i think i expected you to feel like an old warm blanket
like the kind we had a children
to keep us safe
and the monsters at bay
but seeing you again
feel like trying to wrap myself in
of a house i haven’t lived in
we should tear this old house down
no one’s lived here for a long long time
and you and i
did our fair share of damage
things we don’t speak of
things we try to forget
but i know
and so do you
maybe we’ll laugh about it one day
— Kristina Hayes, It looked a lot like love (via misscatfreak)
how to adjust my body around the cool spots in bed,
the way my hair is never exactly right
when I leave the house for a hopeful second date,
the imprint of my bra on my skin after coming home
and letting my dress pool at my feet.
Missing you and missing you.
I eat olives and arugula standing up in the kitchen,
wearing nothing except underwear and pearls.
I do not recognize myself.
Being sad only makes me thirsty.
I drink two glasses of water, take an aspirin,
dance with myself slowly in the living room.
Everything comes back to me in moments—
flashes of your skin, the freckles on your chest,
your perfect wrists, a kneecap, the small of your back.
I peel away the sadness to get down to the pit of the thing
and can never quite manage to finish it.
My hands smell like oranges, clove cigarettes.
Pounds of sadness. I get out of bed. I run the bath.
Chocolate shavings and blueberries for lunch.
Little things, but I am handling it.
Yesterday, I almost called you to tell you that I love you,
but then I remembered I’m not allowed to say it anymore,
and it is awful. You are with me even when I brush my teeth."
— Kristina Hayes, “Love So Good That I Forgot to Say ‘Ouch’” (via oofpoetry)
let you go
the same time."
— nayyirah waheed (via piezea)
Make love to me in Spanish.
Not with that other tongue.
I want you juntito a mi,
tender like the language
crooned to babies.
I want to be that
lullabied, mi bien
querido, that loved.
I want you inside
the mouth of my heart,
inside the harp of my wrists,
the sweet meat of the mango,
in the gold that dangles
from my ears and neck.
Say my name. Say it.
The way it’s supposed to be said.
I want to know that I knew you
even before I knew you.
— Sandra Cisneros, “Dulzura” (via oofpoetry)