km

that if i wanted to

i could start pulling

clouds out of pupils

and touching hearts

with the tip of a flame —

Loving in a way that shows

you warmth without

getting burned while seeing

that the truth is only scary

when you have hid from it

for so long

if you blindfolded me,

i could pick it out of thousands,

just by the way its skin feels —

and if i had to listen to

100 hums all at once,

i would grab your hands

and show you the internal

fire of festering chaos.

it’s strange to know something so well,

understanding how inner workings

of the intangible,

are made from tragedy

so submerged

that you can taste it

from its heartbeat

i know kindness does not have

skin nor bones

i know it does not hum,

but if it did —

it would make everyone who listened, cry

of confusing chaos

for delicacy,

and even if the world

burned up in flames,

i know something

in me would find solace.

somehow i have taught myself

that destruction is beautiful,

and maybe that’s why,

even through your insincerity

- i still find you remarkable

as we enter into spring

and for winter

as people sigh in the cold,

i grieve for the words

that should’ve stayed in the dark

as much as the unspoken,

for bruised fruit

being mislead by fleeting fingertips

and for unblooming seeds

washed away in the dirt.

and of course i grieve for us

as we stand in embers of disconnect

in the twisted love

that couldve been nurtured

in hands we were proud

to call our own.

do you?

its day like these

when the summer heat

rushes in like a small child

seeing the face of her mother,

familiarity diffusing the discomfort

that has been secondhand.

random conversations

like a gush of wind

with those who will never

whisper your name again.

when these days come

they hold you close

and make you remember

this life really is living for —

and they make you hold on too,

before you can even realize

you were slipping to begin with.