Do it For You

You decided
to break my heart 
before we met. 
I decided
to love you still
with the pieces left. 

You said
you needed to do things
for you, 
for your happiness. 
I agreed. 
I too, 
needed confirmation 
that your smile wasn’t residual
to the afterthoughts of him. 

You made it clear
that a friendship
was what you needed,
one where trust
wouldn’t be ceded. 
I obliged
to hold your heart
til it hop scotched 
into a notch of love
it could be itself around. 

You, 
sounded more
bothered than okay, 
more flustered than
nothing’s wrong, 
more agitated than
you’re fine
but maybe, 
maybe I shouldn’t 
want to talk about it either. 

I’m not a knight
but a bleeder,
not a hero
but a seeker of
what more could I do
to help you forget him? 

What enchantments can I use
short of black magic
to pry your thoughts loose
from leeching on to him? 
How often must I remind you
that your soul
is far too beautiful
to keep cracking
over his faults?
How long
will you remain victim
to his vault 
of emotional assault? 

Please,
come back to me. 
I need you to remember
who you are,
need you to remember
that love is a promise
you made to yourself first,
need you to remember 
your worth 
will always be more valuable
than his barcodes
of depreciation. 

I beg of you, 
before he shackles 
the rest of your existence
to the rust of things you once were, 
to picture frames
of smiles you once knew;
I implore you 
to find yourself
in your scars, 
heal yourself
past the wounds, 
and love yourself
for you. 

Fall in Love

She
made me promise
to hold true to my word
five minutes to one a.m,
four hours to the end
of my circadian rhythm,
three parted heart emojis later
on a night her mind seeks to savor 
something to salvage
from watching her team lose.

I was told:
“Every time you don’t win, 
a part of you loses.”
Loses fight, 
lose grit. 
Loses heart, 
lose grip
on hoping against the odds,
that she’s someone
worth
loving. 

She’s hoping 
that someone will put
a check in the win column
next to her name;
that her heart
won’t be the last pick
in the rough draft
to better relationships;
that her soul
will stop feeling caught
between encounters with third base
when she desperately
just wants
to make
it
home.  

Check if you like me,
leave blank if you don’t. 
She slid this note to her crush;
his mouth said that he can’t, 
his eyes said that they won’t. 
She is so done
with rejection, 
so done
with losing. 

Fast forward
to her last relationship
and she’s not taking an L
for no one. 

This beautiful, 
mermaid princess 
would rather swim alone
then drown in complacency, 
uncertainty
and a shipwreck
of good intentions.

She now lives
in the ocean
of self-acceptance, 
basks in waves
of self love. 

My dear, 
you need not these hands 
to make you whole, 
need not a poem 
to reconstruct your confidence, 
need not a man
to help you heal. 

If “I love you” 
no longer sounds holy
from his lips,
if “you’re beautiful” 
seems laced 
with insincerity, 
then fall in love
with the way
you whisper them to yourself.
Fall in love
with your insecurities, 
fall in love
with all the reasons
they said you weren’t enough, 
fall in love
with you. 

You Owe it to Yourself

Let’s go. 

Doesn’t matter the place. 
We can wrestle over details later. 
For right now, 
do yourself a favor and 
ride out on out of here, 
to your favorite hide out
miles south of fear
or northbound
to a little town
to disappear
so I could repeat 
our meet and greet. 

I’ll reintroduce myself
as your cowboy, 
your eyes
will blink themselves
into my sunrise
so you’ll always know that home
is a faceful of sunset
and a smile full of my pride. 

I’ll lick the postage 
you stamp the seal of approval. 
Let’s work
on the removal of you
from the mundane. 

We’ll saddle
your imagination, 
book inspiration
into your now to take flight
upon planes of existence
that knows no resistance
to your determination. 

You, 
you need to know 
that you’re free;
that the weight of your obligations
are proportionate 
to how much you tip your scale;
that your excuses
only feel like handcuffs
til you decide
you’ve had enough. 

I need you to know
that you don’t have to go
anywhere life may lead; 
your heart
doesn’t have to kiss the floor 
every time it trips 
over something handsome;
that your dreams
don’t need to learn French
to consult more ceilings. 

I need you to know, 
you owe no soul apologies, 
reasons for being:
late, 
early, 
on time
on your days off. 

Off days
will feel like
they’re on time
to being early;
your being
will always be late
for no reason
but when your soul, 
throws a manhunt for apologies
to betray itself,
I need you to know
you owe it to yourself
to never let go
of you. 

Dedication: For You

May every morning find you
ready to wrestle
every obstacle bent
on reminding you
of the impossible,
the improbable.

May every morning
find you living
to love again,
loving
to live again.

May every sunrise
greet your eyes with inspiration,
find your smile
seeking to save
someone who’s forgotten
how to put on theirs.

May the dew,
instill in you
a reason to let go
of what pains you the most
like weakness
leaving the soul.

Most of all,
may this morning
remind you that
you’re special enough
to be thought of,
always.

image

Sometimes, I wonder

Sometimes I wonder,
if you’ll ever text me,
call me,
reach me after your:
“Can you do me a favor?”
list expires.

I wonder,
if the day will come
when you
call me your love
as if I actually were;

address me as honey
as if I could
sweeten the lie
that I’m yours
to be claimed as such;

call shotgun
in a crowded room
so everyone knows
that the place next to me
has already been taken,

name me your sweety
or all the endearing titles
you claim me to be
and actually mean it,
more than I wish
you’d stop saying them.

I’m sorry
that I can smell your intentions
to return my emotions
back to the foster home
you corrupted them from.

I’m sorry
that it’s difficult to adapt
to the facade you adopt
when we’re in public,
as if we’re familiar strangers
seeking for custody
of things we’re already content
to lose.

You’ve flipped me
cover to cover
and I wonder,
if you even know
what the preface
to my disappointment looks like.
You’ve seen it often,
but nothing seems to soften
you to acknowledgement.

I get it,
you’re undercover.
God forbid your friends,
family,
or pets discover
that we actually talk
more often than
you lead them to believe,
more passionate
than you want to admit,
more boldly
than your want to stifle us
into secrecy.

So I wonder,
if another soul will ever know
by the slip of a tongue,
the faultline in your smile,
the losing battle
your makeup
effaces into blooming blushes
in my presence,
or will we blossom
into the margins
of each other’s lives,
scribbled into a footnote
we lost our point of reference from
now too worn to decipher,
to wonder,
too worn to care.

Caught in the Act of Dreaming

She once said,
“To be nice,
is to be naive
and stupid.”
And if that’s the case,
I choose to believe
that I have a chance,
a special slot
in your heart of hearts.

I’ll let my gullibilty
bet all for you
for a pot of jack in return.

I’ll choose to believe
that your senses
yearn for me,
as much as mine do for yours.

Choose to believe
that reels of us together
still play
on the ceiling of your eyes,
and that you
still smile at the credits
that boast nothing
but what we once were.

I still believe,
that you could believe
in us,
in an us that never budded
past the existence
of wishful thinking…

Audition

I’ll never be an artist,
rock star,
or an MC
with the telepathy
to sway the masses;
a model
with a face that passes
for something more than average
worth the click,
click,
shutter flashes
to the right of limelight passage;
I’m not
as smooth
as tap dancin’ jazz is
truth is,
my practice
needs practice
in all areas –
but loving you
unconditionally.

I’d like to be a prodigy
with the talent to
chase your soul
through its gauntlet
of insecurities,
doubts,
apprehensions
tugging chords of tension
to trust again,
past the scars
of failed relationships
with jesters attempting to be lovers.

Let it be known
that loving you
is the only thing
I’d like to be a natural at.
I’m not an acrobat,
I can’t somersault
this body of mine
into a heart like yours,
not even for a Klondike bar;
but I’m insane enough
to be your stuntman
if you let me.