Thunder Only Happens When It's Raining

I’ve only loved people privately and never had the opportunity to properly explore my feelings. You are the only person I’ve loved that I clung to, spoke my feelings to. And I tried desperately to not run away.

I am confident in myself, and I convince myself that I am, but I am insecure. I am insecure about my identity and how I want to be seen and who I want to love and how I want to be loved.

And I realized that that’s what I meant when I said that we were at different stages in out lives. I was not trying to make you feel guilty about your age, and I told you that, but I didn’t know exactly what I truly meant. I meant that you have experienced your sexuality and identity in your life. You’ve been with people of different genders and experienced what it is that you want and do not want and what has made you unhappy and figured out what you long for. And I haven’t, and I really want to. But by being with you I also negated a very recent part of my identity that I found comfort in, but have never had the chance to experience. 

I did not mind being your girlfriend even as I went by neutral pronouns, femininity didn’t bring me discomfort I relented my limited understanding of myself to please you. You wanted to be seen as a man with a girlfriend, and were understandably distraught that outsiders saw us as two female partners. However for me the thing that made me uncomfortable was to be seen as the girl to a man. I longed since childhood to love a woman, and loving a man felt to me like that opportunity was being taken away from me.

And I did not ever see you as a woman. I understood you as a boy, perhaps an androgynous entity on his way to becoming fully as he wished. A boy wanting to become a man. And I know you understood me as “they”, but I know too that you saw me and wanted me as “your girl”. And I do not mind the girl part as much as I mind the part where I am an item to be possessed. I never want to be possessed by a woman either, but the fact to be “mine” to a man is something I find terrifying. I feel like I had been playing a role. I was not myself, but I was playing a "girl", a "girlfriend". A pedestal you placed me on, and I liked the attention, but it ate away at my bones.

And sometimes I feel like I want to be with you again. I want to hug you and comfort you, and use the knowledge and courage I’ve gained after breaking it off with you, to make for a better relationship on my part. I think about you every day, and I know that I love you. I don’t love you as a boyfriend, perhaps not as a friend either, but I love you as a human being. I care for your existence.

But I also remember all the hurt and worry, the anxiety, the discomfort and the sadness and the wrenching of my heart inside my chest. The infection that repeated to my mind that I wanted to die, so that I could escape. The fact that I never yelled as hard as I did when I clutched onto your chest and cried. That my pain was so that the only way I knew how to get it out was to scream and wail, and hold you desperately until I fell asleep. And how afterwards I felt like all that was left to my body and soul was an exoskeleton, and the only thing moving me was the wind and promises I'd paid for and made. And I wonder, is it worth it? I cannot make it okay for you at the expense of my own wellbeing.

Would I be your beloved again, if you changed? Would I want you back? Would you? Can we be friends, or is it useless to cling to each other? I know the answer to none of these. Perhaps the corner of my mind where I hug you tenderly, where now when you ask “what to do” I play music and we dance to Rihannon as the rain falls down, is just me longing for something that you and I can never have. Something we can never have because of the people that we are. Because what I want is not what you want, is it? And what you want is not for me, either, is it? And as my dreams unwind, I’m still in the state of mind. And perhaps where I will find the tender hugs and the peaceful dances, is in the heart of someone else. Perhaps what I need is to train my mind, so what I see is not your face. Shall I just let the rain swallow this memory whole.

You don’t listen to these songs, anyway.  

Dreams Unwind, Lover's State of Mind

Do I want a love that makes me fall to pieces?

No matter how many poems it gives me, it's not nice.

Because I know what the love I had for you

did to crush and wring my heart, small and dry.

I want to know if you loved me as I loved you,

or if you just clung to me so desperately

because you feared to be alone, and then loved me some?

What words cross your mind when the image is who I am?

I want to love and hold desperately as I held you,

but this time with no hesitation. With no fear.

A love that makes me want to come home, instead

of run away and regurgitate my guts, heart in tow.

I want to know both that which is lighthearted and playful,

and that to which my veins and heart cling to and curl around.

I want to know a smile that's like sunflowers, 

I want someone that grows bright blooms instead of panic.

In another world, it could have been you.

But I will not mourn, for that concerns the us-others.

Did you ever kiss my forehead to say goodnight?

And from me, what did you want? 

Susan's Letters – To my first ever beloved

 I've only written to you once,

and the poems began long after you'd left.

But today I read of Emily's beloved,

and I wondered: "have I ever–

or will I ever–love as strongly?"

And the thought of you came to my mind.

I did not love you as strongly,

and did not love you for as long.

But you were there, ever-blooming summer,

before my letters to love had even begun.

And as I reminisce of a lover lost to summer,

or perhaps mourn a summer lost to love,

I remember you and I am grateful.

The glare of unruly salt, sweat, and laughter, 

to whom Apollo's shine could not ever compare.

I smile all the smiles you gave me, 

clean the cuts and scrapes of my knees you'd mend.

I'll disinfect the wound as you taught me,

and feel the sun on my skin through the clouds.

And the thought of you heals me as I move forward.

To my dearest, once-best-friend.

Your happiness is mine too.

You, who made love sunflowers.

To the Birds

Why do I still write to you?

It has not nearly been a while.

I need a place to put these feelings.

Are they even strong enough to leave?

The hardest cry I ever put into the sky,

is the one you wrestled from my chest.

How is it, that you ever held that power?

If I miss you again, tell me to not return.

If I love you again, I'll struggle to stay awake.

if I remain alone will my eyes stay open?

If I miss you again I'll tell myself, first,

feed my body to the birds.

Let me, before I reach for your hand,

Feed my body to the birds.

Marceline, who held my hand

The more I get to process the things that you've said to me the more resentment I feel, and the more I wonder wether I really want to be your friend in the future.

But I don't want to feel resentment, or the shaky, anxious grip on my gut whenever I think about you. I don't want you to have any more hold over my feelings, I want to hold my own hand as I move through this.

You called me your thing, you called me an object. Disregard the "most precious thing" because it is the last piece that matters. "You're mine" as a thing to say, is terrifying and disgusting. That made me feel used.

"I want you to ask me for help, to depend on me, so I can feel useful in this relationship", "So I can feel better about myself."

You wanted me to be as insecure and dependent as you. I shouldn't be strong and able to do things on my own, I should need you. The pieces of me that I was most proud of were the ones you least wanted.

You better not ever take these words back, I won't hear any more "I didn't mean it" or "I shouldn't have said it." Because if I am not allowed to take my words back, neither are you.

The one who says things can forget them but the one they're said to has to deal with them. And we've both been on either side.

I am not and was never a thing you owned, I was not put into this world to make you happy. My biggest mistake was not standing up for the feelings that cam from my gut, and taking what you said as "the path I should follow".

So deal with your own thoughts. Being hasty to deal with everything immediately won't do you well on the long run. Sometimes things need to be processed before they can be discussed.

So feel free to think whatever you want. The people who care about me most know how hard I tried.

Mint and Gunpowder

Every morning in this new place,
I drink mint and gunpowder.

And the night I dream of you,
It comforts me that I am there no longer.

You still grip over my heart,
in these nightmares I see 'returning'.

My fear is to ever want you back,
but once I drink

Mint and gunpowder,
it holds me and tells me: 

I'm there no longer.

Cutting Peaches

I can't breathe.
Neither can you.

Your soul drags mine heavy
around the room.

I don't know what to say,
you don't know what to do.

So that night again,
I cut peaches for you.

Are you happy?
You say you are.

You were just glad to not be alone,
I didn't have to go that far.

I cut peaches in the morning,
night and afternoon.

Whenever our tears are falling,
I'm cutting white peaches for you.

Tonight I've cut a peach again.
A different kitchen, different knife.

And as the thin skin rips, I'm thankful 

to not have you in my life.