caitlin abigail.

“meet me here /I am so lonely /I learned a second language”

yes, it hurts, that’s the moral of the story. yellow is the color of my wanting. I’ll say to you, here is honey — eat.

“I was beautiful without brutality. // I was beautiful without the steel & hiss of wanting.”

“And no one can ever figure out what you want, and you won’t tell them, and you realize the one person in the world who loves you isn’t the one you thought it would be, and you don’t trust him to love you in a way you would enjoy.”

“The car of my body just won’t start, and I’m slamming on the dashboard waiting for some kind of spark, some kind of proof I didn’t just waste this.”

“Please, remember this. There was a love and it was ours. It was ours.”

—where will you go now that I have given you my body like a terrible grave?

even in a dream state you still feel like a lightning strike

I guess it’s no surprise that I’ve been served a lot of bad love, but you know, I still ate it. And I licked the damn plate afterwards.

To be called brave by someone you don’t know / is to wonder if you wear survival like a half-burned dress

What does it even mean to write a poem? It means today I’m correcting my mistakes.It means I don’t want to be lonely.

Don’t you wish you could go inside a heart, see the strings and atrium’s, everything beating and bleeding. It’s kind of funny, I spend almost every minute thinking about love. Being guided, and divided by love. But I’ve never seen it. It’s just a rumour, a comedown, an afterglow. I wanna see it, in colour. In the summer, I can almost picture it. The sky is bursting, blushing, darkening. A shimmer on the water - your skin, and my skin. The flowers. I sip the drink, I lie to you, I go to secret worlds. You call the car, you tell the truth, you pull me in. Are we blessed? Or cursed? Do we make love or do we destroy it? That summer I wanted to find out.

i still can’t eat a nectarine without  remembering the taste of you i still remember how you kept your hardest parts on the inside too.