A collection of poetry

“Mermaid or dragon?” you ask me even though you already know my answer.
You’re braiding fishtails in my hair.
So I say dragon.
You roll your eyes and read the results of an online test you made me take,
and I can’t focus because I’m staring at your pink lips.

“You weren’t listening,” you say to me hiding a smirk and I’m caught off guard.

I can’t lie to you. No. Something makes me soft with you.

So I laugh. “Read it again.”

But you ignore me.

You finish braiding my hair and I almost beg you to read it one more time until I see a tear fall through your eyelashes.

You quickly wipe it away.

“It’s nothing,” you say.

I don’t ask you about it. At night, I let you sleep in my bed. I fall asleep watching t.v. near your feet.

In my dreams we are warrior lovers defeating dragons and saving mermaids. We’ve slayed our enemies as the sun sets and you are restless, pleading with me to fight some more. But the mermaids are safe. You yell, “fine,” and run towards the horizon looking for more dragons and I’m left all alone on the cliff confused and breathless.

All that bravery and I still can’t figure out what you’re afraid of. Is it the calm? Is it the way our hearts stop racing before we fall asleep? Are you afraid of sitting still? Of repeating routines? Are of you afraid of the silence? Or afraid of me?


Unholy Sigh

We don’t go to church anymore,
but on Sunday mornings my knees are on the ground,
and he moans “oh my God, baby” so softly.
We praise god all night long,
and confessions of sin and desire are whispered beneath the sheets.
we say we don’t belong to religion anymore,
but I make crosses on his skin with my tongue.

And at sunrise I’m prostrating,
he grabs a handful of my hair.
at sundown, he chokes me and I plead a prayer
so helpless, so breathless,
an unholy sigh.
we say we don’t belong to religion anymore,
but I’ve surrendered and obeyed and bowed in every position.

We make music together, like a singing choir.
there’s rhythm in the squeal of this bed, like church bells,
and maybe God dammed us, but goddamn it baby,
I got my hands up but its too late for salvation.


Dear Almost Lover

Your voice was the wind,
and I was deaf.
You sang to me in howling storms,
or soft whistles.

Dear almost lover,
there exists a world where I can hear the piano in your voice,
where your tongue presses the keys that play to me what words can’t say.
there exists a world where I can hear the chimes in your laughter,
the notes ringing in a blissful echo,
and I will look to you crying, my ears have never heard such harmony.

Dear almost lover,
in this word I am deaf,
and when you open your mouth
I feel the coldest.
your voice is the wind,
and I throw my hands up to the sky
in frustrating agony…
so you stop speaking for a while.

At night, with my head resting on your chest,
you press your lips to my ear.
I can feel the muffled beating of drums coming from your chest,
I urge you to open your mouth,
slower this time,
and try again,
in the darkness, I stare at your lips with wide eyes,
strain my ears,
and try again.
you open your mouth.

I wait…
anticipation crushing my bones, if only we try hard enough this time, then maybe I can hear, sound returning to my ears, and you can speak instead of howl, and
we’ll be warm again.

But you look at me,
and your lips form into something that looks like ‘i’m sorry,’
what deafening silence,
when love could’ve been the most beautiful symphony.

So we fall into a battlefield,
where blame is our shield, and fault is our sword.
we fight.
that’s all we seem to do,
that’s all we can do.

Until the day you surrender, or I do.
you don’t want to give up but there’s a girl who can hear your songs.
and I don’t want to give up but there’s a boy who’s voice I can hear.
at night, I leave all the windows open,
I fall asleep shivering in a wind that doesn’t feel like you.
what excruciating coldness,
when love could’ve been the warmest fire.

Dear almost lover,
there has never been a more mournful story.
our love could’ve been music
a classic, that lives on for centuries
long after we stop breathing.

They will bury our bodies separately,
never knowing the love that almost existed,
the love that never existed.


A world where stress does not exist

Lay with me,
close your eyes.
I’ll leave soft butterfly kisses on your neck to remind you of our existence.

Hold me gently,
the world is tough and we are both oh so tired.
I trace your spine with a feathery touch,
and when I reach your shoulders,
I sigh.
Theres a space in your back between your shoulder blades where my head fits just right.

Close your eyes,
envision a world where only you and I exist,
where stress is but a distant memory,
the frown lines between your eyebrows are muscle memory,
where we watch the sunset every evening.

You tell me my eyes look like the horizon.
I tell you there is sugarcane stuck in your teeth.
Weave your fingers into mine.
Watch the weight of our worries finally slip away.
No one has ever carried so much of your suffering in her own chest.
You howl at the moon.
I cry between laughter.

My tears fall in the moonlight.
You offer me a dance and I refuse, refuse, refuse,
until I confess to you that I don’t know how.
You smile with all your teeth,
and sweep me off of my feet.
We sway in circles of patience,
you dip me in kindness,
no one has ever touched me so peacefully.

You tell me I look different in this world.
I tell you the same.
Our hair never turns grey.
Your voice sounds like piano.
Relief looks good on you.

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