Giving Some Wisdom

nikki | 24 | artist | rlly gay

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Drowning

You told me that this

would all be water

under the bridge someday,

but this water is too high

and I can’t touch the bottom.

My arms are tired and

I’m swallowing water

as I tell you

that I really do love you.

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Sun Poisoned Sunday

When I think back to the last time

that the sun kissed me like you did,

I dread the day

where I kiss her back again.

I didn’t realize

that I got burnt

and went running

from both of you.

At least when winter comes around,

we are prepared for shedding.

But how do I stop crying

when you turn my teardrops

into gemstones through the sunlight.

At least find me some rain

during these summer nights

so that she can weep with me;

showering me in her tears.

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I was asked to feed our family cat,

which isn’t something I do often.

My mom walked in

right as I plopped

a scoop of wet food into

the cat bowl and started

absentmindedly pushing

the spoon against the food

and moving it around.

My mom laughed,

“That’s cute of you to mash it

up for her, her teeth are

getting old.”

I froze.

Suddenly I’m back in Florida,

calling out

“HONEYYYY”

and watching our cat come running.

You trail behind her,

laughing as she meows

at me in anticipation.

You lean against the doorway.

“Remember that she won’t eat it

unless you mash it up.”

I laugh and show you my technique.

You flash me a smile

and the flashback is gone.

My mom chuckled as she

left the room.

“Maybe I’ll start mashing

the cat’s food, too.”

- I Wish I Could Tell You // Part II

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I’m hungover in a thrift store

and I cannot even look over

at the womens’ section.

I picture you giggling in delight

at every dress and shoe in this place.

You’d wear all of it,

so I go to the mens’ section

and pretend like I’ll wear

anything other than my heart

on the sleeve of this t-shirt

that you hated so goddamn much.

I miss you the most

the day after drinking.

I feel the most vulnerable,

and you were the only person

who has ever made me feel safe.

So I’ll continue sifting through

these old button downs and jeans,

fighting the urge to turn around,

scan the room,

and instinctually go grab

the floral top I saw

right when I walked in

and bring it home to you.

- I Wish I Could Tell You // Part I

[clonist]

something I very much needed to read today

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Tell me that it’s okay to feel this way.

that I can miss nightly slow dances

and giggling glances through the

veil of our smoke-filled days.

Tell me that I can question this,

the feeling of lingering memory

replaying its version of bliss.

Tell me how I could break your heart twice,

and still feel like a victim,

like I’m paying the price.

Tell me that pain can be good,

that it has to be necessary

like a fire needs it’s burning wood.

Tell me that you’re still broken, too.

I’ll bring my bruises,

so maybe I can bond with you.

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I always thought you were my mirror.

we felt unstoppable,

making it impossible

to say we didn’t work well.

but every time someone asked

how we were doing,

you looked at me

and eventually I realized

you weren’t a mirror at all,

you were a portal;

A place that felt far away

from the life I was yearning to live.

You were a picture frame.

Holding memories wrapped up

in a photo of us smiling,

but I felt like I was posing too hard.

And now you’re just a stranger,

and when I look in the mirror,

all I see are fragments of me.

Hopefully I’ll watch myself grow,

eventually feeling unstoppable,

impossible to recognize,

from the person in that picture.

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Spring dances in the kitchen

with flowered sunsets

through the window.

Wildflowers can waltz

better in real life

if you ask them to.

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I never had time

to ask myself if

I would grow old with you.

I was too busy being a child,

and I took your for granted

as you raised me.

I thought I could do better.

I ran off in rebellion,

but nostalgia runs deepest now

as I decide where to go next.

My friends still live near you,

still talk to you,

and visit you.

I wage war between

your familiarity

and your time stamp.

Do I miss you or

do I miss your comfort?

Oh Chicago,

I hope you still think of me.

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I wake up and do yoga.

Downward dog feels like homicide today,

faking mental stability

one morning at a time.

I warrior my way through

the guilt and lower myself down.

Breathe.

Standing again feels like an earthquake.

I imagine there’s a rope

wrapped around the arches of my feet,

plunging down through the dirt

and tying itself to the core of this planet.

Be still.

I close my eyes to hear birds outside.

I suddenly realize that the sky

can also be the ground.

Presence is not a place.

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Do I Stop Smoking?

Asked under the kitchen glow;

couch laiden for three hours.

She cleans the dishes as I listen.

The water sounds menacing.

Angry.

At me?

Of course.

The couch chuckles.

I look up,

watch the ceiling light wink at me.

Do they know what I’m thinking?

Have they been watching me?

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Brush in paint.

Paint on canvas.

Repeat.

I wish I could talk to you.

Brush in oil.

I was twenty one

and in love with myself.

I was a coward.

Oil in paint.

Do your friends all hate me still?

Do you think I’m still….

Paint on canvas.

Just like your dad?

Brush on rag.

I think we’d be friends now.

Brush in paint.

I think you’d like the new me.

Paint on canvas.

I wish I could talk to you.

Repeat.

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She’s possessed me for a year.

My thoughts have been poisoned

by her presence in my mind.

Yet you’ve been here this whole time,

so desperate for me to look at you

without her standing between us.

You always see glazed eyes stare back at you

as I replay a different memory with her.

She reminds me that you

don’t look like her,

talk like her,

or love like her.

And dammit she’s right.

You’re soft around the edges.

You’re gentle when you speak to me.

And you see value in the unconditional.

So tonight you looked up at me,

searching for an answer

behind my wandering eyes.

I gazed back at you,

studying your face

under the kitchen light.

I saw you,

every inch of you.

And this time, it was just us.

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how does it feel?

It feels like static radio.

My eyes glossed over

and rain outside the window.

It feels like a sinking ship.

Drowning with no life vest

and my own flesh to grip.

It feels like a popped balloon.

A party with no guests

and decor in an empty room.

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I think I hear angels.

They whisper to me at night

when your face hides

in the melodrama of

my secret tears.

I feel them when I

wake up and pat

the empty space

where your body once slept.

Angels speak to me

about what has been lost

but has yet to be

discovered through my

holy proclamation of

shameful heartache.

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Come closer, still

and let me read to you

through my tones of

tremulous poem blues.

You love to sit with me

and hear me whisper now

stories of love and lust

that our relationship bow.

But I fear so far that we

never imitate these tales

so I choke on words

of other loves prevail.