saturn's notebook

amateur poet in love with the world

[saturnsnotebook]

gps

the car is quiet and

the moon is chasing my open windows and

i miss your stupid smile and

i think i might be lost.

the road i'm on looks a lot like yours

but i can't tell if i just want it to be

so i can make you laugh again

before heading home.

you're probably looking at the back of your eyelids

but i wish we were both watching

the very same moon

that's now guiding me away from you.

[saturnsnotebook]

wondering

you took my breath away and you held it,

put my life force in your pocket

and watched me squirm.

my body tried to tell me,

as meat fell away from bone,

but it couldn’t be you, could it?

i am thirty pounds lighter

and so much fuller of me than before you,

and i can’t help but wonder.

did you love me

or did you love the way

i surrendered myself to you?

[saturnsnotebook]

april

it’s that time of year again, when the flowers start to bloom and the weather is unbearable and i feel restlessness bubble underneath my skin.

i don’t want to try on my old denim shorts because i know they won’t fit and my mom will shoot me that look, you know the one.

god, i wish it was winter, so i could don my favorite sweatshirt in the safety of the air-conditioning and curl further into myself.

but i’ll have to deal with the heat, and watch helplessly as my exterior melts under the pressure and i suffocate in my idleness.

[saturnsnotebook]

squeaky

a thin layer of dust has built up on my windowsill, a constant visual representation of my stagnation. despite my best efforts to appear fresh and clean, my clothes are wrinkled and my glasses are smudged and my cuticles are shredded and bloody.

i know i can take care of myself, and i reassure you as much every time that you worry, but i can’t help but think i’m not doing something right because i never notice the dust on anyone else’s shelves or their mismatched socks or their posters askew–

maybe i’m looking too hard.

[saturnsnotebook]

lapse

i know he’s done something wrong again when you ask me to coffee, telling me you miss me and offering to pick me up at noon. so we’ll sit in our booth and gossip about the same six people that you hated in high school and you won’t ask me a single question. then you’ll tell me all about how moving was the best decision you ever made and i’ll search for fragments of the girl i used to know. maybe you switched your meds or your major again and you’ll use that to explain away forgetting my birthday. i hate that i know that i’ll smile and reassure you that it’s not that important, really, and i almost forgot it myself. and i’ll walk you to your car and you’ll tell me we have to do this again even though we both know you don’t really mean it.

[saturnsnotebook]

hush

silence has always made me nervous.

words spill from my lips, nervous and hurried, faster and faster, fluid and careless.

i just hate all the pressure of allowing thoughts to sit and echo freely in the space between bodies.

but he doesn’t mind silence.

in fact he thrives in it, carefully observing, considering and studying, watching me squirm.

his eyes trace my features as i joke and joke before pausing as green meets blue.

so i’m learning to listen to the quiet.

comfort exists in being seen, and in being heard when i’m not saying a thing at all because he somehow understands.

[saturnsnotebook]

tender

you let me connect your freckles in pen

swirling down your chest and arms

a path for me to follow with my fingertips.

delicately positioned on your lap

i take my time navigating the sharp angles

from your clavicle to your hips.

your eyelids flutter softly

as you let out a content sigh

relaxing ever so slightly.

with tactical precision i adjust your posture

thumbing over your jaw

and tracing the curve of your temple.

a shuddering breath

a kiss

and the exploration continues.

[saturnsnotebook]

kiss

your eyes graze my lips,

watching,

wanting,

slow.

i blush like an overripe peach

pinned under your gaze,

wishing that you would finally

sink your teeth in.

“i’m not going to break,” i say,

standing on tiptoes;

but you stand firm,

rolling your eyes and cupping my face.

slow, unhurried circles,

you’re soft and patient

and i can’t help but want

and want.

[saturnsnotebook]

conditions

you love me more when i’m quiet,

when i’ve silenced my brain’s ticking

and held back from

saying what i want to.

it’s not like you hate me

when i’m more like myself,

but it’s “easier” for you

if you don’t know the truth.

in private, the noise spills out

from my ears and my eyes and my lips,

but i swallow it down like cough syrup

in favor of plausible deniability.

even if i could tell you,

sit down without judgement and scream,

i don’t know if i would.

would you want me to?

would you rather know that

you hate me behind closed doors,

that i’m the very kind

you’ve condemned and condemned?

i don’t know how you pretend

to not see the glaringly obvious,

but i will push it aside for now

if it means that you’ll stay.

[saturnsnotebook]

proof

the voice in my head isn’t mine,

but it sounds enough like me 

that i listen anyway.

i tell myself to be careful

and to check the lock again

and to check under the bed

and to check the sky

just in case. 

i wash my hands until the fear comes off

but it’s under my nails

and it’s under my skin

and it lives here

and it belongs to me. 

it’s a gift i don’t want,

but i can’t risk losing

the comfort

the precautions

the familiarity.

love feels like safety

but i am always unsure

of the hands that hold me

of the thoughts that don’t

of the silence humming underneath.

i try to catch it mid-sentence

and it stumbles,

a pause between warning and breath

and i am free

just for a moment. 

peace isn’t the absence of thoughts, 

it’s the moment i breathe 

and let them pass

without asking for proof.