My poetry.

I’m a fan of words and how they sometimes get strewn together and end up creating some pretty dope sentences. I love how I can read each one of my poems and know the exact space I was in when I was writing them. I remember who I wrote them for. I recall where I was sitting. I even know which pencil I used and which journal I scribbled it in. Writing is just a pen and a piece of paper. A blank canvas to throw some words and make sense of our complicated, very messy, and quite beautiful lives.

Incomplete tone.
Sitting together, the air
felt heavy and cold
reminiscent of that night.
That moment we realized
words were almost
too much to bear.
With your strong hands
and heavy heart
playing the piano
drifting in and out of song,
telling a story.
The restlessness of your
body as the notes become
more aggressive and precise.
Intensity of your eyes
with each painful strike
of the keys.
I saw you. Sweet you.
Lost in the lyrics
that you believed only you
could hear.
I heard them. Loud as thunder.
And as the tears began,
your voice slowly became
peaceful and honest and beautiful.
Remindful of what we had hoped to become.

Weightless.
I feel the bricks
piling upon me.
I feel the cold, hard, concrete
on my face.
I see the darkness within my soul.
I hear the sound,
the silence
within my heart.
I embrace the emptiness.
The longing for something.
So deep it is unattainable
yet substantial.
It calls to me.
I crave the comfort of knowing
what’s real. And true.
It’s you.

Silently lovely love.
They sit there. And admire.
And they speak with their
hands, and their body,
and their eyes. Its all there.
Unspoken.
The silence is a beauty
like none other.
It’s charming. It’s unassuming.
It’s not vacant.
It’s not deafening.
It’s real and it’s loud and it’s fireworks
and it’s lovely.
All the while I’m dreaming of the love they have,
I stop. Instantly.
Knowing theirs is a love that found them. Without hesitation.
It spoke to them, I’m certain, in a thousand different ways.
And was heard with their whole heart.

Just, this.
And he had this careful way
about him.
The way he allowed
the weight of her body
to rest upon his.
His steady and upon
her wavering.
Words became unnecessary.
His eyes pressed to hers
and the intensity
and stillness in the blue.
She looked down
and as he lifted her head she
shifted it to the left
and he held it there.
In that exact place
and where she needed it to be.
With those hands of his.
Never faltering.
Allowing the vulnerability
and sadness
in her bones to subside.
And it was that moment
that neither intended.
His lips pressed upon
her cheek and she succumbed
to the feeling of weightlessness and the
unknown and she was alright
in that moment
she was his.

That one time.
He asked her if she would be his.
She answered with a
slight whisper,
head to the ground,
that she was his
all along.
And as she took a
deep breath,
he took her face
in his hands
and took her breath
away.

Bare.
Tired little eyes.
Drowsy limbs…
lets sleep
and drift away
into a deep and translucent dream.
Get lost in the madness
of our love.
Laying underneath the covers…
laughter our only music.
Your sweet breath
on my lips.
Your hand on the small of my back.
Your sleepy little smile.
Feel my weight shift,
raw and completely bare.
Vulnerable.
Talking for hours about everything
and nothing at all.
Looking up at you with such innocence.
Intently listening to stories
about you.
All while kissing.
Knowing at that very moment
yours was the only voice I wanted to hear.
Wishing the world could just stop for a minute.
Time to stand still.
As the sun rises, I see you in a whole new light.
And same sleepy little smile,
I’m completely comfortable and safe.
Looking at your tired little eyes,
I take a deep breath.

It is well.
His forehead
to hers.
His eyes fixated to her lips
pressed to his.
The crease on his face
from the smile in his eyes.
And in that moment
she couldn’t help herself.
She was too far gone,
lost in those hands which
held her in the sweetest of times
and in the darkest of hours.
The ones that seemed to draw her in
every time she forcefully
pulled away.
She wanted to capture that
time she looked up to
his smiling eyes.
With his head to the pillow and
her head on his chest,
and that hand carefully
placed on the small of
her back.
She realized that all
was well with her soul.

The fault in her eyes.
That time she waited
tirelessly for those
words to be spoken.
She lingered upon
the minutes which
consumed her thoughts.
She stood in a world where with every
passing of the second hand
made the seconds feel like a thousand years
had passed her by.
Never quite aware
of the soft spoken truths in his eyes.
The firm grasp
on the small of her back.
Those hands could tell a million
stories that words could never describe.
The regrets she felt
as she heard the carelessness of his voice
and the sharpness of his tone,
deafening.
It was clear in that moment
that all was not what it seemed to be
and the fault seemed to be
in her eyes.