Home is...

stolen kisses on the subway platform,

the way you lean in to steal them back. 

trust in my navigation skills, which

includes concentric conversational circles,

until we eventually reach our destination. 

a pile of peace offerings in the morning; 

the word goodbye is quickly becoming 

my least favorite sound amongst the

cacophony of life, so here’s a banana. 

“I’m pithed” and “I don’t believe it” and 

sharing what lies behind the curtain, I

don’t think I’ve ever listened so intently 

to stories about spiders, bats, and eggs. 

setting expectations for when we will

both meet back on shore, rest, before

beginning our improvised adventures. 

“turn around,” firm requests of how I 

should melt into your arms, knowing this. 

... is where my heart is.

Naked

you gift them poems, 

in return receive silence ~

it cuts to the bone.

"Te Extraño Nena"

if we were speaking, right now

I'd tell you you're charming

that the way words tumble 

around your skull, through

your lips, onto my skin

and into my bones

has to be some sort of magic. 

I'd narrate the strength in your

arms because the strength in

your convictions also uphold

signs of "this is unjust. we

demand more. we seek to

abolish the world as it met us

outside of our mothers' wombs."

I'd show, then likely tell, you

I love your cheeks the most.

Broad stretches of canvas to

paint words on like

you are incredible and 

you are multitudes and 

you are enough. 

we're not speaking, right now.

isn't it harmful that I can know

you're alive, for now. watching

me watching you, saying

everything and nothing at all.

we're not speaking, right now, 

and I still hear you in the silence.

"Fuck You," But Make It Poetry

I had a dream about you last night. 

It’s like this, I haven’t been sleeping
the world is too unclear, uncertain
but in this fantasyland too, you
ground my heart to sawdust, blew
asked me to inhale it all back into 
bones that created and held 
and reserved space for you. 
What an unappreciated gift, truly. 

We were all at dinner, me and my work
you and your band of merry misfits
I likened you to robin hood, you know. 
And no, it’s not weird to have a crush
on a cartoon fox, as sly as they can be. 
You came up behind me, leaned over 
my shoulder and the intimacy was 
both too rich and too painful to bear. 
You even had the audacity to be upset
as I excused myself in search of oxygen. 

The audacity. Ha, I called you hot stuff. 
You should know that hell hath no fury 
like a woman who remains aware 
of the power she holds and still
chooses softness and warmth. 
Hell hath no fury like a woman
who remains aware of her impact, 
when all that she needs is scorched earth. 

Friends don’t let friends bleed
Until their heart runs dry. 
Then ask if they can resume 
Pumping the well after spring rains. 
I can’t believe I’m saying this to you
of all people, at this time, in this place. 
friends don’t let friends bleed 
until their heart runs dry. 
then ask if they can resume
Pumping the well after spring rains. 

I woke up at around 4 am this morning
to the sound of my own heartache, hbu. 
because you said you missed me and 
now I’m left wondering how it was all 
lost in translation, words like, 

“I appreciate you”
“Te extraño nena”
“No but i want to see ur face”
“You’re amazing”

I can’t find a Duolingo course to 
confirm what i thought I heard,
wouldn’t have assumed my 
interpretation to be so far from 
your intentions, you didn’t mean

“I see you”
“I feel the ache of missing you”
“I want this”
“I value you”

And now all I’m left with are questions

Did I daydream the whole thing? 
Read into your actions that you felt something? 

And Best self? As in, your pinnacle self?

You do realize the end of the maze
the end of the rat race is a trap, right?
that we grow, as the sunflowers do,
heads stretched towards the sun
and we navigate what life throws at us. 
As best we can. That is our best, self. 

You want to be just friends. 
Or you need friendship. 
Or both. 
Or this is a soft let down. 
Or this is your soft let down. 

I want to be with someone 
who wants to be with me. 
Not just during the best times, 
but during the worst times, more. 
Right now. These times. 
I’m scared, all of the time. 
I’m lonely, all of the time. 
I’m confused, all of the time. 
And yet, I’m still here. 
Holding apparently too tightly 
onto what’s possible, 
and not tightly enough 
onto some imagined vision of perfection.

And even then. 

Friends don’t let friends bleed
Until their heart runs dry. 
Then ask if they can resume 
Pumping the well after spring rains. 
I can’t believe I’m saying this to you
of all people, at this time, in this place. 
friends don’t let friends bleed 
until their heart runs dry. 
then ask if they can resume
Pumping the well after spring rains.

I Tried to Tell You, I Love You

don't ask me how much. 
don't ask me to quantify or qualify, 
justify my enunciation of each syllable. 

numbers are lazy, unskilled snapshots. 
they're surface level and powerless, 
meaningless without contextualization. 

I write for you, I don't always want to but
please listen ~ I write for you. 
it's the only honest way I can describe it. 

I miss you, and it's more than I want to, 
because I want to not miss you at all. 
I want annoyances and laughter and 
frustration and the depths of your eyes
permanently imprinted behind my eyelids. 

so don't ask me how much, ask me 
better questions like why and when, 
don't ask me how much because I 
have no interest in quantifying what
deserves the prettiest of words to explain. 

I'm Here

cotton candy skies, 
and monochrome storms, as well,
are moments in time.

Home In Progress

home is where the heart⁣⁣
is⁣⁣
a work in progress⁣⁣
is⁣⁣
every definition and none of them simultaneously. ⁣⁣
⁣⁣
home is a thousand miles away⁣⁣
is⁣⁣
inches between us when we kiss⁣⁣
is⁣⁣
measured in centimeters and miles, trust and safety.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
home is I miss you’s⁣⁣
is⁣⁣
babe, where are you’s⁣⁣
is⁣⁣
I appreciate you and the way you listen and ask for more.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
so if home is where the heart⁣⁣
is⁣⁣
brick and mortar, laughter and tears⁣⁣
is⁣⁣
tangible, amorphous, abstract, concrete⁣⁣
⁣⁣
I think I’d like for home to be here, with you.⁣⁣

Protection

They’ll call it love

in a time of low expectations.

From what I remember of

lives before this one, water

boils and freezes in equal turns.

Hydrogen and oxygen will

push and pull, cycles

of evaluation and investment.

After years of learning about

self defense and soft underbellies,

I’ve come to give life and drown,

siren call and cast white noise,

in tidal measures, oceans of

distance protecting tender chambers.

How Can I Help

Breathe, breathe again, breathe

we're negotiations of 

molecules

~ oxygen and carbon dioxide ~

trying to deal 

the best we can 

with whatever air 

we have at the time

Chronic

"Por faaaa"

Babe,
Baby,
I need you to know
some thoughts are just for me. 

I'll ask for your patience,
your forgiveness
your understanding, 
but I'll demand safety.
I'll skip ahead of you sometimes, 
but I'll always turn back. 

"¿Adonde vas?"

Voy a
the cool tile floor of the bathroom
sometimes I just.can't.breathe.
the crook of your arm
so I can map the curves of you,
memorize the buttons that drive you crazy
around, abroad, anywhere...
the hint of a cage terrifies me. 

"How was cenar"

Lonely, filling, over done
it tried to be home, but
it was nothing I recognized
it tried to be home, but
it was a glass house and 
I spent my time peering in 
knowing without a doubt I wanted you.

"I appreciate you"

When you break my heart
when I shatter at the end 
of this free fall we've embarked on
will you still speak then?
join forces with the silence?
These syllables, I roll them 
in my palms, over my tongue, 
in laps around and around and

I just need you to know
some thoughts 
~ fuck these thoughts ~
are for me.

Commitment

I'll sculpt you a world
out of gossamer words but... 
would you explore it. 

Patience

Every story is a snapshot
of a mesmerizing mosaic. 
I'm trying my best to 
share tiles and panoramas alike. 

Our histories serve as foundations, 
serve as the context behind 
this trigger, or that sore spot, 
or any of many particular flaws. 
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours,"
childish, timeless wisdom... who knew
sing-song exchanges would serve as practice 
for revealing, accepting, making space for 
scars, fears, joys, strengths, passions, realities...

The sight of you, and my god is it a view, 
has me shedding layers, arching my back. 
But I never feel my nakedness, just heat - 
a desire to explore every inch of you. 
It's the push and pull of your requests
for thoughts, stories, odds and ends tiles
that leaves me feeling vulnerable. 
You can feast on my lips, my curves, 
eyes that change like seasons as I 
rotate around your body, grind against 
the length of you. 

Over time you'll gain access to, 
bear witness to, hold in your hands
the parts of me not of flesh and bone, 
but instead
my mosaic.

Flashlight

When I was a child, 
I read by the light of the moon. 
In the safety of darkness, 
I was a double agent, a detective, 
a superhero of my own making. 
Cast in starlight, no destination
was too far, no storyline or reality
too improbable. 
In the light of day, I'm nervous, 
unsure of my footing, questioning
where all of this leads. 
Will the next chapter begin
how I wish it will, know it could?
Cast in starlight, no destination
is too far, no storyline or reality
too improbable.
In the darkness of the night, I'm safe,
calm and steady, sure
of where I want all of this to lead.

But it's so much fun though.

You ask for my words,
but sometimes I think in colors.
Lavender, forest green, navy

when I write, I put heart to paper.

But it's so much fun though?

You ask for my words,
my life blood, my shield, my weapon

My silence is my last wall, my last 
protective measure before they 
twist and tumble and turn and 
oh god now they won't stop shit 
I watch them twirl in front of me

I've never seen a ballet, but my words
are prima donnas, they command

attention.

I've never been a painter, but I'll 

make you cry, make you feel 

the threads of the world.

I've never been a guitarist, but listen

you ask for my words, and I'll sing. 

You make me feel.

in the beginning there was lavender 

soft
sweet
intoxicating

when you told me your wrist hurt I 

didn't believe you
reached out
felt the heat of your skin

I couldn't look you in the eyes when 

I described my childhood 
yearned for a ghost
you told me I'm gorgeous

it was like
it was like spring rain
the glow of a firefly 

it was quiet
it was quiet and still 
it was quiet and still and soothing

I like to play with
my words before I eat them 
and here I am

unfinished, unsure, unclear

unable to set heart to paper

Lilith

Friendships like tendrils,⁣
caresses like crushed velvet-
hello Chicago.