touched

We sit on the grass in front of the buildings, the sun is setting, and I feel comfortable. The weather is crisp enough to wear my favorite jacket. We talk of the dreams, the nightmares, the life that we live, the afterlife we want. The sun is still setting, and the sky is on fire. His hand makes its way to my inner thigh and rests there, without making another move. In mid-sentence, I am caught off guard, and my heart starts racing. He notices my change in posture and how my tongue is tripping over my teeth. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched. I look up at the sky and I think about how the stars never really go away, and how we are always in their presence even when we forget. The boy leans in closer, kisses my cheek, slowly turns my face towards his, and kisses my lips. The stars appear and they fall from the sky, and call my skin their new home. His lips are on mine, and I light up the night.

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Love vs. Romance;

have I ever known the difference?

Love was the feeling of his vulnerable skin under my fingertips.

Romance was the way your eyes looked at me from across the table

with nothing to say.

Giants

The mountains look as if they were each individually covered by the quilts my grandmother sews. Each piece of her heart sewn into the land her ancestors sowed. The sun sets and the mountains look like sleeping giants curled up on beds of trees, covered with quilts. The moon rises, and the stars light up the night sky helping travelers find their way home, away from these sleeping giants. 
But I have found a home between these quilted beds, I admire the stars and no longer search for a way back. 

“you smell like Love” – read 2:33 AM

Love smells of teakwood and rain. the scent tattooed on your skin, your hair salted with hints of blond. your heart was a flame, but I was the crashing wave. Love feels of silk and honey running down my body, and your hands holding up my legs. Love tastes of last nights red wine that stained your breath, yet I still kissed you with my mouth open. Love looks like every imperfection of you.

Yellow

A world of firsts. Where pianos play on the street, and the water crashes up to my knees. A world where my jeans cut off before my ankles, and I am no longer afraid. There is a world where the sun shines through my window and makes the books glisten. I have entered an alternate dimension where I never loved the sight of the ghastly moon. My skin was kissed by the sun, the most intimate form of connection to this earth. Drunk on two glasses of wine, walking along the edge of this world, where fear and freedom live. The water crashes up to my knees, and I look at where the sea and heaven meet. I am wearing my yellow dress, and I am where I am meant to be. I plant my toes in the sand, and grow my roots here. I am no longer lost. I have found myself.

Soulless in Chicago

As I walk down the street,

I am next to another soul. 

I sway my arms, praying for his and mine to meet.

Maybe then, I will feel whole. 

My hands are of a hard worker,

a woman who sowed her pain to strength.

Yet, when I sit still on a train, my heart races, even when I think of you and her. 

Young woman with an old soul, just waiting for her rebirth. 

I am walking down the street, looking for you. 

My feet drag, and I am counting my breaths. 

In, out. One, two. Three, four. 

I still look for a missing piece of my soul. 

In, out. Five, six. Seven, eight. 

My heart continues to race, even when I look down at the concrete. 

The Smell of Rain

The lake was the color of red wine,

and the earth smells of rain.

My skin was tattooed with that smell.

When I walked through the door, you

kissed my skin, and told me you loved the smell

of rain, that you could never leave what you love.

I walked through the garden, an unfamiliar place

within this concrete jungle. I walked through the door,

you kissed my skin, and told me you could never get

used to the smell of flowers. I stood outside in the rain.

Last night, I saw you with her in the garden.

Surrounded by flowers, you kissed her skin.

You got used to the smell.

You never even liked the smell of rain.

The Theory of Everything

With a beautiful mind, you became my theory of everything. The theory that discovered the marriage of time and space– that the world started off as a blackhole, so endless. You were endless. You sucked me in, and I became engulfed in the idea of you. I’ve written you into theory after theory, your mind became an experimental analysis for me to review. What a beautiful mind. The stars aligned, your mind was in the right place, and my theory was supported by where your hands were placed on my waist. I was defeated. I have failed as your scientist. I have proven the theory of everything. You are the theory of everything.

Nothing

He is nothing like you.

There will be nobody compared to you,

and I’m afraid that will always hold me back from trying.

 

He is nothing like you.

Maybe that’s a good thing, maybe a different kind of soul is what’s best

for me.

 

He is nothing like you.

While you are trying to figure it all out by staring at what needs to be done,

he figures it out by getting it done.

 

He is nothing like you,

but when I lay next to him,

he feels just like you.

Letters of Self Love p. 2

WHAT IS IT THAT YOU NEED?

WHAT ARE YOU SEARCHING FOR WHEN EVERYTHING YOU CRAVE,

YOU HAVE WITHIN YOURSELF.

YOU MUST NOT WANT FOR NOTHING, YOU HAVE IT ALL,

YOU ARE FULFILLED.

NO AMOUNT OF OUTSIDE LOVE CAN COMPARE

TO YOUR SELF LOVE.

TO LOVE YOURSELF MEANS SO MUCH MORE THAN

THE LOVE OF SOMEONE ELSE.

DO NOT FORGET THAT, YOUNG SOUL.

YOUR BODY IS YOUR HOME, HE IS ONLY A GUEST

COMING FOR A SHORT VISIT,

DO NOT LET HIM OVERSTAY HIS WELCOME.

THIS IS FOR YOU, SWEET CREATURE.

TO NEVER FORGET YOUR WORTH,

TO NEVER LET GO OF YOUR WARMTH.