weathervanes and paper planes

if you could fold me in half,

you’d see the way my skin

wrinkles under your fingers.

each indent reveals every

way your touch manipulates

my body. it is small. impressionable.

fold me again and watch how

easily i collapse. crease the corners

and listen to the way i sing,

cradled in your palms. hold me.

don’t let go. we could talk about

how you would follow

wherever the wind takes me,

but what if the direction i

soar is not where you want to go?

Great Barrier Reefs, & Other Things That Grew Between Us

There’s coral in every memory I have of you. 

Vermilion and viridian, saffron limbs. I remember 

the way you entangled me at night. Surfing the crest

and embracing the crash. Now the waves

just roll on by, spray salt in my eyes and laugh- 

I suppose it’s yours.

Maybe we weren’t ready for an ocean song.

Maybe I’m still learning how to swim.

Okay.

I write what I feel, and sometimes what I
feel is dark and sad but it’s the truth.
Not many people admit that the bad things in life
are the most prominent aspects of their lives.
I am unapologetic. I refuse
to dismiss an absence of light.

I write because I have this belief that even
one person will read it and nod silently
in agreement that not all days are good days,

and that’s okay.