Sleeping in the Southern Summer

- Finished with Fire -

Today, I decided to be finished with Fire. 

I have learned

how to survive its heat.

I've let the flames caress my face 

And call me its partner.

The burning sensation

a cruel reminder

that I deserved the pain.

I've called myself a match stick,

attracted to the stricking sensation of sandpaper love.

That love that grinds you into ash

and doesn't bother to clean up the mess.

I have called myself broken kindling,

discarded trash daunted by the task of being set ablaze 

by the same lover 

with a different face.

I have called myself the pit,

tasked with holding the destruction at bay,

letting my hopes melt away 

within that dangerous embrace. 

Today, I decided to be finished with Fire. 

I will call myself Water.

I will be the soothing escape 

from the inferno  

I danced with 

for far too long.

I will extend out

into the world 

and be an element 

of necessity.

Those fiery scars will

be long forgotten ripples in the sea of me.

Waves that will slowly fade 

as I admire the bounty I carry.

Today, I decided to be  finished with Fire. 

- The Future is Unwritten -

Hopes and wishes

Dreams and schemes
Pinning goals
To my heart
Like a vision board
Painted in song notes
Scars from
Removed tacks
Creating a sieve
Where I seep
Out sections of myself
Patchwork bandages
Made of steps forward
Letting go
Living life
Without yesterday's weight
But lifted on tomorrow's wings

- Him & Her -

Addicted to the fire

that burns my skin
when the image of you
flashes through my mind
burning so bright
that the sunspots
created blend into
the shapes of us
that love like a
heavy stone
sitting in my stomach
grounding me to the world

- Feeding You -

You walked in

emaciated.
You said you were hungry
for love
and my cabinets were full.
So, I fed you.
I made meals out of my hopes,
taking bite-sized portions
of age-old dreams
and served them to you
on a platter made from
hands destined to satiate you.
You ate every bite,
smiled, and said
"Give me more."
So, I severed pieces of myself
and steeped a stew
of hugs and kisses.
You lapped it up,
frowned, and said
that it wasn't enough.
So, I cut my bone to
make a spoon for you
to drink my soul.
You licked the bowl
and complained about
the shape of the spoon.
You walked out
plump
saying you were full
of hate
but now my cabinets are empty
and I'm starving.