This is how I get you out of my system:
I scream so loud it cracks the sky.
I tell my mother to stop asking about you,
but do not say that your hands left bruises on my thighs
so dark their ghosts still linger there.
I can’t eat at our favorite ice cream parlor anymore
because chocolate mint reminds me of
kissing you in the back of your father’s car,
reminds me of dying out of love.
I stop star-gazing.
I cannot look at this canvas I tore apart for you
and call it beautiful – Jesus, did you really think
I was something you could leave so easily?
Twelve months, you’re still haunting me
with your summer breezes and swallowed fights.
I choked up the east horizon just so you could see the sun set,
then caught it ablaze.
All this time and I’m still burning.
Of course I miss you.
Of course.

On the Anniversary of our First Kiss | d.a.s

NaPoWriMo day 21: sunset

(via backshelfpoet)

Apr 23 0:25 with 485 notes
I am a June day sailing through December.
When I live, I do it with blades of grass
slotted in the gap of my front teeth. This is how I love:
The first bone I broke was two summers ago,
rotting marrow in a field of daisies,
towering oaks caressing my face,
asking forgiveness
for letting me slip through. This is how I love:
on my knees.
Once my mother apologized
for bringing me into this world, with its iron fingernails,
bombs screaming across Kabul.
But no, this world is beautiful, the wind
cupping my mouth
and snatching air from my lungs.
I have seen the stars – I know what it is to kiss a summer night
and fall in love.
Unless you have watched the sun rise,
do not tell me this life is suffering.
Misery comes from four walls,
not the open sky pressed against your hands.
Nature is my mistress, blessing my bones
even after it breaks them,
and I want to swallow every drop of water
to leave the earth barren and dry. This is how I love:
The sun balances on a string 92,960,000 miles away
as the earth flutters its skirts and spins,
but these summers are the warmest I’ve ever felt.
Mars winked at me last night and a blush
crawled through my stomach. This is how I love:
with my heart in my hands.
I kissed a gravestone because I know the ground
will be my home one day, let the dirt erode my bones
to soft dust and decay. This is how I love:

Love Note | d.a.s

NaPoWriMo day 18: summer

(via backshelfpoet)

Apr 23 0:22 with 424 notes
we only spoke once: outside of his apartment,
i was twenty three and wore big earrings and
said words like “presumptuous” because i
thought that’s what all lawyers were supposed
to say, and you were lovely, your eyes the color
of sea grass with copper and raw honey, your
hands held a cigarette and i watched your mouth
open and close with every exhale, you were
leaving to Brazil or Madrid for another one of
your photography trips, i asked if you knew you
always wanted to take pictures of blue birds
and white mountains and you laughed and
asked if i always was so direct and so fucking
beautiful underneath the burning moon, i was
appalled and told you that the moon wasn’t
on fire, it had no reason to burn, and you told me
that your palms were on fire when you accidentally
touched my thigh at the dinner table, and you had
no reason to be burning, but fucking hell, i set you
on fire
― i know you think of me on nights like this  (via irynka)

Apr 23 0:19 with 1,609 notes
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