I Got Good At Leaving; But I'm Asking You To Stay.

I'm good for love

A fertile plot for it to claim. It springs to life under my feet. It drips and curls down from my fingertips. Its roots in my every thought.

I love colors and sunsets. White fluffy clouds. Boys and girls. Friends and strangers. The texture of cotton. Hot steam and cool stream water. Eyes and arms and noses. Hands and hearts and shoulders. Fresh baby kittens and sun-soaked kitchens. Me and you and them.

Love grows up my arms like new grass sprouts. Tangles around my ankles like thorny vines. Grows thick in my chest like moss. It's suffacating

I'm good for love but love isn't good for me.

Past, present, and future king

And when he walks the earth, the forests parts like the sea in wide curling waves, rocks and trees falling by the wayside.

Roots curl from his path. Dirt and sand pulling away until only stone remains.

The earth cracks and it emerges from the very mantle like Atlantis from the deeps.

Smoking spires stand tall on soft walls cooling in the breeze. The smell of luckless underbrush permeates the air with it's sizzling screams.

Once he reaches the steps it is solid beneath his feet. A new palace and old king.

The grass is greener somewhere ahead. But half the time I'm walking backwards.

Sometimes when two people are broken in the same way their jagged edges fit together

You loved me when we were both broken

But you got better and I didn't

I think too much about the stars

Greedy are the trees

"Haven't you ever seen it?" She asked me.

"Gnarled roots pale as bone crawling their way through the underbrush. Pushing aside new green ferns and beds of decaying leaves. Each root peaking for long lengths from the damp dirt. Anchored maybe by the earth or maybe by thorny vines, sharp and thick with red-tipped spines. This is the work of the trees." She whispers this all to me in a conspiring way.

"You'll see them reaching with knothole fists towards the waters edge. Thirsty for what the spring has to offer; as if the ground isn't soft with it already." She pauses smile turned sharp and condescending in the way a mother's does when sharing stories of her child's mischief.

"Greedy things"

She tastes like the metallic burn of blood.

She smells like the pop of wood as the fire consumes it.

She feels like the static that clings to your clothes.

She looks like lightning as it cracks the sky.

And he fancies himself Zeus.

I was told I needed to learn to sit with my grief. to hold its hand and mother it. to allow it to exist within me.

But I don't think I can mother anything, not even myself. I sit beside my grief, hand in hand. We're staring at each other. both wondering why we're here.

I fell headfirst into your eyes. Walking deep into your soul. Forgetting where I'd been before.

    Now i’m so lost in you I don’t know if I’ll be able to find my way out.

    Clawing at your seams, desperate for freedom.

Trapped am I in the lilt of your voice; the tilt of your head. The sad way you look at me. 

    I’m not sure if I’ll ever be rid of you; or if I even could