Darlings, sometimes love will come to you like a fire
to a forest. When it does, be braver than I was. Just leave.
Take only what you can carry. No tears, no second thoughts.
You have hands like tinder boxes, the smallest spark
will kill you.
Get in the car. Take water to the maps. Avoid gas stations.
Don’t look at the flames dancing in the rear view mirror.
Go to new cities, climb on the rooftops and slow dance with
your coldest memories. Wallpaper your new home with every
dusty, desperate love letter you swore you’d never send.
Find a stranger with sharp edges and uncharted hips.
Press your stories into their skin and forget you ever knew
his name. Just promise you won’t think of embers or smoke.
Even when there is ash in your hair. Even when there is soot
in your lungs.
this poem scares me to no end.
With maddening hunger
I’d write to the point of suffocation
I’d write myself into nervous breakdowns
Manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing
And I’d write about you
a lot more
than I should
Today there are bombs at marathons. They blow through and
leave holes full of questions. Today I am mad at my skin for
keeping me from the rest of the world.
I wanted to stop writing love poems until I realized everything
ever written is a love poem, or at least I think so. It’s all one
big desperate bellow to the skyline and a whisper into his hair
as he is trying to go to sleep.
I knew a girl when I was sixteen who had a laugh like music.
I remember when she told me “I think I’ll go to Boston. I think
I’ll start over”