I know so many of the parts of you
the emo girl
with dashboard confessionals
providing a soundtrack,
while we chase the ghosts
of all the good things.
the soul queen
living in theory
with scarves in her hair
like jill scott and lauryn hill
the hood
playing that awful
john legend song
that no one understands
why I can't get more
than 30 seconds into it
the saboteur
taking our hearts,
which have been sponges
that spent 3 years collecting
us,
and squeezing out
every last drop.
the girl
interrupted
by the way
life
actually is.
the leo
stubborn
to your face
no apologies
no regrets
the bohemian
declaring
"no day but today!"
and living
during the breaths
between lines
of songs.
the girl with a guitar
a fast car
and a pen
that continues
to scrawl graffiti
on my body
and my heart
all through
the longest of decembers.
the artist
painting
canvases of
yesterday
and tomorrow.
the muse
inspiring
hearts to
take flight.
the little bird
who lets
me in
and lets
me hold her,
gently yet firmly
cupped in my hands,
while her wings heal
after she's fallen
from the
next empty nest.
the unspoken love
with her
hand in mine
and our lives
tied with string,
once
severed and
burned,
later picked back up
tied with every knot
and reinforced
with the rope
found in the backroom
of the thrift store of
our hearts
as they start
to beat as one again.
all of these things I know.
all of these things I hold.
all of these things are sacred.
all of these things are us.
the emo girl
with dashboard confessionals
providing a soundtrack,
while we chase the ghosts
of all the good things.
the soul queen
living in theory
with scarves in her hair
like jill scott and lauryn hill
the hood
playing that awful
john legend song
that no one understands
why I can't get more
than 30 seconds into it
the saboteur
taking our hearts,
which have been sponges
that spent 3 years collecting
us,
and squeezing out
every last drop.
the girl
interrupted
by the way
life
actually is.
the leo
stubborn
to your face
no apologies
no regrets
the bohemian
declaring
"no day but today!"
and living
during the breaths
between lines
of songs.
the girl with a guitar
a fast car
and a pen
that continues
to scrawl graffiti
on my body
and my heart
all through
the longest of decembers.
the artist
painting
canvases of
yesterday
and tomorrow.
the muse
inspiring
hearts to
take flight.
the little bird
who lets
me in
and lets
me hold her,
gently yet firmly
cupped in my hands,
while her wings heal
after she's fallen
from the
next empty nest.
the unspoken love
with her
hand in mine
and our lives
tied with string,
once
severed and
burned,
later picked back up
tied with every knot
and reinforced
with the rope
found in the backroom
of the thrift store of
our hearts
as they start
to beat as one again.
all of these things I know.
all of these things I hold.
all of these things are sacred.
all of these things are us.
