i hadn’t known
an answered prayer
could fit in my arms
until i held you.
Tag: writing
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we sit at the freeway’s edge.
you tell me,
“pretend the cars
are shooting stars.”
but here you are:
in my arms.
I have my wish.
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a love most tender. god, let me love you.
what a gift it is to give love. what a gift it is to get to love. to be there for you on your roughest days. to be the one you trust. to make you feel better. to make you food, hold you, comfort you. to be the one you turn to.
god, what a gift: to be someone’s refuge.
i want to be that one for you. i want to be the one you can put the wall down around. god, more than receiving love, i think it’s getting to give love to someone. to see that trust, to see you soften at my touch. to be your safety.
god, what a gift.
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this world is so cold. I need to warm myself by the hearth of your heart.
two pairs of feet, they peek out of a blanket. their legs, lazily tangled. they graze on one another, they warm themselves. there is safety in this scene. there is simplicity.
it isn’t a scene that is mine. but it replays itself, over and over, within my mind.
why is it that desire
becomes an ache?
I’ve never known a want
without pain.
to yearn:
it’s to hurt.
oh,
to cook for you
while you rub the sleep out of your eyes—
you alone,
my morning sunrise.
coffee in the morning. you on my lap. lazy, slow. we steal minutes we don’t have.
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feels less like heartbreak,
more like homesickness.
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crystal of ecstasy,
coated in sweetness—
rock of Molly,
I taste your Venus—
then every thread
within my mind,
at once lights up
a starry night—
god—
going down,
it gets me high.
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Have you ever shut off
for years,
then had a reckoning where all that was forgotten
erupts
to the surface?
Have you ever shut off,
only to be set off
by a few words, maybe offhanded,
but cracking the ice on which you walked? and you fall, fall, fall,
into the cold, into the deep?
I hadn’t known these depths still existed. I’d gone so cold that the lake froze over. I forgot I walked on ice. I forgot a little bit of warmth would be peril. I forgot I could melt.
Remember: you can go cold for a time, but the Sun returns.
There’s no such thing
as an endless winter.
Be prepared for those waters,
that ice will melt.
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there is no greater hunger
than the hunger for love.
and how do i know?
when i became convinced
that thinness
meant beauty
and beauty
meant love,
how quickly
did i shut my mouth,
hoping
my heart would fill.
it was as if
i could only pick one:
a full heart
or a full stomach.
…
we’d sooner starve for food than for love.
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Writing,
It is the ultimate act of surrender. Every letter is a brick removed from the barricade around my heart. The Sun pours in more and more with the exposition of my very soul. Nobody tells you this fact about hiding yourself: the Sun cannot reach you from behind those walls.
Yes, the more I let myself be known, the more Sunlight poured in to my soul.
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writing:
it’s putting your heart beat
on paper.
writing:
it’s exhibition.
the reader’s eyes
rove
over what’s private.
you reader,
you voyeur—
vicariously freed,
and I’m shamelessly me.
my heart: a lock.
my pen? the key.
THE CLOSET MYSTIC 