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if the devil’s in the details/then god is in the gap in your teeth/you are doing the lord’s work/ every time you smile at me
(one of the most gorgeous lines lucy’s every written)
Apr 27, 2025
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I’m having trouble telling devotion from sacrifice.
I remember you told me loving me was like going to church.
Maybe that’s why every time I go it feels like you’re there.
I keep trying to find the meaning of all the things we talked about while smoking cigarettes.
Sometimes I’ll go through a pack just trying to decipher what was said.
“You make me more poetic“
Is still the one I have yet to solve and maybe that’s a good thing because, your smile to your lips have all returned to you.
But the moments our souls shared I’ll never sacrifice..
Apr 8, 2025
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You’re not doing well and finally I don’t have to
pretend to be so interested in your on going tragedy,
but
I’ll rob the bank that gave you the impression that
money is more fruitful than words, and
I’ll cut holes in the ozone if it means you have one less day of rain.
I’ll walk you to the hospital,
I’ll wait in a white room that reeks of hand sanitizer and latex for the results from the MRI scan that tries to
locate the malady that keeps your mind guessing, and
I want to write you a poem every day until my hand breaks
and assure you that you’ll find your place,
it’s just
the world has a funny way of
hiding spots fertile enough for
bodies like yours to grow roots.
and
I miss you like a dart hits the iris of a bullseye,
or a train ticket screams 4:30 at 4:47, I
wanted to tell you that it’s my birthday on Thursday
and I would have wanted you to
give me the gift of your guts on the floor, one last time,
to see if you still had it in you.
I hope our ghosts aren’t eating you alive.
If I’m to speak for myself, I’ll tell you that
the universe is twice as big as we think it is
and you’re the only one that made that idea
less devastating.
Sep 9, 2024
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you know,
all i like to write about is love.
writing is easier when it’s about your own personal experiences of grief, of pain
but love is the beautiful dove of the two
released at a funeral, released at a wedding.
,
because the definition is different for everybody.
—
the trees rustle again tonight, and the wind gently taps on the windowpane, begging again to be let in
and my thoughts race farther and faster in the night than a pure-bred, hot-blooded racehorse, bucking wild for the first time
my mind buzzes, stricken like a gong, reverberating in the quietness of tonight
as i drag myself closer to you,
you reach out for me, an unspoken, gentle and devout prayer, asking for me in the unspeakable words conveyed in a whisper through actions
–
i promised you a fantastical world of your own, where you are safe, through my own creation.
i have created for you in the heart of my own somewhere for me to love you,
fully and infinitely with all of myself.
if this is not where you are safe, then there is nothing else.
–
word by word and sentence by sentence
i create dreams i would never tell anybody
not even under the skies of a cloudless night.
when i sleep, i tuck my hopes and sadness under my pillow
and hope a fairy will kidnap it and place in that spot
something i should need more.
but night after night, my dreams just macerate in the container of my heart.
soon, i will drink them like an elixir of truth
and what i am afraid of will come
May 2, 2025
Top Recs from @janwithan_e
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one of my roommate is a poet & sometimes, days later, i find bits of our conversations in the poetry she writes. she likes to read us whatever she’s working on before bed. i often fall asleep in the quiet that follows, thinking about how lucky i’ve become to live in a space where queer being and longing flows freely and abundantly
Apr 10, 2025
there are ducks sleeping next to me as i annotate my californian water history book
Apr 17, 2025
Apr 24, 2025