1. continuity

    you are february 29th,
    diving off the pages
    of your mother’s calendar.
    you love sugar highs
    and the crash they bring.
    you have a drunken tango
    in your blood
    and it’s fearless.

    you make me remember why
    i run free.
    why i never buy rain boots.
    a barefoot april is priceless,
    like drizzling too much maple syrup
    on your banana pancakes.
    like driving with the windows down
    and your music just a little too loud.
    like living
    in excess,
    and taking up as much room
    in the solar system
    as you can
    before you burn out.

  2. your body is familiar
    on winter nights.
    all i ask
    is a part of you to love.
    a wrist, the small of your back—
    at times i want to carve you.
    in return,
    you are welcome to explore.
    an eyelid, the curve of my spine—
    i promise,
    the map isn’t as confusing
    as it seems.

  3. "Sometimes you just have to jump out the window and grow wings on the way down."
    Ray Bradbury (via liquidnight)
  4. sometimes
    i can the count the wildflowers
    running down your back.
    in truth,
    they’re only visible
    when you’re sad.

    then, you are like lavender
    and lilac,
    poised to bloom.
    then, you are like an overwhelming april storm,
    drenched with living.

    sometimes
    your wildflowers fit together
    like mint tea and porcelain cups.
    they wrap blankets around you,
    because you were always told
    to grow a thicker skin.

    sometimes
    we save the petals
    in a mason jar,
    little parts of you to scatter
    across sunset highways and velvet oceans.
    you say you like knowing
    that some piece of you is free.

    sometimes
    you roll over in your bed of 3 am darkness,
    and your wildflowers are gone.
    but you’re never afraid,
    because you can hear them in the clouds
    like the sound
    of a songbird,
    liberated
    with joy.

  5. bookworm

    i like to fall in love with books.
    with the way
    their spines curve
    and sometimes snap
    (because sometimes loving too much
    leaves things broken).
    with the way
    olive oiled fingertips
    and sourdough bread crumbs
    leave winding paths
    down their lovingly creased pages.
    with the way
    their patient words
    linger like a saturday good night kiss,
    reminding you 
    that all you need to fall in love
    is a little light.

  6. pressing play should get your heart racing:
    stumbling blindly, falling aimlessly,
    vomiting broken chords
    that fit
    like jigsaw puzzles smashed together
    with a child’s fist.

    when that bass first blushes,
    when it blooms and glows
    like a newborn august dawn,
    don’t run.
    dive into it head first—
    like it’s your first love
    all over again.
    plunge deep and expose your bare shoulders,
    ready for the shockwave.

    perhaps that’s why
    you feel like screaming half the time,
    because getting drowned out
    is just
    so easy to do.

  7. "And still, after all this time, the Sun has never said to the Earth,
    “You owe me.”
    Look what happens with love like that.
    It lights up the sky."
    Rumi
  8. electricity

    you are the electricity
    in my headphones.
    running in through one ear
    and leaving threads
    of music
    behind.

    you are the electricity
    in christmas tree lights
    and every lace-curtained,
    city-apartment window,
    hinting
    at stories left to be told.

    you are the electricity
    in springtime butterflies
    and new year’s resolutions,
    in half-baked cinnamon
    and chai,

    and you are the electricity
    in stolen passenger-seat kisses,
    stolen quietly
    and never returned.

  9. make room
    for the sweet things.
    for the first bite of dessert
    and the first summer rain.

    for the mud-battered sneakers
    and the shelves of dog-eared books,
    for the laughter in your lungs
    and the moonlight in your bones.

    for the forehead kisses
    and the feather-pillow clouds,
    for the dreamers
    and the screamers,
    who have perfected
    how to live.

  10. to every star:

    thank you for staying
    with every lost
    and wandering soul
    during every lost
    and wandering night.
    thank you for outlining
    the stage
    for every young
    and old
    and rebellious kind of love.

    & most of all,
    thank you for the light.

About me

* mind fluff (n): the plethora of thought fragments, ideas, and dreams that exists in every individual's head

you are revolutionary.

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