I’m always asking myself if I’ll hurt in the same way my mother does.
the bravest thing I can do is feel myself wanting you
and allow that want to run wild.
What would you be called if you didn’t have your name?
I’d still pick my mother’s favorite sound.
Where was I softest?
That’s where I’d like to call home.
And perhaps the greatest religion we have
is love when we least deserve it.
“When was the last time you were naked?”
“When I was hopeful”
He tried to make a home out of
That’s why it didn’t work
She writes about love the way she writes about war.
The two concepts tangled in the gray matter of her brain.
Her heart wears a suit of armor,
Affection, holyland she cannot secure.
He is not the adversary,
Just a bystander more invested in his neutrality than aligning himself with her.
Was it his inability to move anywhere but down that enticed you–
Certain you would always be higher?
Connection is sitting next to you, wordless, looking away,
Still feeling your heartbreak.