Let’s drive to the countryside, leave behind some green-eyed looka-likes
Late June, grass lush like pretty brown girls,
like Vietnam. Tan hips on a beach, the sun
orange and pregnant.
No, that’s a different poem.
In this one, children sell citrus on the streets,
mouths sour and ripe. This is an exploration in grief.
Lake house sugar,
reading the same chapter of the same book
or two years in a overgrown tree house,
vines like barbed wire, climbing roses,
sticks of dynamite in the freezer like popsicles.
I learned to live in a place
that splintered itself. My father made rocking
chairs for a living. It was almost natural. You ripped
chunks out of the sofa, the sun melting butter on my legs.
Cracking me beneath your teeth like sunflower seeds.
You kept our kitchen knives beneath the mattress
like my mother and her gold. I bought lemons from
a pretty-eyed boy with bubblegum lips,
an apple pie and baseball heart, all that good American shit.
Winter is the season of burnt tongues.
Salt and ice on the back of your hand.
You peel the skin off and I count piano key bones.
You never said enough
& I never said no, to you.
I move slow and steady, but I feel like a waterfall.
Yeah I move slow and steady, past the ones I used to know.
He laughs at me and says,
‘I have been right beside you this whole time.
I was the warmth on your pillow,
and I was the breeze on a Sunday morning.
I was the silence in the middle of the day,
the dust floating in streams of sunlight,
the peace of mind that defied all logic.
I was in your best friends advice,
and in the forgiveness of everyone who has ever been hurt.
I was with you this entire time,
but more than that,
I AM.’ I asked God, “Where have you been?” (via choc-o-late)
II. On my worst days, the sky was a festering wound that wouldn’t heal. I didn’t want to be that to you.
III. On my worst days, you were the only word I could say without clenching my fists.
IV. I really did love you, I just couldn’t claw my way out of the ground to do it properly.
V. None of this was your fault.
VI. I’m sorry I was your lighthouse. I’m sorry you couldn’t see the wall of rocks on my shore. I wrote out six messages, then erased them all (via burberrystyles)
my brain is good at deleting bits and pieces of the past I don’t want to remember.
but it leaves me with these emotions that make no sense.