I’d hold a hundred breaths
I’d die a hundred deaths
wishing we’d never met
lest you forget

I waited with a fever
I wait forever yet,
but I’m expectant of the day
my love, when you forget

I put all my faith in truth
and no further did I get
for look at where your heart is
darling, I knew you would forget

I’m good at forgetting.
I’ve forgotten you already.
I don’t remember the perfect shape of your lips
or the feeling when you trace your fingertips down my spine
light as a shiver.
I can’t picture your hands
strong and gentle
as they hold me steady.
I barely even think about the way you make me feel
like a field of flowers
is blooming in my belly.
My life isn’t in parts
split before and after
because it’s not like you changed me.

I was fine before you loved me.
I’ll be fine if you don’t.
And I don’t even care
that fine is all I’ll ever be without you.

house on a hill

We built a house, you and I. High up on a hill. We thought it would be safe there. We thought we would be safe there.

We built the first room together, veiled by the callous winter weather. Its walls were strong, like our love, ceilings high, like our expectations. It was beautiful. Just like our dreams. It wasn’t long before the roof started leaking. We didn’t notice though, we were lost in eachother’s eyes. When the walls started crumbling, we thought it was because of the paint.

The second room was smaller, because you’d grown comfortable in the first and you didn’t want to leave. The weight of your expectations was too much for me to manage by myself, and so the ceiling touched your head. You demolished it with your anger, and we started once again.
Once the walls touched the sky, I thought I’d be allowed to fly. But you capped the top with your hopes and thoughts and before I knew it, I forgot that I even had wings.

The third room was mine. I built it on my own. The house was collapsing; all I wanted was to save it. You weren’t interested, you liked the smell of paint and plaster, and you thought you could repair it. I was worn by then, and you could tell. Yet brick after brick, I’d lift and stick. This was the widest room by far, and I settled in a corner. Looking up, I’d count the stars as the cold crept in.

I woke up one day to find you gone. After years of building I was the only one left to watch the walls cave in.
It was February. The earth smelled like death. You discarded all the memories you swore you’d never forget. I was distraught. I was riddled with rot. I was a physical embodiment of the love you forgot.
And so I left. Leaving behind everything but the skin on my bones. I left it unlocked. I couldn’t think of anyone who might want to find a way in.

The house we built still stands. High up on that hill.
Its weathered walls are marked with our hands. The floors inside are caked in sand.
The house we built, still stands alone. The house we built was never a home.

My Moon

you are the moon
and I, the ocean
can’t resist your pull
i’m stuck in this rut
and you’re so far away
we were never given a fair chance
so while you circle the earth
I’ll try to break away
but your gravity
has a hold on me
the water is rising
and the world is a valley
and the weight of each mountain
leans heavy on my depths
so soon we’ll know
if I’m strong enough
can I face the tides?
Will I overflow?