writing;

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i’m a forest full of wolves. i’m a prey animal. my bed is on fire. my hands are red. i’m getting kicked in the stomach til i cough up blood. there’s dogs at my heels. there’s azalea in my throat. i’m trying to renounce suffering but everything i do is underlined by sacrifice. but i do believe in desire. i believe in karma. i believe in monarch butterfly migrations, and salmon who remember each arm of the river. and i’m still trying to figure out if i’m hopeless or if someday i’ll be saved, gasping, pulled from the river by you again.

i don’t know. i love you. there’s not much more to it. i wonder often if i’m dreaming away the central verse of my youth. if i’ll wake up one day and be a little less than i am now. tell me i’m whole. tell me i’m good. tell me you’ll carry me through the melting skies of this chorus of our lives and that someday i’ll wake up next to you.

i was hungry for everything when i was younger. i was like an ocean. i wish i could remember being a child. i wonder if the world knows when someone is about to die. if something is holding its breath for me. i don’t want to think about backup plans or second chances or ever ending things with anybody. i was too young to love her in the right way, too desperate to love him now. i don’t want to be anybody!! i just want to hold you!

how poignant and heart-rending is it that we’re all going to work or school and riding our bikes and feeding our dogs and driving to the grocery store and emailing back our coworkers and yet among it all we’re each screaming (somewhat out of sync) someone please please love me for this for something for anything!

you know i’m in love with you, in a hopeless, clumsy, summer kind of way, a two kids meeting at the crosswalk, gripping their handlebars with slick palms way. in a wind-filled car way, in a hanging mistletoe way, in the sprightly blinking of a string of christmas lights way. you know i’m in love with you because half of you is you and the other half of you is me. and you know that from the first time i saw you i thought you were glittering, unwild, like the place in rivermouth where fish grapple for a decision. and it was then that i thought you’re mine, mine, mine, mine in the way that the fish belong to the river’s own struggle.

november: snow like empty dawn, songbirds singing through the mantle of oncoming winter, the deep and ripe smell of coffee brewing, gold eyelet of a headlight circling some spot in the darkness

my god hates me. my god climbed out her window last night and threw pebbles up through mine. my god sings me to sleep. my god picked a cherry tree clean in the empty light of morning and sat in the shade for the afternoon, sucking out the red from the pits. my god pressed her forefinger into the mountainsides to make the valleys. my god dug trenches and filled them up with seawater. my god invented yearning. my god invented infatuation. my god kissed me on the mouth. she did it again. she did it again.