i saw a guy who looked like you today. he was missing strands of my hair wound around ten fingers, unyielding and ready to control my every movement, like strings fixed to a puppet. he was missing text messages in his phone, pleas and typos sent through panic attacks and tears, begging for love, forgetting love is not something begged for. i saw a guy who looked like you today and if i still had it, my heart would’ve ceased beating. it bleeds in the pocket of your jeans, a morbid memento that someone gave their life to know you, hold you and love your entire merciless being.
Tag: longing
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i saw a guy
anxiety, depression, grief, heartbreak, life, longing, loss, love, love poem, love poems, love poetry, melancholygalaxies, poem, poems, poetry, quote, relationships, sad, sad poetry, writing
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i saw a guy
i saw a guy who looked like you today. he was missing strands of my hair wound around ten fingers, unyielding and ready to control my every movement, like strings fixed to a puppet. he was missing text messages in his phone, pleas and typos sent through panic attacks and tears, begging for love, forgetting love is not something begged for. i saw a guy who looked like you today and if i still had it, my heart would’ve ceased beating. it bleeds in the pocket of your jeans, a morbid memento that someone gave their life to know you, hold you and love your entire merciless being.
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in the timeline where you stay
in the timeline where you stay, i finally set Lego Spider-Man in your hand, and i ask how your day went right after a kiss. we drive back to your house and listen to all your favorite songs; one of your hands rests on the steering wheel, the other on my thigh. my eyes shift between the reassuring horizon and your relaxed expression, certain this is how it’s meant to be, confident this is destiny.
we watch that movie you like for the hundredth time, and i steal glances at your smile, a grin more gripping than any scene assembled in cinema’s history. halfway through, we forget to pay attention to the tv; in fact, the world dwindles, washed away like collateral damage from love’s wake. it’s just you and me crashing against the other like ocean ripples and waves, engulfed in your faint bedroom lighting.
reluctantly, we part ways, but my perfume clings to your sheets, furniture, and every inch of your skin, a frankincense-scented souvenir to remember me by until the next time, and there will be a next time.
this time, you promise.grief, heartbreak, life, longing, loss, love, love poem, love poetry, melancholygalaxies, poem, poems, poetry, quote, relationships, sad, sad poetry, writing
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house with a fireplace
i always wanted a house with a fireplace.
i live in southern California
where the weather is fine,
but i still wonder what it might be like
to have warm hands,
i keep asking others to hold them,
but i’m told that’s quite the demand.
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“growing older”
growing up feels like missing aspects
of ages you left behind
on playgrounds with bruised knees and scratches,
in front of TV screens that felt like
windows to real worlds,
beneath Christmas trees
clutching gifts that Santa left,
looking up to people in both height and expression,
reading comic books about heroes while vowing once you’re older, you’ll save the world too
because even as a child you know
there’s good things to uphold
and bad things to vanquish.
but growing older is walking past playgrounds
and watching movies without expectations
and setting up Christmas trees
because you’ve become Santa
and craning your neck less
but understanding people more
and still wanting to save the world,
but you take on days one at a time instead.
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funny how i breathe
yet you treat me like i’ve died.
though i think to myself
if a funeral was held
you’d just reject the invite.
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“a bird for a day”
you ask me where i would go if i was a bird for a day, as though everyone just wants to escape some town, as though anywhere else fosters comfort. you expect to hear Rome or Paris fall wistfully from my lips as i imagine soaring toward a sky that looks like nirvana to people who hate feeling the earth beneath their feet. how do i express to you that wings would be wasted on someone like me, without sounding like someone afraid of things like heights or concepts like change? how might you think of me when i tell you it’s not a place i wish to leave or a place i hope to reach? i could be a bird and i could fly across the world, but i’d still ache in Venice and i’d still yearn in Barcelona for something you can’t find on a postcard.
