a crappy love poem

Whenever you feel
The butterflies in your tummy
Throwing up butterflies in their tummies,
Tell the person
You’re with
‘I love you’
Because it’s likely
They are the one
Who let the caterpillars
Out of the jar;
Who dusted of
The watering can;
Who took time
To get on their hands and knees
Tending the soil
In your garden
Of a heart
In the first place.



It’s like this: you aren’t aware of your paralysis until someone for some bizarre reason, visits you in the hospital. And you see them move and dance in a way that fully believes in the hands of God to lead them; effortlessly. At this moment, you crawl out from under the hands of gravity. It loses control of your body as your heart falls to your stomach and your head floats. You want the same effortlessness.

So you learn. In fact, they’re the ones to teach you, returning day after day. They’re patient in the way their hands move with your body, knowing it’s hard to believe in something you have never known to be there. They teach you how to breathe.

But one day they don’t come. The next day, they don’t either. Nor the day after. Waiting at the door doesn’t stir their affections, scratching at it only makes them more irritable. You develop a cough.

You begin to doubt if you will ever learn how to breathe and dance in the breath of God, for no one taught you. You attempt to teach yourself and it’s awkward and clumsy as you stumble around with a disheveled appearance, trying to figure out what in the hell it looks like to not care so much. You cough.

But you learn. At least, you think you have it down, until they return.

You’re a victim of paralysis and you wonder if you ever knew what a verb was in the first place.

You cough.

I have flashbacks about you. As if our relationship was some kind of traumatizing accident, two galaxies, fashioned by the hands of God Himself, and when we collided, our worlds swallowed each other. Some of your stars still burn with me, little flashes of light whenever I look at the sky a certain way.
But I’m hoping they’ll die soon.

the words goodbyes are made of.
We sat on the swings as I gave you a gift that floated through the air, twirling its way through your hair and hitting you in the chest like honesty always does, wrapped in ‘um’s’ and ‘like’s’ but in one unique ‘thank you for loving me & reminding me that life is worth fighting for.’
And then we kissed and our smiles fell into each other in some sort of way that finally gives you the ‘aha!’ wonder of what it feels like in the movies.
(You come to find, it’s better than the movies.)
When I first felt that raindrop on my skin, it was as if Heaven was letting me peek through her fingers to see my surprise: a beautiful warm summer shower. My hair began to plaster to my face and your hair only seemed to curl more, as the summer shower turned into a torrential downpour. The sky opened up and boy, did she sing.

It was the moment when you said “you taste like rain” and I burst into a delightful holy laugh that I knew fifty years from now, I would want to remember this moment like it was yesterday.
But then–
You said “things can only get better if they change.” So we walked back to the car as tears chased after then raindrops on my cheek. All I could do was let them fall, and thankfully, you let them fall on you. Even as my mascara seemed to trail behind, over my nose, up to my eyebrow, across my cheek, and settling in to your shirt, you didn’t mind; you called me ‘beautiful’ just the same.
But I couldn’t stop it. The fears came just as quickly, spilling out like smoke from my throat- so this, this is what has been choking me- filling up the car, blinding me from seeing truth. But you spoke and where the light is, the darkness can not comprehend it. It was gone.
I saw you only to see me in the reflection of your eyes, an absolute mess but loved nonetheless. Then you pulled me in, a florist with gentle hands (& smiling eyes), leaving with ‘I believe in you, fearless.’

His Two Day Trip

How silly am I to think
That just because I meet an adventurous boy
Who is fond of my dirty hair
And who likes to test his lung capacity
In the oceans in my eyes
That he would be full of wanderlust
to freefall into the caverns of my heart
and seek the rubies that hide there
Waiting to be found.
When instead all he lusts for
Are the flowers growing on my lips
And the trails through the hills
my body makes when I lie down.
To him I’m just a place, not an adventure to take

Fuck Thank You

I suppose I should be thankful
That you taught me
To swallow my ‘no, thank you’s”
How to make walking shame look dignified in the rain
at 3am
That the measly fabric between my crotch and your finger is durable enough
To not take things ‘too far’

Because it taught me to see that
A man who loves me
Will choose to see me
As a humble Nazarene man
Hanging on a cross
Exchanging His own oxygen for your
Heavy breathing
When you grope me
Lying on your futon

So, thank you
For teaching me
That I’m not worth being seen.