hands to faith

dear chalky hands,

do you remember when we planted pumpkin seeds in our wrists just to see if things could grow from our scars? do you remember when we painted maple leaves all over the driveway, so the airplanes flying across the night wouldn't be lonely? do you remember when we burnt cyanide patterns into the sand because you liked the colors?


love;

the junkyard dreamer














dear metal scraps,

we were chromatic for all the wrong reasons; designed in colors that aren't meant to exist; two chest cavities believing that they could be fuller than the sky. we were barren because some people were made in winter time; born to be frost eyed. we were the pantomines everyone hopes someone will see even though no one ever does.

love;
crayon fingers
















dear preschool paints,

do you remember when you told me that salt floats in water so we crammed ourselves full of soda crackers in preparation for our first swimming lesson? do you remember when i told you people's bones can belong in archives even when they are still inside of them? do you remember when our ligaments were brighter then the falling earth?


love;
catalysed trash bags

















dear modern ashes,

we filled water pipes with soil and blew makeshift life into weeds; just an excuse for lungs with an addiction; a reason for temples to be empty, gods to let go. we were movable just like the stars, the caverns, your home; we were never infinite. we wanted to be the light dancing around the bridge as it falls; but all we were  was the scraps of metal poking from human crashes; sticking out of the crux of faith.


love;
mute palms












dear unwritten knuckles,

all you need to be eternity within a lifespan; is to drink apple juice beneath the solstice, and make wishes on people's ankles interlocked with yours.

all you have to do is live.


love;
gunpowder words









dear explosive graveyards,


that's not true, we were destined to be the missing piece of a jigsaw; the scattered fur patches of teddy bears, the dollhouses without a family.

i'm sorry; i won't be a temple without a god; a cavity without anything to live for.


love;
the faithless scribe










dear self-destroying believer,

we were meant to be that and beautiful; we were meant to be so empty so we can fill each other. all you need to find something to pray to, is to hold my  hands and make wishes. all we need to find faith, to find things to believe in is each other.


love;
rusted hopes