I loved you to the point of poetry.

That is to say,
meeting you made me into a rabid metaphor
foaming pretty words at the mouth.

That is to say,
you broke me into a hundred and forty three pieces
and I learned how to mosaic a verse from splintered thoughts.

That is to say,
I never knew punctuation until you split
all my eager exclamations into ellipses and breaks.

That is to say,
I never appreciated the pause between words
until we argued and I wished I could live inside of one.

That is to say,
you taught me how to tune out what you were saying
to hear the hurt behind it.

That is to say,
I cried when I realized all the important stuff were always hidden
beneath too many layers,
and we struggled in futility to say in words
what could only be expressed in reading into their echoes.

You burn blue
whilst I burn red
and the dizzying darkness
wrapped around our heads.

And for centuries
we led sailors
across the seas;
fathers to daughters
and sons to mothers.

Connecting
the known
to the unseen others.

And we kept
the lost from
losing themselves,
and the dreamers
in dreams
where the wonders
still dwelt.

And how I danced
‘round you
gave the singers a song

And they gave life
to us both;
and stories
a thousand years long.

A word
constellation
connected us both

and while lightyears away
we had voices;
we spoke.

And I burned red
whilst you burned blue,
and through stories and song
I’m connected to you.

(Inspired by “The Gathering Season” by Reese Lansangan. More on that here, on Insipration Run 1.)

“That one is yours,” she said
in a voice
all too large
for herself.

Me, the proud owner
of a big ball of gas
burning billions and trillions
of miles away.

I can’t imagine how useful
that’d be.
You can’t hug the stars,
and the stars
won’t warm your home.

“I’d rather have the big one,”
I shot back,
“The one right there!
Almost hiding behind the clouds.”

“That’s the moon, you idiot!”
she retaliated,
grabbing a large clump
of grass in her left hand,
and showering it over me
as I laid beside her.

“Alright, it’s not mine.”
How could it be.
The moon owns the tides
and the romance in every night;
I barely own the clothes on my back.

“It’s yours then.”
Everything beautiful should be
yours.
You’re practically
moonlight
yourself.

“I’ll give you the moon,
how about that?”

And a smile on your face
every night for the next eighty years,
if you let me.

I’ll let you have my last name,
and we’ll collect more
stars to press inbetween
pages of journals.

But most of all
just take me;
add me to your collection
and I’ll bring the company
of every good thing
that’ll come out of my life.

And that’ll all be yours.

You laughed.
“Well, it’s a start.”

We could dearly hope so.

With such a vast expanse of sky
and such limited view
we are unfortunate
in finding ourselves
lacking
the ability to see
what lies in front of us.

It is estimated
that in any given day
a star will shoot across the heavens
every 10 to 15 minutes

But we’re almost guaranteed to miss it completely.

I thought about what
it had been like
to hold your gaze
for 10 seconds

and know that soon enough
you’d look in some other direction
and miss me
completely

And I felt myself
racing across your heavens;
burning out
just as I started
to enter your atmosphere

But I swear in that moment
I was the brightest thing in your sky
and we were meant to meet

but as passerbyes
on a different collision course.

So it goes.

Will they light
candles
for your birthday
on Mars?

Or is oxygen
too precious
a resource
to waste on celebration?

I guess that discounts
the idea of pool parties
and watching fireworks.

But damned if
I’ll think it isn’t worth it.

To touch ground
on worlds that have
never known
feet.

To climb Olympus Mons
and be at heights
humans never dreamt of being.

Damned if I think
it isn’t worth it.

Smuggling Hershey’s
onboard a space shuttle
and owning the
only chocolate bar
on the planet.

We like to think
that here on Earth
we have everything.

But lacking in appreciation
can we truly enjoy
all its splendor?

Martians
will live on so much less,
and own so much more.

Last night, I was privileged to be given the opportunity to perform spoken word at Hideaway, an open mic organized by Pinwheel Poetry (of which my friend, Frankie, is a member). Honestly, I’m always so grateful to have a chance to showcase my work, and the crowd this time was awesome! I performed a new piece which I had just finished hours before showing up to the event, so I was really nervous.

The piece was very unrefined and super unpolished, but I got a good reception, even warranting some praise from the poetry group Words Anonymous, and an invite to perform at their next open mic. :))

That’s two weeks now in a row that I’ve gotten to perform my work, and I really hope I can continue this trend! When I feel a little more seasoned, I’ll probably be announcing the nights I decide to perform on this platform more often.

Anyway, thanks for the support guys, enjoy the poem under the cut!

Keep reading

I am sorry
for the moments I’ve spent with you
spent thinking about her.

She is still in my blood;
I fear sometimes she’ll show in my cheeks
when you make me blush.

She is still in my lungs;
never fully having been exhaled,
every attempt has ridden me of 99% of her air
but that tiniest of percentages has kept the germ strong.

If when we kiss,
you taste her name still on my lips,
linger for a moment longer

Make my heart race,
so as to flush her out

Leave me breathless,
and we will still her voice from my chest

And kiss me,
smother my memories,
and allow me to live in our present.

I want to see you kicking up dust,
sticking back the thorns,
strolling through the forest,
running the current in the river
over to wherever it is you are.

And call your name into the air;
and hear it whistle between the trees
until something answers back:
We see you too
and we’re here.

I want you to touch the grass;
and feel the grass touch you back.
Sit cross legged, bottom legged tickled
by infinite hands: we’d lift you up
but we’re just gonna lie down instead.

And warmth of the setting sun bound itself
around your shoulders for one last time,
before it winked out
over the mountain tops;
a friend saying:
“Until the next.”

And a biting reminder
when cold sets in;
but the sudden burst of a fire
roaring itself into life
and drawing the wanderers in
promising rest
pushes back that frigid blanket.

Instead, I see you tucked into
the warmth
of friends surrounding you;
they, like curls of flames;
you, like glowing hot coals:
breathing in and out,
as bright as you can
until you’re not,
but never never never
losing the spirit to stay
burning

And make warmth.
And leave the soul covered in ash,
but still
pulsing and beating.

Oh, I’ve never seen such beauty.
Like a treasure reappeared
when it had been so at risk of loss.
I saw you glow and in me,
I’d been sparked back to life.

We’re here to burn magnificent, baby!