I am growing flowers
where my eyes used to be
Lilac tinted glasses
wear me
every day
I wake up
in a
haze
It is Spring
I have found
meaning in the morning
I dance under the
cherry trees on the
pink streets
waving one arm above
the other
tongue between my
teeth
eyes barely open
the sun kisses my bare back
laughing
she knows what it’s
like, how I’m feeling
ginger in my spicy
breath
claw marks on your
back
I have changed a lot this year.
(Source: likeawritingdesk)
Spring came sooner
than expected this year
she graced the streets with her blossoms
kissed the flowers with her sweetness
my neighbours clipped their arms and bent them
to make crowns and play king of the forest
the green of her fresh leaves,
the lilac bouquets line the streets
her beauty is
blinding
(Source: likeawritingdesk)
i need to write a poem because i have
forgotten what it feels like to
hear:
you have taken all my words away,
you with your ocean eyes,
i don’t know how to map you.
could i press my ear up to you, and
would i hear the Sea?
(Source: likeawritingdesk)
could i press my ear up to you, and
would i hear the Sea?
(Source: likeawritingdesk)
when i lose sleep
you were the place i ran to
my mind is a jumble of thoughts
a flower garden of tall tales
a pond lined with cat’s tails
you were a long driveway to
my childhood home
but we had to pack up and move
i am starting to accept
that i will never write poetry like i used to
(Source: likeawritingdesk)
you were a first breath
after a coma
but now
I dust off my wings,
it’s time to go.
(Source: likeawritingdesk)
I lived in your curves
you always smelled the sweetest
clean laundry
the woods
home cooking
you were what I came home to
day after day
(Source: likeawritingdesk)
I had already written the epitaths
you have exhausted my body
I lay on the back porch
watching the stars
counting Orion’s belt
saying to myself
‘this is how it is
now,
this is how it
is’
I have grown branches
where my arms used to be
flowers sprout from my eyes
it is Spring
(this poem was
written on a
receipt i found)
on a slow afternoon
after a morning
of rain
my love has
forgotten what
ailed him
he wants to crawl
back into our
bed.
he wants to
weed our garden,
he says.
I don’t remember
you (ever having
an interest
in our garden),
I say, looking
through him.
(Source: likeawritingdesk)
