poetry
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Irony speaks for me I let him chart me, no compass, no true consent. Just the burden of hands where permission was pretend. Somewhere in my body, his lips are still habit. There was a gentleness in him, a boyhood, iridescent by morning, gone by noon. He didn’t guard himself when
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The tilt of you, the fractures where the light slips in. I trace your doubts like constellations. Your mistakes beg for reverence, a desperate proof of life. I shaped you into a vision without weight, perfection hollowing all meaning until I warped your memory just to survive. There is no hesitation in standing bare, skin
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I once lived in the warmth of brown eyes, Believing they held all the light I needed. A gaze that wrapped my world in quiet surrender, Whispering promises, bending reason. But in a single moment, the color shifted, And what I knew unraveled into blue. Brown dissolved into a distant echo, While blue became the
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“I am a woman first, a dreamer second, and a lover when it is safe to be so.” Asia~Blue
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I brought you to the water to forget. The sunset danced on our letters; Love rusted away. Lost boys, we wasted time playing fools. Your shadow in my peripheral impedes reason, Though your ghost is kind. I leave you to Neverland. -AB Song of the night – Butterflies by Sia
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When I turn away he finds me A hand to my jaw a look I can’t outrun He doesn’t move like he’s thinking he moves like breath like instinct like the step between desire and permission We don’t speak in answers we speak in breath in steps in touches that say stay And eyes that
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3 of 3 I’m from a place where fireflies light the trees like magic and a kiss from a boy too early is a sin. I love like my father; from afar, wishing you well. I learned from my mother to hide behind a sharp tongue. When I say hello, please treat it as if
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2 of 3 Do not ask me for advice, I am without my love. Do not ask me how I live without. Ask me about the weather. For he is the beautiful storm, the cloud over my head, and why I pray for rain. It is a troubled feeling, longing for someone. Losing them in
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I can sit in a park and watch people for hours; their vague denial entertains me. That or I crave naivety. We have lost the art of discernment in this world. I am no saint. My impairment comes with a boy. Cliché. Unoriginal, but lays kindle to a fire that keeps me warm at night.
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1 of 3 He was the best of me. Healing parts of me with every laugh. While he slept, I thought about all my missteps. The lack of faith that forged me into the dark. The trust in lust that brought nothing but pain. I laid next to him, confessing all my sins with a
Wishful Thinking 