a reminder from a friend

you are not a means to an end

you are an end within yourself.

the deeper this understanding roots itself in your heart,

the more you’ll treat others as an end within themselves as well.



you were never too much love–

i just feared i wasn’t enough to be what you were asking for

without even parting your lips.


my energy felt your inquiries all the way from the fifth dimension

asking me to love the parts in you i hadn’t even loved in myself yet;

to heal the parts of you i hadn’t even dared to heal in myself yet–

and it wasn’t for lack of trying.

but, in part, for lack of knowing what parts fo me needed care:

where my soul needed feeding, watering, and sunshine,

before i could pour those same things into you.


i’m sorry you were collateral damage in my unhappiness

you deserved more, and someday, you will find within yourself

the love you wanted that i couldn’t readily give.



if i were courageous,

i’d allow the weight of my heart to roll out of my mouth

onto the plush pinkness of my tongue,

to flatten it smooth with luscious memories of what was

thrown together with the risky hopes of what could have been.

if i were brave i would call you up

letting crocodile tears rush down my face in hot, unplanned frenzies

while i tell you all the ways i love you and can’t stop thinking about you.


now isn’t the time.

queen of swords

fear has kept you frosty, child.

sick of trying to mend old wounds

with 80 proof and grandma’s hymnals

you opted instead for icicles

figuring they’d be enough to stop the profuse bleeding

brought on my trauma’s heavy hand.

you thought a cold heart would kill off

even the slightest hint of pain;

theorized that hurt could heal if cryogenically frozen.

instead, in the process of thawing yourself out

you found out the pain incubates

evolving and giving birth to something entirely different,

something you don’t even recognize as what you tried to freeze out.

if you can, go easy as you warm up.

don’t turn the heat up too high

or you’ll break.


it’s cute that we still try to fill in each other’s cracks before they show

that even when we call ourselves being vulnerable,

delicately cut and splayed open for the other to see,

we still wear a sheet to cover the parts we’ve tasted and find most unsavory,

as if just-enough-brokeness still keeps you sexy enough for love.



i know what i’m capable of.

i know i don’t mind streching to fit inside the holes of your heart

contorting my body to knit together your scars

i know i am capable

maybe more than usual

to make myself mutable to your needs

willing constantly to fall at your feet

but when you accidently drop me

i shatter.


i’m not quite whole again

or maybe i am, and that’s what’s scary.

that i didn’t need you as bad as i thought i did.

that it’s more than alright,

actually preferred, to be independent.


but i miss you as my compelmentary

and baby, i just want you to lay with me

and enjoy the sanctuary of each other’s company.

but i understand if you ain’t ready.

now more grown up than i used to be

i’m willing to wait patiently.

hit me up when you’re ready.

just for

i will show up



just for you.

i would gently pluck the moon like a flower out of the meadows of the night sky,

present it on a shining silver platter

just for you.

i would sew the stars into a personal constellation

with the threads of your hopes and dreams stitching together each piece,

weaving them into a beautiful garment

just for you to wake up in

or to throw on like a favorite jacket

or lace up like a long-loved pair of boots.

all of this and more for you I would do gladly,

you don’t even have to ask.