things I’ve meant to tell you

There is something to be said
about keeping yourself
a little hungry throughout
the day. There is something
to be said about
visiting a grave and expecting
anything different.

Every time I think

the same thought

I feel the weight

compounding itself

into my memory.

The thought of you

is so heavy

I’m not sure how

I’m still holding it.



It’s happening
suddenly again.
The slight pang in my stomach.
An ache. A pretend thread
pulling gently. A doctor would
ask for more symptoms.
Tell me what other signs
to look for just to make sure
it’s nothing serious.
That I already know.
I was never anything serious.
As for signs, I try not to
be surprised anymore. Try
not to be startled at the
entwined pieces that
you’ll never know.

I’m still thinking of that painting that historians can only provide speculation.
I think art whispers to you
asking you to feel inside.
I try to visit even less.
That painting leaves me restless.
I want to know.
I want to know.

I hope I left you uneasy.
I’m tired of feeling foolish
that’s the honest truth.
But the body is a museum and there
will always be a spot for you.
You are the picture in the corner easily missed. The one
I found that day. Sometimes
we shadow the things
we can’t face directly.

if you feel a pang
that feels like an ache
that feels the way dust looks
caught between swirling and
settling to the floor
know that it’s me.
Mirror I hope you are well.


I’m in love like honeymoon over and
baby being next to you is the best
best fucking part of my day
and yes my humming hymns are for you
and no I don’t know when I changed
but you say you want something and I think “me too”. I’m screaming inside
with love for you and no you won’t
hear it all the time. Something
about skin and lips and doors
that can’t open easily.
Peek under the door and know it’s
all for you. Put your ear to the floor,
baby it’s all fucking for you.


Reframing words around my tongue

like hands rolling glass back and forth.

Reframing in a way that does not sound

like I want to cry.

Awareness is the understanding

that there is a knot of different colors

evoking emotions that I need to untie

so I can understand.

What is an emotion

that has different voices?

maps of self

Under a layer of me
is another and another.
Look I don’t make the rules.
Blame the stars for making
me oh so fucking me. Looking
into birth charts, that agree
I hide too many things,
I don’t even fucking know why.
Let’s be honest that is a lie.
There’s power in knowing so
I’m always running towards it.
There’s power in saying things
out loud and it still scares the shit
out of me.


Two hands deep in ocean loose sand,
struggle harder, I wonder about the lessons
of nature. Why we try to be
anything other than what we are.
Always trying to transcend and be human
and then not. Can we blame
anything for how we are built?
Something about falling.
Something about staring at trees
that know how to speak back.
I am always listening for rooted
meanings. Something about beginnings
gets me every time.

left ear burn

What’s there left to say to you, except

what’s been caught in my throat since

sophomore year of college, or

something like that.

I still wonder

are you capable of loving anyone

besides yourself?

Awful and appealing at once.

It didn’t make sense

but now it does, by that I mean

it really doesn’t and that’s the core.

You never were a stop sign

just a dead end,

just that’s it,

just it’s exactly like

what it seems.


My love is sunlight,
through a window in the morning,
you’ll miss it at first.
There are more metaphors here
so think carefully.
What I mean to say is you won’t
realize how warm I am till
you are bathed in me.
If there’s something I know
how to do right it’s
trying to love.
Hold yourself against me and
watch how I consume you.
Holy is just a word till it’s not.
You were just a person
till you were not.
Lover do you see the coincidence?