Metaphors

I have so many goddamn metaphors for you. 
It’s adorably annoying. 
I wanted to start this poem with a metaphor about rain in the desert. 
Or something about using punctuation to remind me to breathe like you breathe next to me when you’re settled in sleep. 
But see the thing is
I could compare you to a million different things and while they would be accurate,
They still wouldn’t accurately reflect
Exactly how I feel. 
Some days I’m really annoyed with the fact that when I’ve reached a lulling place in thought
I start thinking about you. 
And just how good that makes me feel. 
And yes annoyed is the right word
Because the thought of you
Directly impacts the memory of how desperately I tried to keep my head above all this emotion. 
I didn’t find you because I was looking. 
Believe me you were the last place 
I thought I’d find a piece of my heart. 
Because I’d blocked and barricaded
Thrown up walls and shielded myself
From the flood
Of grief that the idea of love gives me. 
I’ve got so many fucking metaphors. 
I’d built up this idea that love is a metaphor for disappointment. 
For pain. 
For hurt. 
And in you I’ve found
Joy 
And comfort
And intimacy
On levels which I had forgotten were actually real to begin with. 
I don’t know if this is love. 
I know it’s like. 
For sure for sure. 
And I know how I feel
When you look at me with that sideways snarky grin on your face. 
And when I think about how I want to fall asleep
I know it’s next to you. 
I’m not exactly sure what the next days weeks or months might bring. 
Hell I don’t even know yet how this whole thing plays out. 
I just know 
that you make me feel like writing metaphors for hope 
instead of writing
Metaphors 
For
Sorrow.

Author

I have so many words.
So many words that I use in these
Stanzas
So many words I could use to paint pictures in your mind’s eye.
So many words I keep hidden.
See I’m pretty big on communication.
Constantly reminding my friends and family
To keep talking.
To keep sharing.
To keep using their words when they’re uncomfortable or sad or happy or excited.
I use words in poetry to always say what I feel
Because I learned a long time ago that if I can’t say it out loud,
I could write it.
Writing has saved my life countless times.
Writing has been a beautiful beginning
To many of my relationships.
Writing, however, has not ever
Saved me from heartbreak.
From loss.
From grief.
Not being able to say the words to someone’s face has also often been
A point of contention.
Because instead of getting angry
Or saying how I feel out loud
I sit and I write everything out
With bulletpoints
Or purposeful indentation
Or capital letters
Just to hammer points across.
When I write,
Punctuation becomes a kind of afterthought.
Speckled in between
Consonants and vowels.
A reminder to pause and breathe.
Breathe heavy.
Breathe evenly.
Breathe with purpose
Because I get so caught up in the words
I forget to breathe.
I want to feel love like I feel letters.
Like I feel when I’m sharing poems.
Like I feel when I’m writing them.
The content isn’t always pretty.
But the subject is always clear
And the passion, the emotion,
The heartfelt notes in the sound of my voice
I want to feel that,
Outside of this.
Outside of black and white.
Outside of the sounds of my pen scratching this paper.
I want to feel alive and free and endlessly drifting
On this plane of presence
Where I have purpose.
Where words are more than just words.

Edge of the World

I have drank the blood of a lamb. 

And whether or not that purified me is still up for debate. 

I have watched myself bleed 

From countless wounds

And maybe it wasn’t enough. 

Maybe it wasn’t enough to stop this sickness from taking over 

I have been bit by a venomous snake 

And watched the wound boil

And I still wasn’t worthy enough. 

All I have ever been is second best

As I stood at the foot of

Gods 

And goddesses 

From countless religions

And I still only worship

The way you look at me. 

I still bow at the alter of your body and pray

Pray that I am worthy enough because I know

I’m not a second choice. 

I’m a second chance. 

I am everything you ever wanted and I saw you

Tonight I saw

You. 

And you told me you think the world of me 

But even I know the world isn’t enough 

 I am not going to hide in the shadows. 

I’d much rather walk from the theatre with you

Than be center stage alone. 

Tonight I was in the presence

Of a Norse god

Screaming and shaking

Bearing his load 

In front of an audience 

That had no idea

No idea of the sacrifice 

I’d laid at your feet a few nights before. 

I am not a second choice

I’m a devout without an agenda

And I’m hurting

I know my god has a tough choice to make. 

Because even the pantheon 

Suffers. 

But I’ll eat this pomegranate

Not because I’m starving

But because I know 

You’d offer it to me

To keep me with you. 

You are my world. 

And maybe this is love

And maybe we aren’t ready for it 

But we won’t know

Until we take that leap

Off of the edge of the world. 

Whisper

I whisper in my sleep

Things only I know

Things not meant for mortal ears

There are those that call me oracle

Those Who converse with the sleeping 

Version of me,

learn things of unspeakable beauty

And

Unspeakable horror. 

When I sleep

 I dream of demons

That steal my voice

Render me paralyzed

And 

Sit atop my chest

And grin as they rasp 

And click

And seethe 

Over my helpless body. 

I dream of Elysium. 

Untouched by sorrow

Where the ocean breathes 

And there are flowers 

the colors of sunset skies. 

When I lie next to you

I can smell them. 

When I sleep

She wakes. 

She says things hidden deep in the recesses of my subconscious. 

If you’re lucky enough to hear her

Know she doesn’t mean you any harm. 

But remember to keep her secrets close. 

Because she trusts you enough to share her world. 

Vagabond

He said he was a drifter

Spanish moss and slide guitar

And I was learning to fly

On mended wings. 

We burned hours talking

The smoke scorching our lungs

Swirling our breath

In and out

Like fireflies 

Blinking

On and off

Sending quiet signals

That maybe you were nervous

And my anxiety isn’t anything to fool with

But he set me to ease

When he leaned back in his chair. 

Body language just opening up doors. 

I don’t think for a single second I really relaxed 

That deep relaxation you get around someone

Where your heart settles in your chest

Like fog settles around

North facing rocks

No my heart was humming

Because I’m just a person out here

Lying flat on my back

As I wind down this lazy river. 

Barely breathing to stay afloat

And it sucks to be a poet sometimes

Because I wanna write about every little heartbreak. 

Every little “I miss you”

Every little encounter 

Every time I just can’t quit a person

The irony is the person is me. 

I wanna write about how going slow is sometimes just as dangerous as moving fast 

And how time, no matter how fast or slow I’m moving, stands still

When I think for a second about what could be. 

Or what could have been. 

Or what’s next. 

I don’t mind shooting from the hip 

But the truth is I’m better at bleaching bones

Then going in for the kill. 

So when he kissed me

I felt it. 

Deep down in the recesses of my poet’s heart. 

And it was sweetly terrifying. 

Magic

I have always sought out magic in places.
A garden in my neighborhood,
Decorated with crystal balls
Wind chimes
And gnomes.
A small cave
Made of boulders
And moss
And grass
In a midwestern park.
An abandoned tabernacle
In a camp ground.
Fairy circles
In apartment complexes
And
Islands in lakes.
I have always sought out magic in words.
Putting together the perfect sentence, paragraph, story, poem,
Full of adjectives and Similes and metaphors.
The placement of punctuation,
And the voice the reader hears in their head.
To present a vision that manifests in their minds
And stays with them.
I have always sought out magic in people.
The way their heads tilt
When in full blown conversation,
The fire in their eyes
The stolen glances across coffee shops.
The cigarette that hangs from a mouth but never gets smoke in the eyes.
The gestures,
Weaving in and out between spoken words
To paint pictures out of thin air.
I know magic in places. In people. In words.
I'll tell you a secret, though.
The most magical place
In the world is in your heart.
The most magical words are simply, I love you,
And the most magical person,
Is you.

Oceans.

I'm sorry I loved you
The way I did.
See,
You seek to blame yourself for not loving me
The way I loved you.
Truth is,
It never phased me.
I knew you didn't have the capability
The culpability,
To love
How I do.
I told you
As much
On that long drive
To a city built
Into a cliff side
But you
Couldn't understand
Because you were drowning
In your
Own ocean.
That same ocean
Is how I love you.
And I refuse to let you
Be pulled out into a riptide
Or let
Any hurricane blow though
What I feel.
What I felt.
Because you
Were the moon
That influenced
My waves
To crash into shore.
Until you were eclipsed
By the sun
That was the center
Of your disaster.
But the ocean
Never forgets
Her moon.
Her stars.
Her beaches.
Her reefs.
Just as I will never forget you.