van god los

keten je vast en door de gaten zul je wegglippen

de dood werkt zo, weet ik nu, tussen de regels in

van god los -- en het neemt je naar plekken

waar ik je niet kan volgen.

schreeuwen, huilen, in tweeën scheuren

laat me niet alleen - smeken

maar mijn toestemming heb je niet nodig

en gister liet je het me weten

met je ogen, in de donkere stilte

laat me gaan, het is wel mooi zo,

je kunt zonder mij verder.

it's 4 am and i need you to tell me you're alive

listen,

i know she’s the one for you

and there’s romance in a girl

who doesn’t look over her shoulders.

a sort of magic to the way

she leaves you behind,

and comes to find you when

she’s deemed you worthy again.

listen, i know she’s everything

you’ve ever dreamed of having

but it’s been four years and i’m

tired of picking up your pieces

while you crush mine, chasing after

her shadows.

i know when i said no,

you stopped listening.

but it didn’t stop me from

speaking and worrying

wondering if tonight

is the last time i see you.

note

my body's experiencing a blackout

but i cant remember why. surely

ive done something, messed with

the power sockets. stuck a fork

in-between my ribs until everything

crashed and went dark. 

all that's left now is a dull throb

pounding behind my eyelids and a 

need to run that makes my legs twitch

restlessly and recklessly. yesterday

i asked my dad if he would look for me

if i left a note asking him not to.

he told me he would follow my shadow

everywhere. because that's what fathers do, you see

they revert borders to blurs and stand

beneath your window in case you leap.

my dad said he'd sleep with an atlas

under his pillow until he found me

and i know he doesn't lie. 

i know he'd hear the alarm bells in my goodbye note. 

right now, i wonder

if he'd find them in this poem. 

ashes to ashes

a peculiar thing, grief

has a way of catching you off-guard.

i really thought i was okay today

but when i shut the door behind me

and sought you out in the blur

i was blindsided by the silence 

that wrapped around my shoulders

like a thick blanket of ash.

i was doing fine just minutes ago

and i felt like i had your face locked away

(safe from harm -- and mostly, safe from me)

but now, now i just feel stabbed in the back

by your memory and the gaping hole

that you left when your body burnt up

all the love you'd stored for me.

a peculiar thing, grief

manages to slip out of your hands

straight back into your heart

right when you thought you had it handled.

blaze

a.

i'm not good at compliments
or saying i love you
or saying anything at all,

but my first memory is with you,
and i have nineteen years of love
bottled up in my body,
right on stand-by for when
you get home
and i don't think a lot of words
are necessary because

our bodies may have grown taller
and our hearts may have grown smaller,
but you're still my lifeline
and you're still the rocks i cling to
in the storm.

(in class we had to say
who shaped us into who we were,
and i showed a picture of you
and me.
because you guided me down the road,
and even if you no longer hold my hand,
i know you'll still be waiting at the end,
like a lighthouse.)

they say blood is thicker than water,
i'm not sure it matters,
and i'm not sure it's true,
but you can curse everything you are
and your birth will still be the best thing
that's ever come from them,
and i'm sorry you waited so long
for me to tell you.

maybe a year from now,
you won't come home anymore,
and all we'll have is weekly messages
and wish-you-wells.

but if there's one constant, it's us
so don't worry.
this is nineteen years of stone,
of brick house love and concrete worship,
and no miles, or time between us
can tear it down.

relentlessly

i remember a time 

when i was the first thing on your mind 

the days my head didn’t work 

the way it should.

i remember when you’d tell me everything 

in plumes of smoke and shared coffee cups 

whispering to me, you know,

i don’t think i’ve ever felt this close to anyone

and as we inhaled, and as we exhaled,

i couldn’t help but feel 

that was true.

i remember walking down the street with you,

sitting across the dinner table from you, saying,

i feel like you’re the only anchor i have left 

in the world.

(not saying, please 

please don’t leave.)

but there comes a time when someone 

reliable comes along, so the chair is left empty

and the doorbell stops ringing.

i didn’t understand when i called you my anchor, it meant

i was holding you down in the darkness with me.

but i see now -- you’ve let the light in.

the last time we spoke was three weeks ago.

i remember a time when you admired me.

i can only assume after knowing me so long,

you’ve realized 

there’s nothing left to admire.

(i stumble and miss my train

you kiss other people’s cheeks

and i miss you every day, 

relentlessly.)