drm chsr

please,
don’t let me fall.
don’t allow me to be 
the drip that misses 
the glass,
the first peach off of the tree.
you read me too quickly,
and now i can only 
remain open, wishing
that you could read more.
please,
don’t string me along. 
i’m not a balloon on
a line,
i will not float when
you cut ties.
i am a stone
that sinks quickly,
not a lilypad,
or leaf that knows how to
keep myself
above the waves.
i never needed to see you,
touch you,
want you;
but i do now.

big deals/little things

even while i’m laying next to a body,
and breathing heavily
underneath the weight of warm hands,
even when they say the right words
and look at me with dewy eyes
like they mean it,
well
maybe you do know
how to touch,
and maybe you do mean it,
but, my god,
i’ve never been so lonely.

▲

seulement

 miss being looked at with
round eyes.
looks that had length:
ones which no smoke,
no drink,
could enhance
because they were already
heavily impaired with
adoration
(or desperation).
i miss the smooth feel
of others,
those which gravitated towards 
me,
my body,
my face.
i miss feeling certain,
or at least having someone
to convince me
that’s what i was.

quoi

i thought that i would grow
with the grace of a flower,
that i would unfold
not like bed sheets,
or borrowed clothes,
but like origami;
crisply,
neatly.
i thought i would speak like a song,
each note ringing
with necessity,
with meaning.
i thought of my eyes
as nets,
simultaneously fishing for
and catching what
was needed;
feelings, places,
people,
prey.
i am not what i thought.

▲

c'est bon

 like that your language is not my first,

because when you say that

you want to take me,

again,

i certainly wouldn’t say no.

i didn’t come to this city

to break my body,

and i don’t believe

that you’re going to fix it,

but it sometimes feels healed

while tethered with yours.

you are not like any

that i’ve known,

you are cream against a washed out palette,

the tennis montage

in a romantic comedy,

you are velvet on my skin,

a wave under a tangerine sky.

you are warm breath.

and you keep space,

yet, you always bring me 

so close.

you held my pressure points

and kissed my spine,

you squeezed my hand

as though you wanted to ring me out,

from the things i didn’t need.

in the dark, my face can’t flush,

but i don’t think you would’ve wanted it to.

the first time i met you,

you told me i deserved it

in the most tender way 

it’s been spoken,

and even though your eyes were still

moons,

while the sun was coming up,

i still think you meant it.

tu m’a dit que tu voulais un hippocampe,

et je t’aime pour cela

rouge

with you,
my mouth was always dry,
and you liked to keep it that way.
i got too stoned to sing,
and couldn’t remember my lines,
when all i wanted was a little 
control.
you figured everything out
before i even knew you,
and i still don’t understand myself,
but maybe you might.
i spoke of the wrong region,
when we talked about where you grew up,
hell if i knew,
but they both started with a k.
i fumbled with my orange peels
and citrus stained my hands,
and legs,
and my fingernails were glowing,
but that was a wonderful taste.
you are a magnet 
and you felt so right to touch,
and not touch.
then you helped me to the counter,
and i crumbled
while you rolled,
and we talked about loves
until i lost my voice.
when you cross the ocean,
and i remain still,
i will think of you so fondly,
and you will remember
how much i fear caterpillars.

untitled

don’t,
don’t be ashamed of your body,
you said.
don’t be shy,
dont be empty, 
as though this was something
that could’ve made me feel
anything but hollow.
you broke the bone
in my body
that should’ve taught me how to be anything but 
still.
don’t be angry,
don’t be sad,
don’t be anything that 
you wouldn’t like. 
because to feel,
would mean i’m no longer 
yours. 
and now i can barely fucking stand
on my own two feet,
because of every person that told me
all the things
i should not do.