she was gone by the time i was four,
then there were others,
that came and said, i will be your mother
but they forgot me when they put
their mother-daughter outings on the calendar.
almost good enough, but not quite enough
to get an invitation to the beach
or the shopping or coffee to talk about the day.
good enough for advice, but
not quite good enough for time.
this should have faded by now,
this feeling of being forgotten,
you’d think by thirty you’d be finished”
with childish things like belonging
and motherly love and girls nights.
but here i am, writing some shitty poem
about what it feels like to see your
sister and her mother travel to the beach
and share jokes and shopping and time,
while you sit on a couch, wishing you had a mother.
she was gone by the time i was four.
sunset.
if you’ve never felt like
setting everything you own
on fire and traveling
into the fucking sunset,
have you ever even existed?
far.
let me just get in the car,
tank of gas will get me far
kentucky or kansas,
somewhere away from
all these damn feelings.
sing along with the radio
windows down, heat on
escape, damn escape
to a place where i can
drown myself in whiskey
maybe forget all these
fucking memories.
candles.
don’t bother to sew yourself shut,
just stand there, hold yourself open
let them see your beating heart
vulnerable doesn’t mean broken.
change the narrative of sorrow
as it turns out, happiness is something
that you can borrow.
you can share it.
like a candle and a flame,
your light doesn’t need to be extinguished
share it, no shame.
you’re beautiful even when you’re bleeding.
fire.
fear will eat you alive,
if you let it.
i’m telling you –
it will swallow you
from the inside out.
it will creep into your bones
like fire until you’re nothing
but ashes on the ground.
contentment.
i have not known,
this kind of contentment,
before you.

as is.
it’s the strangest thing,
how i find myself loving you.
i haven’t told you – yet
but the words stay on the tip of my tongue
waiting.
dangerously close,
to spilling over and out
and through all the spaces
you’ve begun to fill.
i have no expectations,
i don’t need you to love me back,
i don’t need you to say the words,
to reciprocate –
of course, it’s beautiful if you do,
but i am strangely satisfied,
with loving you,
as is.
perhaps that is how love is meant to be.
i love you.
simply.
i’m still learning you,
but i love you all the same.
ghostlings.
It’s not the pain that kills you,
it’s the fucking nostalgia.
It lurks in bookstores
and Christmas trees
and all the spaces you thought
that you already cleaned.