love

September Nights

I miss those September nights.
Being soft,
floating
between your smile
and the things
I can’t explain,
like how some things end
before they ever begin,
or how something
so beautiful
can be so destructive.
I’ve looked love
straight in the eyes,
the sweetest heartache,
dressed in white.
I’ve rearranged my brain
just to wrap my heart around it
and somehow,
I still find myself
bound to you
in the softness of those
September nights.

I thought we’d make it,
I really did.
But fate had other plans for us
in the end.

I Am Extraordinary

I am extraordinary.
I am a wreck
and a masterpiece,
in equal parts.
I am a warrior,
I will get through
no matter what it takes.
It won’t be easy,
but I am determined
and unstoppable.
I will overcome
and rebuild.
I will bloom from the decay,
and I will thrive.
I will burn, break, and bleed.
I will wear my scars proud,
and I will rise from the ruins—
not unscathed,
but free.

Dismantled

There was something in the way
she dismantled herself—
the way she pulled fire from the sun
and burned;
the way she lay face down
in the rubble, breathing in
ash and despair;
the way she tasted the destruction
before she carved herself anew
from the black sky.

This is an excerpt from a piece I’ve written for my book.

Wake The Spirits

Won’t you meet me in the after
where I remain and you are gone?
Where there are no angels, devils
or ghosts, but an empty house—
won’t you come?

Won’t you meet me in the void
where my heart betrays me
and hope survives?
Where the earth is frozen
and the sky is white—
won’t you come?

Won’t you whirl your wind around me
or place a whisper on my pillow?
Won’t you leave a song outside my door
to break the silence in this house?

Won’t you meet me in the winter
when it’s midnight and turned cold?
When I’ve outgrown the void
and outlived the hope,
when my soul believes you’re gone?

Won’t you meet me by the old maple,
where you left me when we were young?
We’ll tell stories and wake the spirits:
I want to know what you’ve been up to—
won’t you come?

I Still Weep for the Wreckage, I Confess

Mother said to never let
passion leave without you,
but sometimes you don’t notice
until it gets away from you,
until it’s beyond the horizon,
where distance can only be
measured in misery.

I am half here, half there
half alive, half dead
by the time I notice it’s gone.

I am busy chasing ghosts
when it slips quietly out the side door.
I am teetering between
reality and dream.
I am mourning bones.

The thought of breaking free
from comfort’s pillowy embrace
doesn’t even cross my mind.

I am anchored here,
in the dark oblivion,
long past ruination.

Mother said to dwell here
long enough to make your peace,
but leave before the old pain
sings to you like a love song.

But Darling, You Are Fading

Throw back the last of memories,
drain the well dry.
Get drunk on the spirits,
weep for the wreckage,
bleed bright red nostalgia onto paper
until the last drop of hope spills out.

This is where I let the ghosts let me go.

Start at the ache where the soul is sick
it sings with grief. As we were,
is no longer, I am what remains;
a raven-haired exorcist, I owe you
no ordinary death.

This is where I pull you from my bones.

Extricate myself from this old love
that knows my name and leaves
my late-night calls buried in my throat.
Tear your hooks from my heart,
turn myself inside out.
Face the wound toward the sun.

This is where I burn you out of my soul.

Clear out every hidden compartment
that I ever had you stashed away in.
Wipe down the walls, wash every
surface clean, until nothing is you
and everything is new.

This is where I leave the grave.

I never wanted to forget your face,
but darling, you are fading.