I light the trash on fire. 
Toss it into a can. 
Hold still as flames breathe. 
The curtains are on fire. 
I’ll say I don’t know how it happened.
Can you believe this statement to be true?
Does it matter if I’m being honest?
I go to your house and together 
we live inside your room. Sometimes
I think you’re too good for me and 
I’m just being selfish. 
I watch the flames.
I hate the heat but I want 
to stay. Watch how fast before
the rooms on fire. Your body is a 
home I’ve never been in. So yes 
it’s scary but we both know 
it’s never the fire that kills you.
I’ll ask you to stay. I’ll say I don’t know 
how it happened. Both statements are true. 
I want your hand in mine 
even now. 


most days

I spend a lot of time looking at
the ground, look
for spots I could curl into.
The warm grass at parks, the sides of
a road, a field I could disappear into.
(The corners of your arms.)
Why is gravity always so heavy?
Loving me straight into
the ground. I can’t stop
looking at the ground.
I dont even know if I was here today,
I almost hit a car today. 
I’m clawing myself out,
I just don’t know from what or where.
I think about hiding a lot, 
more then I want to admit. 
The lights are always too bright,
what I mean is sometimes I don’t want 
to exist. Everything feels like a crawl,
feels like bruised knees. 
Then there’s you, the warmest thing
I want to sink into.
I hope to god you can swim. 

now you’re really livingĀ 

A picture in and I am
already seeing the universe
in everything. Some times I
can’t decide if everything
is a miracle or if nothing is.
My days tend to blur and every day
is learning what it means
to be alive.
Do you ever look at your hands?
I know my lover’s hands more than 
my own. What does that say about me?
I stare at my palms. When does recognition 
become less and less?
I’m back in the hallway where
the elderly lady showed me her 
hands. Soft wrinkled flesh.
Flips them back to palm and says
“When did this happen?”.
She laughs but I am stuck in the moment 
right before.