The Moon Is A Girl Who Likes My Sweaters And Other Girls

the moon is a girl who likes my sweaters and other girls

the moon & i aren’t friends to say the least about the status but she’s just jealous i get skinny & she only disappears. once she said she was lesbian and tbh that’s what i thought but i would never tell her so. sometimes i let her kiss me and she wears my clothes till they wear out & afterwards they smell like rain. she said she lets me kiss her too.

the dreamer

you can love something without ever really knowing why.

you can love something so much that it hurts, too much to hold inside of you.

you can love something to pieces, in pieces, with every part of you.

you can love so bad it hurts hard, hits fast and wicked in all the old bruises.

you can love until there is nothing left.

and then you can stop.

for A MAN CALLED OVE

from a girl who is quite capable of fixing the toilet on her own:

my father taught me which wrench for what and how to pick locks, of all things. i also know how to take apart and put together an engine of an altogether different sort than you would be used to, but i think that it is like fixing a bicycle. there are wheels and gears and really you just have to know how to do it right. in this world at this time no one can quite figure out how to do anything, much less manage to rewire the electrical systems. i think you would like it here. there is always something to fix. and even if they are not able to, people are always willing to learn. to read shakespeare. there are quite a few things we share, least of all being a heart that is too big for a body and a penchant for being terrible at dying. i would like to think that faith in people is something else that we could learn to do. people are perfectly capable of doing anything on their own, but that is not a life worth living. the point is that people are not machines or things to fix, but i think that both of us have an idea in our heads to try and that is beautiful. you can fix a fence instead of building a wall and make a car run well enough to the hospital. you’re not fixing them, per se, but fixing close enough that they can fix it them self. and one day some one else will learn how to properly drive an automatic and read the sign that says NO PARKING written by a man called ove and fix things in their garage and have a heart entirely too big to be contained,

sincerely from a girl who is too used to fixing things on her own and knows what you mean when you don’t speak but instead are self-dependent because that is how you were taught to be.

p.s. i cried at the end but i think you should know that the young couple who moved in, he drives a saab. like you did and he loves her just as much. he tests the worth of things with a good solid kick and he doesn’t trust people half as much as he should, but he’ll learn. i did.

mars told me bitter was for candy and ex-lovers

you see he said sitting on a car dashboard (one would think he had a bike, planetary god and all) as he lifted up a piece of valentine’s day candy hearts, this is how we live. we love and love and love, candy hearts with a backdrop of sunsets, always for the dramatic. you fall apart and get back together, they betray you and you accept their pitiful reasons, but it’s not like that. he said it wasn’t like that with his leather jacket and little green convertible car, the god of war on every front- for the ecosystem, for the minority, for the dead, for the oil, for the refugees, for the victims, for the soldiers, for the remembered. it gets lonely out there he told me don’t be hateful that’s not something that ends well. he is in a desert and a war and he looked up at what was now the night with candy hearts in his pocket on the hood of a green car and said yeah, it isn’t worth it.

silvered blood

so cold, with mercury instead of blood. metal running through your veins. silver pools languid, spilling, pouring out across dips and rivets. a girl with this in her blood, fantastical, silver, only to find that a heart does not beat when it is made of stone, lungs do not breathe when they are shattered glasses, a body cannot live without a mind to guide it and she was lost- a girl cannot survive on love alone. for this you lost her

three days after.

post-it note poetry

leaving letters at bus stops that say ‘WE ARE FOREVER’ when i mean to say timeless because forever doesn’t exist. the difference between me & you? i understood what would happen when i left and did it anyway. you mean to say forever but say timeless because you can’t remember the symbol for infinity but want to know how being left is a metaphor for buses leaving. somewhere we are strangers together 'WE ARE’ on a post-it note poem someone’s version of forever because they thought red lips on two girls meant roses meant timeless.