An ocean flows from my eyes and down my cheek like a creek flowing down a mountain,
And I think of you in the simplest way: moonlight in your hair and dust in the air
As if I could capture these moments in my memory so perfectly that I'd blink and see you instead of darkness.
As if I could close my eyes and hear your voice, feel your skin instead of the cold wind biting me like a hungry lion.
The blue of the sky will never compare to the blue of your eyes and the blue of the ocean hits the sand in a sigh: as if it's finally releasing the breath it was holding when you left.
Or is it that the ocean is crying as I did. But there has to be a time when it stops.
Will it run out of tears as I did? Will it simply sleep when its eyes grow weary of crying?
Or will it comfort me, the salt healing the wounds on my heart where you ripped it in half?
The salt I felt when I knew I was no longer enough to satisfy your hungry needs and you sought those pleasures anywhere- everywhere but with me.
How to heal, I don't know. But maybe the ocean will keep me safe from you. It can float my heart away from you so you never tear it open like a birthday present.
Maybe the ocean can float my heart like a message in a bottle to someone who won't smash the bottle, but be careful when they notice a heart: barely healed inside.
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Poetry
Poetry"I don't try to call myself a poet. But I know that my stuff is pretty literal, and the themes are pretty simple and on the surface." -Bo Burnham It's in the title and yet you came here, to check that I won't steer you incorrectly. Go in and have a...
