“I guess you’re the bee and the stings all at once; By which I mean you’re the reason I wrap these tired bones around every aching thing.”

Like a fractured bone in the ribs, the heart can be painfully heavy sometimes.

Perhaps I mistook the pain with work in progress.

When I say I love you, I mean something raw something below the surface of all waters; something almost too naked and true!

Like her name, some people are best left scrouged on the skin.

I’ve been quiet most of today. By which I mean I can see myself in the mirror; And believe me it is something hard to look at these days.

In the end the salt calls the ocean home; and I guess this is why drowning has always been a part of loving you.

I guess this has been my confusion; where I went wrong. Thinking that love could possibly come as a thing without the burns.

To me there was only ever you!

I knew you would leave someday; And from there a poet will be born from the ashes.

Love is a job doer and a man slayer. Both equally efficient, until the taste of it is most felt on the cold side of the ribs.

There’s not much I know about forgetting. By which I mean I can hear her name from a distance; and it still breathes cold in my chest.

Respect pain. Every heartfelt word is first born from sadness.

I’m a drunk poet; and I guess maybe I sipped too much of what I couldn’t buy of her.

I held my breath underwater and felt surrender in my lungs; maybe this too counts as love.

And when the cold comes, I swear I can feel her in my bones.

Today I can see the cracks on the wall they’re visible; but I can tell they are finding their way to soil, And so am I.

Without bitterest cold that penetrates to the very bone, how can plum blossoms send forth their fragrance all over the world?

Darling, it’s okay to fall again; these bones of yours they already know how to mend.

Like a fractured bone in the ribs, the heart can be painfully heavy sometimes.

And when the cold comes, I swear I can feel her in my bones.

You could not keep me fed by throwing me bones and empty promises. I am ashamed to admit how much starving I did before I finally left.

A bone to the dog is not charity. Charity is the bone shared with the dog, when you are just as hungry as the dog.

As if flesh and skin and hands are any match for bullets. As if bones won’t crack in hails of powder and lead. As if rivers of blood are not the direct result of trigger fingers that bend but do not break on “bad days”.

Most drag queens, they put on music like it’s a costume. It’s not in their bones. It’s not in their background.