SpacesWhen you saidyou needed space,you meant morebetween your fingers,so you could holdsomeone else's hand.
.guts don't get youglory if all you do isspill 'em
knees and toeshere is a short list of things i know:Cody says he hates David, but he really doesn’t,i will never wear a coat until the first of November,i hate myself in the spring,the sun is 92, 960, 000 miles from earth and i’m pretty surethat number is rounded to look prettyor god must be ocd.it’s a miracle, i’m learning to look you in the eye.make a wish, make a wish, any wishi’m plucking out my eyelashes, i’m learningto give up beauty for a shot at happiness.i say too much too quickly without getting outall of the consonants and my speech is craggyand rocky like an abandoned trail in the Appalachians,overgrown and the road not taken.my fingernails are ragged and bitten to the shorteststub i could stand. i don’t want to hurt you,i don’t want to hurt myself, my fingernails cannothurt you but i can still hurt myself. one day i’llbe brave enough to leave scratch marks on your skinin angry red lines, one day i’ll be some
NaPoWriMo- Day 5She used to try and catch butterfliesuntil she realized their beautyrubbed off on her fingers;but she will always be loving youwith those digits.20 years from nowwhen even the love on her armsis unrecognizable.
MizpahThe crying windbrings adeluge:lostand blurred atthe edges,youbecomeawhisper.
SpeechlessWriting is my passion.It's what I do.It's who I am.I can weave words easily, without thinking.But when I think of you,I'mspeechless.
.in the nighttime you arebetter; moonlightembroiders yourskin and stitchesyou up with apurer love, untilthe morning comes,the sun runs histeeth through yourseams again, splitsyou open
.my cat has ninelives and i fear he willspend each one doingthe same fuckingthingstaring out of thewindow at the birds onthe fence, when he could beout there, sinking histeeth in
the thing is i wish i were kidding but man,the sky fell when you left.
Joey had a smoke and burned the moon downOne night on a long road trip to NebraskaThe skies opened up and bled onto my pupilsAnd the taste of gin burned my throatAs my star strewn spine strained againstThe static of the radio blasting from your car stereoWe chased godOnly to find kerosene angelsAnd glow flies hanging from tree tops