Even now, I’ll wake in the middle of the night, sheets tangled around restless limbs, moonlight cutting a sharp swath across my bed. Disoriented, the world still yet a haze, the only sense left is the fading sensation of your lips on mine. You were half fantasy. Half concocted tales and illusions, and I was…

You are the moon and I am the ocean I am pushed and pulled I flow and ebb By the strength of your light I have stars in my eyes But you deserve someone with galaxies radiating from their skin

I’m tired of being who I am, and I don’t know if these are late night thoughts that drip from the dark syrupy hours that bleed into grey toothpaste and coffee mornings. I don’t know if these are the musings of a girl who has sought loneliness her whole life, and was surprised when it…

cheek on the bathroom floor glassy eyes on stray hairs and grit the castoffs of the night before white knuckling the toothpaste stained sink gazing at the slack jaw girl, daring her to blink

I can write you tender, but I cannot write myself true and these feeble words crumble in the face of my own heart, as they ache and tremble to hold the weight of restless nights and tepid afternoons, heavy with absence. I can write you tender, but I cannot write myself true, my efforts waver…

“You ever loved a girl?” they’d ask the way boys, not men, do and you’d smile and shake your head, halfway across the world, I wonder if I’ve been forgotten.

I liked myself in love Dizzy hearted thrumming the world vibrated, glittering, humming I liked myself alone, Shuttered doors and blooming hush, One’s own company can be enough. But in the chaos that calls, It shouldn’t be remarkable I liked myself at all.

In that unfamiliar half light, bleary eyed and paper mouthed, heavy lidded contemplation. Odd rays slipping in like unwelcome strangers, lingering by the window, puddled by the door. Limbs still weighted by slumber, Clumsy with unfamiliar language. . And before the haze cleared, our first words were speechless. My breath, then yours, rising like the…

I am the prophet of my own unraveling. The cadence of your voice, my holy book. Your callused fingers, the cross I cling to. Your name, the prayer I whisper, out of habit, out of reverence. And when shards of light creep into my sanctuary of dusk, let this be my heaven.

I’m starting to forget the girl that lived here, who held herself together, despite not because. Shut her eyes, tried to disappear. Strung herself up on the late night hum,  yet it sang through her bones and her skull. The girl that lived here, couldn’t feel anything at all.