Escape Luminary

and when she loves, she loves hard; you could give her a bouquet of dying flowers and watch them spring to beauty in her arms—

I want ideas to hit me like a raging truck and leave me bleeding sonnets. Each word a clog in my lungs, each breathe an invocation. I never want to run out of prose, I need my pain spilled on paper. Otherwise, I’d be forced to wrap these hands— otherwise, I’d believe my father was right when he said I am not good enough.

I have stitched to myself an ungodly number of wings but I never came close to flying. Instead, I was left with broken feathers, that are stuck on my ribs until they are spoiled and rotten. Here, my body is a ticking bomb, far from burning in the sun, but what a privilege to be near its glimmer. I guess this must be what Icarus felt when he flew to the sky with reckless abandon. If only to get close;

When I was nineteen, I was a sun pouring all its light to a black hole, like somehow hoping to break the laws of physics and form a massive galactic miracle.

nevermind all the sad poems I wrote before you came— I'd do just fine without them now that you are here.

come here. come bring your baggage and we’ll unpack them together. this house is an evolving space. the interior, we will rearrange. you can pick the furniture and paint the walls. I will fill the yard with Daisies and dedicate you all their colors. come here. be the sunlight and the rain. come sit on the floor with me and we’ll share the mundane. or we could climb to the roof. watch the stars parade. you can wrap me in your steady bones where I’ll be safe to dream. and you can breathe out. you can shelve your fears. the doors will be locked but I’ll hand you the keys. this house will be warm even through the unknown. so come rest your heart now—because you are home.