dear warrior,
“chi rho”
i wash my hands with the clearest blue
“right things i-v”
i.
it’s the right things at the wrong times
these little things that kill me
i have been left on the floor
battered and bleeding
and you sit beside me
i will not let you bandage my wounds
i must do this on my own –
on my own
i have done things on my own
for far too long
so just sit in silence beside me
and let the stories fill the void
ii.
where to begin?
flush out my wounds
my screams only mean healing
my hair is longer in my mind
longer like when i knew you
and i am wearing your ring
iii.
wearing your ring
i want to wear your ring –
take your name –
be yours to the end of my days.
iv.
i want deep talks about the things that hurt –
and the things that heal
you show me that you have scars
and bones that ache when it rains
i will hold you while you sleep
and kiss you until you wake
this is no nightmare
this is no nightmare
you are awake
and you are with me
v.
we have fought a war
but now we fight together
you, my king
and me, your queen
and our scars and hands
will make us whole
“i was cold”
i was cold when you found me again
heart locked
unwilling to trust
i did not want another beside me
reaching out
reaching out
trying to find the rhyme
and reason in the darkness
sense and pattern in the walls
no attention paid to the flowers
in the cracks
of the walls and of
my broken heart
you knew me when i was warm once
before the night fell and
i saw happiness only
through a frosted
glass window
in glimpses looking sideways
you knew me when i was full to bursting
with more than enough to give
now you find me with a soul as thin
as i am wide
and fading still
i’m not saying you’ll fix me
you wouldn’t want that and
nor would i
but hold my hand while i heal
stitch myself back together
in the quiet and hold me
until the dawn comes again
simply remind me of what i was
then
love seeds i-v
i.
(the light slants sat awkward angles)
i wish i had a metaphor for this one
but words fail
maybe i’m being overdramatic
maybe i don’t want to lose you
and i feel like god’s playing a long game
and i will not break at the cracks
(i have never been in love
something about it always fades)
something you has me
thinking “i love you”
after you go
and i’d go anywhere for you
but would you have me?
(i would have you)
i don’t think so
ii.
i won’t go anywhere
and nor will this stupid poetry
i write to process
i write to feel complete
but these words on this page
are filled with imagined strikethroughs
from trying to “process” my way out of
feelings that should be sat on
and maybe even enjoyed
but i always lay all of my cards on the table
and lay myself bare at the same time
so that there is very little to hide
but you lay yours down one at a time
and flip them back over
you know how to play properly
and i do not
iii.
god, how i miss keeping a journal
even though it made it worse
but i need someplace to write your
phrases before they (will never) fade
i’m even starting to write like you
and a simple notebook would not
begin to do you justice
but open the gates
and tell me of the foes you met
in your mind’s eye and that your hands touched
(i have not met them)
(but i swear on my life that i can see them)
(too)
iv.
you don’t need writing to keep me
it’s like you sat me at a table
and reserved it
for when you return
and i do not need to stray
i will wait
i will wait
if you have me or not
v.
(give me an hour and i will come back)