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.
When you feel before you think,
when the sound of apologies
make for a perfect song–
those silly tears you’ll
randomly cry while driving.
Everything they claimed
that you’d never achieve.
When all you ever do is wait,
darling– this patience?
It’s not waiting. It’s hope.