And I do think of you with every cup I pour. I think of the night you gave me the ceramic pink pot and how we danced together in the kitchen of your old house before going to dinner. And as I pour milk into my tea, just a dab, I think about the morning before when you made me breakfast while I swept the floors and wiped down the counters, helping you clean up our mess. But when I reach into the cabinet for the honey I think of the few times you called me your honey, and maybe it was because you thought I was sweet.. but now I only feel bitter. I don’t sweeten my tea anymore. In fact, I’ve gotten into the habit of steeping my tea too long and drinking it anyways; I’ve become accustomed to bitter aftertastes and forgotten whats supposed to taste good. And I’ll think about the book you gave me that night, and how you may never read the pages I’ve filled inside it.These things will cross my mind with each cup I pour, but I’ll also think about how the scorching steep would feel on my skin. I’d compare it to the emotional pain you’ve burdened me with and pour it on myself hoping that maybe I’m no longer numb, but I’d still feel nothing.
His fingers felt different
while they traced my skin
almost like yours used to
and his lips were a different kind of soft- as if he was scared that my dry ones may crumble and break?
his arms wrapped around me securely and
I was still numb, but I wasn’t thinking of you
it was only when I allowed someone else to take me to galaxies once familiar to you and i
to let inside my world and see the constellations made up on my freckled body,
when I realized that my world doesn’t orbit around you
We learn, grow and heal fom our different experiences. That is one thing I have been trying to understand now more than ever. Something I have been anticipating for years now has been my very first tattoo. What would I get? Why would I get it? And where would I place it? Now i’ve never been one to believe that every tattoo must have a meaning, but for however long I can remember flowers have been so so important to me. Flowers symbolize growth. They grow big and tall, sometimes wilt because they’re not properly taken care of, much like us, but they grow beautiful again. They leave seeds here and there and allow more and more growth among the fields and garden around them. They never truly stop growing, and neither do we..
So never stop growing and loving and sharing that growth and love with others.
In my slumber
its your hands around my waist
your fingers tracing my skin
your lips kissing away my pain
and its your voice whispering all good things to me
but then i wake up
and its your hands that are absent
your lips on a can of cheap beer
instead of passionately placed on mine
and its your voice saying to me the things I’d rather not hear
are these dreams or are they nightmares?
Loss lingers longer than love lasts
I am the sulking petals
And i am the wilting flower
No longer looking towards light
And no longer blooming
and i overlove
and maybe that was too much
but all i’ve ever wanted to be
As toxic as it is, we love those who only love us in pieces
they love the serene and the beautiful parts
and they’ll love your body
but they’ll reject the part of you that is stuck in a whirling storm
drowning and gasping for air
and thats the part of you that needs love the most.