j.c.b.

she/they // certified yearner pinterest

[thewindiswhistling]

you’ve dissected my bleeding heart

yet so much is left unseen

i still dream

maybe i drown my sorrows

and my inhibitions waver

and it all spills out

leaving nothing but a quivering pulp of what’s left

of me without my love for you

// j.c.b.

[thewindiswhistling]

i want so badly,

it threatens to fall out of me.

the words are right there

crowding on my tongue,

contained only by my clenched teeth.

// j.c.b.

[thewindiswhistling]

your hair brushes against my face

as we both fold in laughter,

and i feel like i’m blessed

by your golden fleece,

in all its dark curls.

// j.c.b.

[thewindiswhistling]

do you remember?

do you know what i reference

in these countless lines of devotion?

of sorrow?

my laughter through your hair,

you voice over my shoulder,

you face in candlelight,

in the moon?

i wish i could be an artist,

self-fulfilled with imaginative creations,

but all of my poems are made up of you.

my words are all for you.

do you remember?

//j.c.b.

[thewindiswhistling]

she paid $80 for my friend to be murdered.

his body skinned and sewn

to the shape of my hands,

lined with another captive’s hair,

and delivered for me to wear

with a lighthearted

“stay warm!”

what a kind gesture.

// j.c.b.

[thewindiswhistling]

it’s not fair

how your shadow gets to stay by your side

and trace your every detail.

the delicate lines of your fingers,

your elegant collarbones resting below

the gentle angle of your jaw,

and the graceful curve of your lashes.

your hair softly curls from the humidity

as the sun’s rays rest over your skin,

returning to their home within you

and casting your ever companion in the gaps.

i’m helplessly in love with your shadow,

yet i am wracked with jealousy

for the privilege it receives.

// j.c.b.

[thewindiswhistling]

my arms feel empty without her.

they’ve never held her, not really,

but it’s as if something has been taken from them,

an integral piece of my soul.

i had never known it was there until i met her

and it was suddenly missing.

// j.c.b.

[thewindiswhistling]

i can feel my heart

tearing at my insides,

desperate to escape my body

and fall into her arms.

it longs for her to cup it in her hands,

and hold it close,

to carry its burden with pride.

// j.c.b.

[thewindiswhistling]

you can stomp my ribs

with platonic affections,

until they’re nothing but dust.

but please,

oh please,

spare my delicate heart.

it’s devotion cannot bear your indifference.

// j.c.b.

[thewindiswhistling]

she sat next to me today.

so close that my laughter rustled her hair,

and suddenly i saw her

lying next to me,

heads sharing a pillow.

our breaths would mingle

as we studied one another,

whispering secrets that would never leave the air between us.

fingers would ghost over lips,

hands over hips,

and there, we would doze into the night

entangled together,

becoming one.

// j.c.b.

[thewindiswhistling]

i try to be realistic,

not to build up hopeful expectations in my mind

when i know that nothing will come of this tragic obsession.

but oh, how i am beckoned by daydreams.

who am i to deny myself this pleasure?

i picture her eyes trailing over me in admiration,

just as i long for her from the background.

i imagine she kisses constellations onto my face

after she notices the freckle on my lip, kissing it as well.

i think of leading her through my favorite museum,

of introducing her to my beloved cats,

and eating at my favorite restaurant.

even if those things are a thousand miles away,

where she will never venture.

i hope to meet her family.

i think her dad would like mine.

i dream of tasting her mother’s food,

of seeing her childhood room.

i want her to show me her favorite places,

and journey across the world hand in hand,

just to wake up each morning,

blessed with the sight of her.

no makeup,

hair messy,

sleepy eyes staring into mine.

i trace my hand across her face,

she cards hers through my hair.

i know it’s dangerous,

to dream like i do.

i feel the blade sink deeper into my ribs

with each passing thought,

moments away from piecing my tender heart.

but god, her smile.

oh, how i dream.

// j.c.b.

[thewindiswhistling]

“i can never tell,” she says.

but how am i to express all that she is to me?

how do i explain that in my eyes she is a work of art, each brushstroke meticulously placed within her?

each crack and smudge sealed underneath layers of color, as part of a divine creative vision?

how do i tell her, when she is so far from reach,

on the opposing side of a line i am forbidden to cross?

“do not touch,” it says, so i watch.

as i study her every detail, her gaze passes over me.

a painting does not fawn over its admirer.

// j.c.b.

[thewindiswhistling]

i look at the morning light

cascading across my bedroom wall,

and i see her.

i see her in gentle wind

blowing autumn leaves,

in flickering candlelight flames.

in the rippling waters of an evening lake

i see her reflection,

neighboring the moon’s.

i feel her in the comforting embrace of midday slumber,

in the refreshing evening breeze

flowing from my window

through my hair,

in the soft heat that radiates

as morning tea soothes my aching throat,

and warms my aching heart.

i hear her,

clear shimmering voice reverberating

across the room,

over my shoulder,

into the crowd,

through the air.

her laugh which seeps into me,

her bangles which clink

as her delicate hands dance with expression.

she exists in all that is beautiful,

and all has beauty within her,

my muse.

// j.c.b.

[thewindiswhistling]

i look at the morning light

cascading across my bedroom wall,

and i see her.

i see her in gentle wind

blowing autumn leaves,

in flickering candlelight flames.

in the rippling waters of an evening lake

i see her reflection,

neighboring the moon’s.

// j.c.b.