This poem is for the beautiful details hidden in the meshwork of heartbreaks like nightingales in the vines of decade-old black birches
And now he calls on to strangers to share his loneliness to smudge it over their crumbling faces, to split it into pieces and devour it like a rotten birthday cake.
After you spend a lifetime chained in dark spaces, it is nearly impossible to believe that there’s something like a glorious sun and a beautiful universe out there.
And when I’m alone, I string the words together, like beads in a bracelet. I build myself some friends, a cozy home, and a loving family. I make emblems for people I love, and in my stories, I give us the endings that we deserved.
She paints hexagons on her pink paper and I make Mobius strips from my purple one Until the kind teacher takes us to the movie room to watch chipmunks dancing and singing Holding me in her lap, she gently fixes the collars of my strawberry frock
If I have a daughter, I will name her Aurora or Celeste because these names sound ethereal and suggest someone extraordinary, capable, and wonderful. Similarly, my dad liked the sound of my name and believed it would resonate with the happy child he wanted to raise.
We spread out our arms like nightingales about to take flight. You once told me that in the afterlife, we'll all be dealt with as we believed it to be. I'm star-struck by the way you believe in things
"I dream, think, imagine, feel, and yearn a lott. My favorite color is red wine and all the shades of red + purple. I love talking about colors."