May 11


I am not ready.
I stare at the match. 
It doesn’t look like much. I clasp it within my hands like prayer beads and close my eyes. 
I wish I could stop time. To suspend myself in a single moment--never have to go forward, but stay away from the past. 
Unlike before, I am alone today. My sanctuary is empty, for the first time, and completely mine.
What will happen, when that crimson tip ignites? 
The flame will dance, suspended on the wooden stick, restless chittering emanating with heat, thin, warped wood bowing closer towards the ground with every word. 
(Then soon, if left unchecked, the match will return to dust. I don’t think about that too much.)
May 05

Three words

I read on the internet once
that the most powerful three words in the world
are I love you

i. I am sixteen and I ache to wait 
to hear that fall from someone’s lips
nervous smiles and sweaty palms
a glassy, delicate profession
breathless but true
the movies tell me it will be magical
as if I need any more reason to wait for her
her who is kind and sensible,
perfect winged eyeliner, smelling of apple pie
and cinnamon buns
I don’t know her yet
but I yearn 
waiting for three words

ii. I am sixteen and I ache to live
to wake up excited to read texts saying good morning 
to the thrill of ditching class in the middle of second
illicit midnight trips under lamplight and under stars
the movies promised me I’d live at sixteen
and I hurt when I wonder 
what did I do wrong to be such a failure now
still I yearn,