Hope · Love · Spirituality

Fertile Valleys | Poems that Suck

You held my hand as we
 drove through the desert,
  the parched night air like a
   ribbon that tangled in our hair. 

We stopped for a drink in
 what could've been a ghost town,
  had it not been for the neon lights
   wound around and strung between the lampposts.

I got something to share with you, 
 a drink, delighted at the thought of 
  our lips sharing the same edge; it was
   almost as if we were kissing. 

When I returned to the car
 you were standing with three other
  girls - one who was barefoot, her toes
   blackened by the asphalt. 

I joined you, but hesitated
 because I understood that we 
  were in that no man's land between
   something and absolutely nothing at all. 

But you somehow sensed my
 trepidation and slid a reassuring
  arm around my waist, pulling me close
   to you and kissing my lips with tenderness.

It was in that moment
 I fell in love with you
  because I knew I was safe. 
Free Verse · Hope · Love

The Untraveled Path | Poems that Suck

I have a photo of a place I love, 
 took it before I even knew you existed;
  a pathway drenched in the golden, afternoon light
   which lead to a small cluster of fragrant orange trees. 

We stood at that very spot once, 
 many years later and took a photo together.
  It's long gone but I remember it; 
   you arms were wrapped around my hips

Holding me delicately, as if I were a treasure.
 I was turned slightly, curled in the warmth of 
  your shoulder, eyes closed as you kissed the
   side of my head, on the temple, so sweetly. 

Every time I look at that photo,
 I imagine us there - ghosts of love
  that never blossomed, but had always stayed
   sweet - and I smile at what could've been.
Depression · Free Verse · Hope

Shhh… | Poems that Suck

The best thing about

a hot shower is the sound.

No on can hear you

think, or

fuck, or

cry, or

jerk off, or

cry and jerk off

(if that’s your thing).

It’s just a wall of white noise.

.

I like to shower in

the dark,

lie down in the basin

with a washcloth

over my

eyes.

.

I feel the water droplets –

some fine as mist,

others like fat tears –

on my lips,

my nipples,

my thighs.

.

And somewhere in that

wall of sound,

I dissolve

between

the

droplets.

Hope · Love · Spirituality

Olivewood | Poems that Suck

We snuck into the church's gift shop in
 hopes of escaping the oppressive summer heat.
  They had an air conditioner, which felt delicious
   on our sweaty skin and sunburnt shoulder blades.

Trying to look inconspicuous, we pretended
 to shop, so the clerk wouldn't catch on and
  throw us out. You were looking at something intently
   and when I came to see, you extended your hand to me.

In the bowl of your palm was a perfectly carved,
 polished olivewood heart. I turned my palm skyward
  to see if you would offer it; you dropped it into
   my waiting hand without hesitation. 
Hope · Mental Health · Writing

Nostalgia | Poems that Suck

 There's one addiction I have
   and that's living in the
                         past.

 I like to go back in time and
    replay scenes in my head;
      good ones, bad ones,
        they're all the same.

 I like to relive them in great detail,
   slowing down time to capture the specifics
    I missed in those moments the first
                              time around.

 I imagine that they are photographs,
    and imagine the condition they'd be in.
      Some edges worn from constant replay,
        other sticky with the aftermath of love making,
          still others, ripped and pasted together again, their
                             edges burnt in fury.