral. The trip spent modifying the guest list, crossing off names. Crossing off more names. Crossing off every single name and scribbling so hard that I tore through the page.

But now, life is ending all too quickly. How many sleeps do I have left before you’re grey? Before you’re ill, before we’re barely able to climb the stairs to our bedroom? How many sunrises in your arms remain before we lay down together for that last goodnight?

It’s inconceivable but all too possible. But it matters not, because I’ve smelled your skin after a hard day. I’ve run my nails across your scalp and I’ve seen tears well in your eyes for me.

I’ve never made love before you, because you make love to me with adoration, with your pupils dilating and your irises glowing. You make love to me with your mind, with your art, with deep breaths and fingertips, exploring.

Fairy tales were a fear of mine. Happily ever after wasn’t something I deserved, I was meant to suffer, this cross was mine to bear. I am a master saboteur, perfectly executing my own demise.

I believe. I’ve found faith in those saucers of cerulean and sky. My night contains stars now and the view is marvelous. I can’t wait to hold your hand against a backdrop of atramentous silk, with clinquant diamonds strewn upon it, haphazardly.

I see light within you, feel whole just knowing you exist. I believe in hopeless romance, now. I’m no longer afraid to love, to be a gift instead of a curse, to be the cure as opposed to the poison.

My head was meant for that spot on your chest, my stomach formed to press against the small of your back as I lazily trail my fingers across your chest and inhale sensation I can’t believe I’m able to feel.

I’m awake. I’m wide awake and I can view everything anew. I will create art. I will create beauty. I will change. I will make the world better. I will. I have to, because the girl you love is strong. She is a mountain, sharp and immortal. She will leave a mark upon this life that no one can ignore. She will shift oceans.

She will become oceans, even. Flooding the skulls of those alive to witness this grand transformation. I’m going to be your equal. Because you deserve that. You deserve so much, entire galaxies razed in your name, monuments in every space in time, your name shouted from rooftops, in moments of flourishing passion.

We have both lived lives as a phoenix. It’s time to wash away the ashes I carry. I’m tired of coughing from the soot. I’ve never filled my lungs with such a saccharine vapor as I do when in your company.

The future is bright with you.



Gazing from my window, my sight is taken by the gnarled oak amongst the treeline. Set about twenty paces from the forest, it glares at me.

Cold runs through my shoulders as I ache and lean forward. Head shaking, I chuckle under my breath and rise from my seat.

I slip on dusty flip-flops, for I haven’t ventured out into the yard in a while. Opening the scarred front door, I gingerly step beyond the threshold towards your resting place. Again.

My heels slap against my foam soles as I narrowly avoid twisting my ankles in ruts in the soil. It’s fitting, like a natural metaphor for my soul. Eroded and imperfect but still sustainable.

Even pacing myself, I reach Your tree far too quickly. My breath quickens and my eyes darting left and right catch a glimpse. A glimpse of you, piercing me with your judgement.

I failed again. Just like the last time. My eyes linger upon the canopy of the oak, the great leafy crown it has become. I still feel your ghostly visage on the outer reaches of my vision.

My gaze lowers and I catch sight of your skull within the roots. My skull, because you are me. You’re the reason I took to this cabin, the reason I’ve followed this path in this lifetime.

I failed because I found him. I found him where you, you missed out. This is why you judge me. I found him and because of apprehension and fear, I hurt him. I failed because I watched his eyes go dark where you, you never even saw them during your turn with our energy.

The last time, you found him too late, already upon the lining of your coffin as he paid his respects and let fall one solitary tear, because he never knew you. He was passing by the old Catholic monstrosity and had a feeling.

An urge, the single strongest need he’d ever felt, to enter this place. To gaze upon your face, upon my face, the face I wear now. I failed because I almost ruined my chance to love him longer, because you never had the chance to love him at all.

But I won’t fail because I have time. I’m not dying tomorrow, and well…if I am, at least I got to love him for as long as physically possible. Because we’ve all loved him, every single version of us.

And in some way, we all failed somehow. But most of us were gifted the opportunity to continue loving him for as long as we could, many until our final breaths.

I’m going to be the best version of us yet. I’m going to fix the broken pieces we have, I’m going to oil our hinges and clean out the cobwebs. We’re going to be vulnerable and flexible and open. And honest.

I’m going to love him the longest because I know now how much he is worth and even with horrible cataracts I’d never be blinded to his worth, to his warmth, to his heart.

I’m going to fix us. I’m going to cut down this oak, because I’m done being reminded of the times we’ve failed, I’m tired of staring at your gravesite, our gravesite and longing for the lives we lived prior.

I’m going to love us the longest. We deserve to be whole. We deserve to live the right way, this time. I failed before. I failed when I watched the air seep from his lungs.

But I’m not finished improving upon what I’m building. I’m not giving up and I’m strong enough to fix us. To fix me. To be better, to do better. I’m not going to fail again, I’m going to finally succeed.


Sometimes, it feels as though my body isn’t my home. It feels like a crappy apartment in a bad neighborhood.

Sometimes, I feel like I shouldn’t unpack, I shouldn’t decorate. I shouldn’t settle because before too long, it’ll be time to move on.

But then I take a step back and notice that the walls are chipped and scuffed. This place needs a fresh coat of paint and a good vacuuming.

And every time I decorate my skin, it’s like repainting a wall, or hanging a poster, or buying a candle.

Because I own these walls. I own this house. I own my body, and these walls are mine to create upon. These walls are mine to splash with every color ever created, or no color at all.

I own my body and I’m finally getting comfortable here. I’m finally settling in. I’m finally making this place my own. I’m finally feeling more like a home than a rental.

This moment, eternal.

This is the first night I’ve spent completely alone (no one else in the domicile) in about 6 years. It’s an odd feeling, knowing that there’s no one here but you.

Knowing that no one will be getting a 3am glass of water or coughing. Knowing your mom isn’t going to bang around in the god damned kitchen at 7am making coffee. Knowing your dad isn’t going to wake up wrong, again, and scream until he’s red.

Knowing you won’t hear the one you love’s breathing. Knowing that no one is near enough to sense clearly.

It’s an odd feeling but I live for making myself uncomfortable. I need this experience to ensure I cherish the next moment, where I’m not utterly alone, tenfold.

I need this moment to fuel the way I produce change in myself. I need this moment to show you that I’m stronger than I think sometimes, to show you I can do better, can love you better.

I need this moment for me. I need to know that at the end of the day, there might not be anyone there to hear you scream. And if they aren’t, well…you have to make damn sure that you take control of yourself and refuse to be a victim of fear.

Stop being scared. If you allow yourself to succumb, you allow yourself to become easy prey for fear.

Fear turns you into a snarling, wretched beast. Foul smelling and incoherent. Psychotic and walled in…cornered and protective over trivialities that are so insignificant it’s crazy.

You lose yourself. You lose that light beaming from within you. You lose your passion and your happiness and sanity.

I didn’t write this for any particular reason. But I needed to write this, and if you needed to read this, I’m glad. I love you and you matter. You amaze and astound me, inspire me in all ways.

I love you and I thank you for knowing I’m not perfect. For knowing that change is hard, and takes time, and involves mistakes and compromises and understanding.

I love you. Thank you for understanding so deeply how to love another being. Thank you for continuing to believe in me and for having faith.

I’ve never known faith until you. I’ve never known love until you. I’ve never wanted to fix me.

Now, I do.

Now, I am.


The blade cuts to the bone,

And me with my hand wrapped around the hilt.

I plunged my cold steel into your heart and fell faint upon seeing the river of vermilion pour out over my fingers.

Who the fuck am I? No, really, who am I? I’m not sure who I was tonight.

But I guess I was me. I was the same me who makes bad decisions, the same me who overcame adversity, the same me who has been happy and destroyed and complacent.

Because even when you’re acting out of character, you’re still you. You don’t change form into some ugly monstrosity so that at least everyone is aware.

You wear the same face, you are the same you as the good parts, as the silly ones and sad ones, too.

Accountability isn’t being able to count. It’s making sure you recognize your faults, your fuck ups, and taking responsibility for the aftermath.

A bomb dropped in my world, tonight. A bomb I built with my own idiotic ideals and my lack of caring. A bomb I dropped upon the foundation we were pouring.

It was a grand foundation, with trust and love. Honesty and candor. A strong concrete slab upon which a home we’d build.

And I’m cleaning up the crater I left. I’m filling it in and I’m fixing the landscape. And then maybe we can pour the foundation again.

My Mind’s Eye

I dreamt of you last week.

But it wasn’t a dream when I saw your eyes burning fire and sunbeams peeking from behind your lips.

I dreamt of you a few days ago.

But it wasn’t a dream as you clasped my face in your hands and told me you loved me. It wasn’t a dream when we cried, when we embraced in cerulean, swirling ecstasy.

I dreamt of you yesterday.

But it wasn’t a dream as I saw sadness behind the crashing waves of your irises. As I saw you deep in thought. As I felt your hands against skin that’s never been touched by anyone but you. Because you’re the only one who has ever truly touched me.

I’ll dream of you every night.

Because it’s not a dream, not a fantasy, not an imagined situation on repeat for eternity. It’s real.

This is real and as I taste your lips, I realize I’ve been blinded to any other flavor. Your heat radiates through me, triggering synapses and driving me mad.

Maybe it’s too fast but times before, it’s been too slow. Maybe it’s too much, but that I’d rather than it being too little.

Maybe it’s frightening, seeing your life play out in the eyes of the one who loves you most. Maybe it’s not quite the right situation.

But you found me, like in the lives being lived by us before, in congruent sentences scrawled upon pages golden and crumbling.

You see me, you read my novel and begged for sequels. Waiting patiently in the library of our life together for the next installment.

I’ll always dream of you because in so many ways you are me. And I am you. And we belong to one another’s souls.

And maybe that’s frightening, like wearing a monster mask in the darkest alleys of the city where we met.

And maybe the timing is off, maybe our raw emotion is speeding us towards imminent collision. A hadron collider spinning uncontrollably, combining our energies.

But I’ll always dream of you, just like I know you’ll always dream of me.


In case you haven’t noticed by now, the apocalypse has begun.

Our monoliths still stand in phallic mockery and the perceived order of things is still implied but take heed,

It’s Armageddon and wars are raging. Not physical wars but a war within oneself.

An unending battle over what is and what has been. Instability and fear dust every tongue, caressing you with kind words and false flicks of the promise of blue horizons and rolling, green hills.

All the while, idle hands set torches alight and burn every inch of the perfectly maintained golden wheat you’ve grown to nourish the world of your creation.

Tears reign here and once again take full control by extinguishing every flaming passion still smoldering. Whoever said the future was promised?

Because it’s the beginning of the end, the London Bridge is falling down, and Olympus has been reduced to ash.

The casualties of war are many and the remaining pieces of yourself recombine in one final attempt at a successful existence, just like the thousand times before and the thousand times remaining.

Who are you to have any control when daily life is a tired sitcom where you only play the role of an uncredited extra, not even collecting a measly stipend and seeing your name at the very end of the closing?

Because, who even reads the credits, anymore? Someone with a piqued interest, someone seeking additional distraction, or someone who knows there is a reason to see if they list your name.

At the edge of the Earth, during the end of the world, when the screen fades to black, very few take the time to read through what is thought of as insignificant to see if you were there, if you were relevant, if you ever truly existed at all.


We create fear within and for ourselves. Meaning, only we can abolish it. We have the will, we just also require the want.

I’ve been climbing this mountain my entire life, finally finding a crevice to rest. But it’s raining now and my eyes no longer see horizons I’ve dreamed of.

We can pull ourselves up and cling to familiarity or we can take risks and feel ALIVE, again. Because when have we ever truly lived until this very moment?
Fight or flight response is a lie. We never fight, ever, because we live life under the guise of self-preservation. We never fight for anything.

So I’ll make up some wine from bleach and Klonopin and I’ll fade off into sleep. I can’t remember the last time I prayed but it seems fitting that right now I’m begging life to release me.

Kiss me with chloroform and drag me through ditches, over dirt roads. Remember what you’ve made, my dear, because this corpse is all I have left.

To Everything

I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole, this I know for certain,

I’m so completely enamored with you, captivated beyond all reason.

Compose for me these letters of love, and write out what your heart wishes to whisper, 

Then shout our revelations from rooftops throughout the city, scattering flocks of birds from the resonance. 

It’s quiet now yet my brain will not cease it’s chattering, 

A continuous back and forth about how there’s no possible way this could ever culminate. 

You’re real and I feel you within me, digging into every long forgotten crevice, 

Pushing through what all others see, to actually taste the truth of it all. 

You’re the most genuine being I’ve ever known and it’s heartbreaking to be set aflame, waiting, 

The clock is ticking and soon, our joining. 

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