Terms & Conditions

bring me offerings of love

trailing fingertips and thirsty lips

for my skin

show up at my door

with stars in your eyes

dreams in your heart

and passion for my

mouth to take in

and when you come inside

take off your shoes

and leave the subtle

and the mundane

behind.

love language

he undresses my mind first and

takes his time handling my heart

he brings me flowers in the evening

and coffee in the morning

and asks for nothing in return except for

my love.

He doesn’t gift crumbs.

He doesn’t gift silences.

He shows up and opens doors

and looks at me as if he could see

my soul.

His touches are both fire and warmth

and his mouth speaks to me in a different tongue

I’ve always known but never quite

understood before.

He is not from around here

but he’s quickly starting to feel

like home.

subtlety

You say I don’t give enough but you just haven’t learned

how to listen to the unspoken

when you hold me close and I don’t run

that’s a sign I want you to stay

stick around past the sighs and you’ll find

that I have nightmares, too

and the same lump in my throat and broken heart you seem to carry around inside.

can’t you see we’re one and the same?

won’t you give this love a chance?

Merry Griefmas

This year it’s just me and my tears and a cup of coffee for breakfast the day before Christmas.

The problem with the Grinch Who Stole Christmas is that not enough emphasis is placed on how he became who he is.When the holidays become hard because of the past, it’s easy to want to have nothing to do with them.

It’s just harder, this time of year, to ignore the pain of loss and heartbreak. It’s as if all the deep wounds float up to the surface for everyone and every encounter to poke about and tear apart.

No matter how much he hurt me when he walked away, I want nothing more right now than to just get everything we once had back.

But wishes can’t be wrapped up and placed under the Christmas tree.

So they stay here, in my heart, reminding me of the lost love that can’t find its way back home for Christmas Day.

Merry Griefmas once again.

the curse of being an empath

discarded goods

that’s all I was in the end

when I asked for the time I gave back

when the illusion of perfection faded away

so did the love

so did he

Running from four walls that never became home

Running from who he is-

Just another narcissist.

My poor heart was exhausted

and I didn’t even notice it

because I only had eyes for him.

 

never again.