medicine tree

cross eternity

with me

maybe not

maybe hide

behind my medicine

tree

behind pills

and pulls

and puffs

and that’s

where you belong

on that faraway

land

isolated

raging desire

waiting

catatonically

still,

me in

bones

 

 

 

still i cannot

make my mind

up,

will you

be my personal

turpentine?

that’s to decide

until you

show up at

the pit of my stomach

familiar,

hunger

 

 

dear

medicine tree,

 

 

i’m sorry

if i’m not,

chewing

swallowing

chewing

and if i am,

either way,

i’m scared,

but i’m

not

and i

want to

see your

skin tight

dry crusting

lips bugging

begging

but i do

and i don’t,

and i don’t know

whether to swallow

your pill,

or not,

or swallow it,

then spit it out

 

 

so if i have

this masochistic desire that

underwires the

fire between

my brows

forgive me if

i like to deprive

in order

to strive

so slowly,

slowly i’ll

hide a few snicks

and snacks

here and there

and i’ll stop

gulping that last

spoonful

i’ll stop sitting

i’ll stop breathing

i’ll stop expanding

or contracting

 

 

sit under

my medicine tree

i’ll pass you a pill

i won’t ask you to

pick between

blue or red

because i won’t

be the pill

but the space

between them

resting along

your ribs

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capsize

I can’t muster up,

roll up,

a compendium of courage

just enough

to balance onto this string,

so i’m always on

tiptoes,

either grappling for gravity

or

floating (so high I can’t feel my fingers)

 

 

teach me these few

things, how not to:

clip fingernails to

split knives, then try to trace my face

or smash teacups

because the house has

ceased to whisper (i can’t stand silence)

or scorch the tips of pencils

when words stay hanging below my throat,

limply,

refusing to move any

farther onto paper

 

 

sometimes,

if my mind eases on the accelerator,

i’ll make sure to

stand under a storm

and hope for lightning

i’ll have my hands full of

plasma coalesced into electricity

(so blue it could burn your eyes)

at least there’s this

effervescence,

that I can dissect,

squint into,

pick and fiddle with

like an old toy

made out of unknown

mechanisms

watch me

step onto that minefield covered

mind of mine

ready to explode

with just an exhale

in the right direction

 

 

my life is a time bomb

and i’m running away from

the silence between each tick

tick

tick.

from feeling like

an empty hotel room with

undone beds.

don’t leave me vacant,

 

 

 

I’d rather capsize a boat

than have it afloat

 

Alone time is okay.

Alone time is okay. And it’s okay if some days you just want to dig into cloudy soil with muffled breaths to make a blanket out of morning sunlight and just go back to sleep. it’s okay if an assail of jitters takes over and all you do is sink- so let yourself sink, and let yourself fold into a beautiful paper crane. your wings might be tainted with vermillion cuts but know that they will heal with each  peppermint breath of silence. Dear, it’s okay if some days, faraway echos of laughter tug at you but your limbs only want to weave into empty spaces and places where your arms can stretch for miles.

it’s okay if unlike other flowers you don’t explode, pirouette with light around presences and constant talking. instead, you might just want to ease on the accelerator, eyes enraptured by one one pair of pupils at a time.

some take it fast, and gulp down the day all at once- but it’s also okay to glide from one second to the next,

expanding gently,

unfolding,

unbinding

with time and patience.

at times you just need to stop with a mouth full of marvel and a deep breath.

you bloom in quiet beautiful places, and that’s okay too,

because honey, in the end, we all water our flowers in different ways.

So dear, take your time hopping from soul to soul. languidly expand and you’ll find that meeting each individual glow will soon feel as soft as braiding hair underwater.

capsize

I can’t muster up,

roll up,

a compendium of courage

just enough

to balance onto this string,

so i’m always on

tiptoes,

either grappling for gravity

or

floating (so high I can’t feel my fingers)

 

teach me these few

things, how not to:

clip fingernails to

split knives, then try to trace my face

or smash teacups

because the house has

ceased to whisper (i can’t stand silence)

or scorch the tips of pencils

when words stay hanging below my throat,

limply,

refusing to move any

farther onto paper

 

sometimes,

if my mind eases on the accelerator,

i’ll make sure to

stand under a storm

and hope for lightning

i’ll have my hands full of

plasma coalesced into electricity

(so blue it could burn your eyes)

at least there’s this

effervescence,

i may say,

that I can dissect,

squint into,

pick and fiddle with

like an old toy

made out of unknown

mechanisms

 

my life is a time bomb

and i’m running away from

the silence between each tick

tick

tick.

from feeling like

an empty hotel room with

undone beds.

don’t leave me vacant,

 

 

I’d rather capsize a boat

than have it float

not like in the movies

it wasn’t a spark

it was nothing so romantic

but it kept our hearts

squealing

beating

silently

languidly

under each other’s

fingernails

 

and it licks my lips close

and tickles my teeth.

Ungraspable-

i want to be able

to look past your eyes

catch whispers of ramblings

as you skip two steps

or catch your breath

and hold it in for a second too long-

what do you think of then?

 

i’ll spill out my fears

splay them out on the table

like cards,

shards of my nonsensical mind,

you can pick what you want

or just rip them all in halves or quarters.

 

and this heart can’t expect,

but here I am;

 

and I want to know

how your lashes cut like

the edge of a waning crescent

or maybe how they feel on my skin

after a shower,

 

or count the times you’ve

mumbled velleities about how

you don’t like your freckles

on the seams of

your cheeks

 

and everyday

we’ll stretch like a

spring

bounce back

retract

come back

 

it won’t be perfection

more like a dissection

of this affection

(p.s and that’s what i love about it)

 

 

between my two front teeth/an ode to nature

it’s like a gasp,

mouthful of mountain air

after spending

3AM

underwater

 

i’ve finally

raised my head

let the crickets

cradle my hair,

wind straighten my shoulders

and ill let birdsongs

stretch my lips apart

so earth can fit through

the gap between my

two front teeth

 

green, green of

morning leaves,

rustling trees,

broken knees

stitched back up

by the arborescent

fingers and strips

of creation

 

i feel its

majesty

bow down to me

as i bow down to

it.

it’s sacred tongue

glides over the

wrinkles on my

hands, between my

toes and thighs

 

i’ll let myself fall

back for once

into that cosmic

perfection

to my mother//tug of war

broken thorns

scratch

catch

against

supple skin

arborescent fingertips

spin

vines around

the heart

the lungs

 

and you’ll want to exhale

but your ribcage

is climbing up

your throat

and you’ll want to

stay afloat

through the wetblack

glimmering

river of –

 

hope

strangling

despair

dangling from

anger

sprawling over

affection

 

it’s a tug of war

we switch between being

the rope

and the

hands

pulling,

pushing

each other apart

just to restart.

 

we’re both trying

to glimpse past

the haze between

our eyelashes

squeeze past –

sneak past,

the gap between

our two front teeth –

the gap between,

our heart,

our words

 

and we try,

and try,

and cry

and try

trip over each other’s

broken pieces

with glue in our hands

intentions

waiting for attention

 

sneaking glimpses

 

calloused fingers

spilling over the other’s cheeks

wiping away tears

and

dust from

everyday life

sinking into comfort

with a twinge of pain

but it’s home

anyway

so we don’t stare

anyway

 

and in the end

we look out

windows,

where the rain starts

abruptly

and we’ll be

softly

grazing,

gazing at the sky

 

and

we’ll find each other’s

shapes

in clouds

and sounds of

faraway lullabies