Sunrise sisters

How in love I am with life to see the magenta magpie sky.

Do we speak to the skies and ask for help because they seem so boundless?

So freeing?

So unreachable

and up there

that we ought to just try to connect to it?

I don’t know about you, but lately

I feel like the ground and the netherworld are my best friends.

I think

I’d rather burrow in comfort than traipse on clouds today.

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Side note: can you believe that the skies actually look like that with no filter/whatsoever?! I’m glad the morning woke me up to show its beautiful face to me that day.

Sunshine highs

The same stories make my heart bloom over and over again.

It’s like the sweet spring and savory summer greeting you under the alcove.

Kissing you with “hellos” on two cheeks, kissing you “good bye” in two weeks.

They must’ve planned this.

Cradled you and let you walk far enough to balance on your two sticks.

Splattering spring

Frills. Frills. Pollen. Chills.

Some are passing,

Some are still.

First day of spring.

Here it comes.

Here it lays.

Running through daffodils.

Making new days.

Rewinding clouds

Wouldn’t it be great to experience something so beautiful time and time again?

To live through that first feeling you had,

whether it be trying a new food for the first time,

seeing fresh colors of a sunset you’ve never experienced before,

or watching that favorite movie of yours as though you’ve never seen it.

There’s something special about our firsts,

something irreplaceable.

That strength of expression felt from that first time around is something you want to capture again.

But I also think it’s beautiful to let our memories be preserved and aged like fine wine.

There’s something beautiful about knowing how a story will end the second, third, fourth, or twenty-seventh time around.

Beauty comes in pieces, expansive or minute,

they’re lovely regardless.

Simplicity

What a time it is to be alive and to be able to find

You.

Be living and breathing and seeing the same stars as

You.

I’m just happy to be breathing, to be honest.

How special of a moment it is.

You keep me grounded, you keep me hoping,

You keep me inspired when I look into the forlorn sections of reality.

I live for you. That’s one reason.

I live for me. That’s a second.

Just two reasons. That should be enough right now.

Midweek serendipity

The sheets smell like burnt popcorn— soothing, yet confusing, a real anomaly of days it has been.

I wish for Tuesdays to be my extra Sunday. Or Saturday. Or maybe just remain a Tuesday, like its ordinary self,

but declare itself to be free to do whatever it wants in the middle of the week.

Free— freeing as can be. That’s what I hope for, that’s what I strive for,

but I think I forget the possibility of it at times.

For every day I feel like giving up on myself, I ought to give two days worth of trying it again and seeing how I feel.

Seeing how maybe the reason I don’t like getting out of my sea of sheets on some days

must be because I make up some idea that lava is underneath my bed itching to rise between my toes when I finally stand up.

That’s not true. Nope. No it’s not— I mean, it’s not true all the time.

Just Tuesdays, really. Or at least lately—the past couple months that is.

I need my midweek serendipity.

Erratic

Forever with you is what I ask for.

Forever with you is what I don’t get.

Is it bad that I have a an affinity for sad endings?

Epilogues that whisper the what-could’ve-beens?

Am I sad because I keep on looking for the bad?

Looking for the bitter? The sour? Anything but the sweet?

Well, aren’t you a calm disaster.

A spigot of uncertain love

There’s something soothing about the line: “I crossed oceans and ventured through countless skies to see you.”

At least today, that’s how I feel about it. Ask me on other days and my reality-numbing self would be straight and plain with you saying that she believes none of it.

None of it at all with such cheesy spouts of romance.

But today, I accept it. I think I accept it everyday, really.

And yet, I refrain from admitting it openly as though my self-worth degrades itself when showered with affection.

I’ll be guilty of feeling this way. I can just tell.

Cut it out.

Reality won’t be the one that saves you in the endgame. Love will.

Crafting oddities

Desert. Sunrise. Moonlight. Shine.

Embers. Daisies. Pollen. Twine.

I like to paint pictures:

• of lush rivers going through arid desserts
• of the moon’s glow at the strike of noon

It eases me. It tells me that the impossible is only unattainable because your mind decided so.

I like to paint settings:

• of fire in the middle of endless flower fields
• of dusty pollen connected by strings of twine

It comforts me. It tells me that more things can be connected than you otherwise thought.

Possibility

The beauty of possibility.

The wonder, the oddities, and illogical fantasies you can paint with.

#3*

#3

2020

Hoping.

Hoping that there is more, that there is a little,

That there’s just enough.

More reasons to fantasize about the thrill of life’s peaks and underground tunnels.

A little more warmth than your previous,

sometimes you’re still present (and hopefully not your future) workaholic self.

Just enough, the right amount of consistency yet flexible nonsense that normally comes with life’s moments.

You keep on hoping, you continue praying,

That at some point,

At multiple breaths,

You’ll get it right after all the moments you unquestionably were doing it wrong.

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*a continuation of poem #0-2 | 3.1.2019