The biggest decision of each day is whether to keep blogging or go to bed and the first one usually wins whoops.
There are poems trapped inside of me.
Written on my soul.
There are paintings in my fingertips.
But I can never make them anymore
Than a whisper even I cannot hear.
But then you came and you appeared.
Raw, rough, and blistered.
Something I could understand.
But then you leaned in and you kissed me
And suddenly everything came out again.
You were a pen in my hand and the words in my mouth
Fingers, a scalpel, a pottery wheel
A paintbrush, the pigments
Everything became real
And there was color again.
What I needed, what I need
Is to feel.
Who I want, all I’ve wanted
Be by midnight, be my blue.
Kiss me like a fool.
Be my morning, be my poppy
Be my January and June.
Be my viridian,
Be every shade of green
You are everything I’ll ever need.
You came, now I’m a flower.
But we all start as a seed.