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.

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

You
A burning matchstick
filling the air with the smoke
of misunderstandings
fueled by timber
of good intentions.

The structure is solid
but you leave nothing but soot.

I work these hands
to build a home to live in,
and we’ll fill it with
furniture of hopes and dreams.

And maybe you’ll be secure
nested between pillows of
things I’ll be one day
and kept dry
from the rains that’d wash
our good effort away

But I still wonder
on days when the smoke detectors
go off
and the loud blaring alarm
warns me
that you still burn

Are you the fireplace
to keep us warm
or arson
leaving us to ash?

It’s been over a year
since I last pressed
that filter to my lips;
taken a five minute
break from concern
and breathed in
the toxins of my
apathy.

It burns
in my lungs
and I cough up
the many sorries
I would’ve said
if I’d quit sooner.

But I didn’t and
maybe that’s what
was always
meant to happen;
I’d lose you,
losing myself.

Sucking in
the tar and ash
instead of sucking up
my stubbornness
and insecurities

I don’t know
how this tiny ember
between my fingers
ever made me feel
strong.

This is no candle
to guide me home;
this is no light
at the end of the tunnel

This is a piece
of hell’s fire
dragging me under

Good bye to you,
no kisses goodbye
to my nicotine friend.