The place in which I’ll fit will not exist until I make it.
James Baldwin

The magic I feel
The magic that transcends
within eye contact, touches between fingers
It makes it hard to form words

you are the one
I actively choose
Even though the swelling in my heart
Leaves room for little choice

you are the one
I actively cherish
Even when fear tries to find my soul
I remember the magic between us

Happy Birthday to one of the greatest minds of the 20th century / my favorite author. If I could have dinner with 10 people dead or alive he’d be at the top of that list. Not only are his novels some of the most beautiful poetry I’ve ever read but also his essays are poignant, fierce, and he’s always preaching the truth. 🙌 #jamesbaldwin #inspiration

when the winter gets cold and
you’ve lost your soul
remember whom you begged for
claimed to have a “need” for
what do you know of “need?”
platters lain before your eyes
the choices in the palms of your hands
telling yourself lies upon lies
swallowing ice cubes while some
don’t have ice let alone water.
and i know there’s other fish
but my scales are not made the same
i’m spent

Now if there ain’t no mountain high enough, why ain’t ya climbin’ up? My hand has been extended ever since the day I lent it to ya.

spindrift:

shy chuckles after climaxes,
sincere smiles before goodbyes,
wavering uncertainties of what’s next
paint the ceiling…
but one thing is certain,
that is the fire between two spirits
refusing to extinguish

shy chuckles after climaxes,
sincere smiles before goodbyes,
wavering uncertainties of what’s next
paint the ceiling…
but one thing is certain,
that is the fire between two spirits
refusing to extinguish

magictransistor:

Gustave Doré, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (Samuel Taylor Coleridge), Harper & Brothers, New York, 1876.

being home is strange, like
driving by a place your first love and you
fucked what feels like decades ago, or
staying in the house your new love and you
first reconciled feelings that were buried
so deep it would’ve taken centuries for
architects to unearth them if you two hadn’t first.

i couldn’t write a memoir poem to save my life
but memories endlessly inundate the waves
that ebb in my webbed mind, good and bad.
depending where they fall on the scale
i feel a yearning for a time behind me,
or my toes dance on the soles of my shoe
impatiently, impatiently — for the future that
won’t make me miss what’s already happened.

and all i can think is
i miss you, i love you
when life can’t be all about you,
but it’s all i care it to be
because everything else is failing me.