If God made anything better, he kept it for himself
love,
you are speaking mad fast in a love language
I cannot quite grasp, spitting out pointless
ancient poetry and empty promises.
you go to sunday school and recite bible verses,
in the hopes of having your broken heart nursed
but you only keep feeling inevitably worse.
you dress your wounds in God’s light
because you are so sick of the darkness
clinging onto you from staying in the closet.
you pick out sunflowers, then pick at my brain
as if it were all just a measly child’s game.
you know my hands are the furthest from softness
but you choose to believe otherwise.
you steal my thoughts until there is nothing left,
because you are terrified of confession.
you read your passages like a blind child,
with a hopeful heart and shimmering soul.
you admire the ungodly, so free and wild,
while you stay home and try to feel whole.
none of these matter, you say
when I ask if you think you’re anything like God
you say you are not, because you can’t even believe in yourself long enough.
‘‘I actually do love you.. I know you won’t be here forever though.’’
Tired. So tired
of you & I
Feel like I’m on the edge of everything with nothing to lose and something tells me that you’ve been avoiding me too
yesterday has passed, and today has gone… you didn’t even call to say you reached home safely. I’m not a pushover, why am I like this?
maybe gentle and inward hearts like yours were meant to be loved by someone worthier and more deserving
‘‘In what language does rain fall over tormented cities?’’
you wear a mantle of summer sweat on your back and exhale heavenly wisps of flavoured smoke, eyes bright and eager for something more. you are holding my right hand with your left, and your thumb traces my calloused palm, going round and round like a carousel that never stops. I can feel the downpour inside you, the rain murmuring excitably around us like words desperate to escape your chapped lips. you think I do not notice but I can hear you weeping in your head, as if your crying has become the music inside of me as well. there’s only a moment before you’re gone, and I do not miss the sudden shift in those darkening eyes. you’ll be gone in the morning, and you’ll be over this, as will I. the rain is whispering so loudly now, and your heart is a widow’s sky, so lonely and cursed you swear out loud when your cigarette falls asleep. you look over when I laugh and your eyes are teeming with metaphors, a thunderstorm that runs down like a biblical deluge, filling the earth with gusts and stone sharp rain, only this time, you are hurting me. all this feels like a sluice of freezing water to my face, a reality that will always incapacitate. you let go of my hand ever so gently and go for another light, softly saying how much you would rather the weather across the world, and how things would be easier if only we fancied people worth our time. you don’t have to ask, because you already know I’d second that. the rain is falling hard around us now, and I can feel the unsettlement in your heart, and in the way you look at me with a sort of hesitation that damns you from speaking your mind. let go, please, before it all grows too lethal to be worth even a memory.
ti amos