A very late journal entry,
my heart is constantly disorganized.
I shelve some feelings for a rainy day. I do.
I tie my regrets to my favorite bag of tea,
I drink it every morning.
Poetry on my worst days.
Poetry on my empty days.
Poetry on my best days.
Poetry for you kind of days.
I spill it every damn night.
I love like an open wound, fuck the band-aids.
I love like winter, you’re dead to me,
but I still wonder.
I love like summer, these memories, dear, dear– Another lover.
I love like spring, if you choose to bloom–
pretty please, for my eyes only.
I love like autumn, red leaves; lovers– darling– they’ll change on you.