if i was a pitcher,
i would be empty.
i would be glass falling,
shattering to the floor.
some days i almost slip up,
type i love you in the text box,
but i already know that would be
too, too much for you right now
so i just tell you,
that i care about you so much
and to drink your water
and to have good day
because i guess i dont
have to say the words
for you to feel it.
gray eyes, soft like a old sweatshirt
you wear to football games and
for curling up on the couch in the rain.
gray like the rain falling from the sky
warm like the sun, shining on top of
a mountain just before noon.
gray the haze over the sea,
wispy fog drifting through the overpass
gray like the softest parts of the night.
gray has never been so beautiful to me.
it has been too long since you have been in my bed -
my soul craves you like the ocean is drawn to the sand
you are the moon pulling me in waves,
out to sea i go, with only the stars in your eyes to guide me,
too long, since i have felt my feet on the shore,
it is no matter, i will wait.
i ask myself, over and over
am i the idiot here?
am i a fool for ignoring your
attempts to shove me away?
am i romanticizing something
never meant to be romanticized?
is this a real, true story?
or is this a narrative that i have created?
i don't know what the answer is.
i have been in the place that you are,
where the world seems upside down,
and the ache in your chest seems unending.
you are not something to be fixed,
but you are someone to be loved.
all the pieces of you, the hurt ones
and the ones that are strong and beautiful
and the ones that you are still figuring out.
someone else’s pain should never be
used as ammunition —
you are safe with me.
i am going to love you, relentlessly.
and if you decide that you can’t be loved
in this way, then so be it,
but i will not love you less because you are afraid.
you are the sun
warming my face
while i sit precariously
on the edge of some
far away tall place.
and you are the
smell of rain in summer
musky and sweet and calm.
you are a house - built with
strong bones and a kitchen
that smells inevitably
like coffee and warmth.
you are blue and green
and gray like the sea.
soothing and beautiful,
filled with mystery, still.
you are laughter and safety,
a joke poised on pursed lips
and light so bright
the sun is only a dark smudge.
you are are music
spinning in time with mother earth;
melodies that i hope
i hear forever.
its 1 am and some change,
and you're dancing with me,
round and round and round,
we're spinning in slow motion
drunk on red wine and jager
and whatever the fuck this is -
this thing with you that has me so high,
i can see the ocean from the sky
and its the blue in your eyes
and i could drown, happily
suffocated by a sea of blue and gray.
i am interested. you are very pretty.
youre so gorgeous.
this will always be ours,
this laughter in the earliest
parts of a new day and
even if this is all there is.
the things that have lived inside
my head tumble out in spirals
and you just let it flow over you
this waterfall of words and you take it
so easily like this wave is not too much.
who’s body is this? i ask
when i see the stranger in the mirror
looking so fly.
where did you come from?
do you live here too?
who’s body is this?
who’s body is this,
filling out these jeans
like a night sky
wraps around lovers
talking softly on a beach.
who’s body is this?
it can’t be mine.
but it is.
every shooting star.
i wish for the same thing.