There are possibilities for me, certainly, but under what stone do they lie?
Like brittle pieces of broken shells barely put together by sleep, there was nothing to fill her out, nothing to hold her together.
My heart always timidly hides itself behind my mind. I set out to bring down stars from the sky, then, for fear of ridicule, I stop and pick little flowers of eloquence.
i’m gonna be honest,
i’m not a love poet
but if i were to wake up tomorrow morning
and i really wanted to write about love,
i swear my first poem
it would be about you
about how i love you the same way i learned to ride a bike;
with no training wheels or elbow pads
so my scars can tell the story of how i fell for you