age difference

in my youth, 
my family took me
on road trips all over the country.
I drank coffee and tea
with women who were wise
and men who were haughty.
I witnessed the aftermath
of how forceful
and beautiful
nature can be.
when I stood at the precipice at Cappadocia,
where I gazed upon
the breathtaking fairy chimneys.
I trekked underground
through tunnels in hidden cities,
built in secrecy for Zoroastrian refugees.
I took in the sight of cisterns and minarets,
raised up in former centuries.
I walked barefoot, without pain,
all across the greatest salt seas.
walked from Harlem to Brighton Beach,
it took me 16 hours on feet;
that one day in New York,
back when I was in my teens.
I saw,
read,
learned,
grew,
and found pieces all over the world
that fit a part of me.
Still,
as I piece myself together day by day,
I know that I am not complete.
I know that,
when my aching feet,
brought me to you last week,
I felt at ease,
at peace,
but still almost childlike;
even though I am thirty,
and you’re only
twenty-three.

a short poem

Let my gaze meet your hungry eyes;
Let us breathe together, heavy with lust.
Your capable hands forget how to be gentle when they touch my skin.
Let us live, and love together.

you are my destruction

I’m being haunted by a ghost.
He’s never really there,
but sometimes he makes a sound,
and makes me think I’m not alone.

He’s like cigarettes to me;
they both destroy me slowly,
but I can’t stop reaching for them when I’m low.

He doesn’t know how to love;
he can only run away.
But I, when I feel something,
I run towards it with all my heart.
I’m not afraid to love,
and I’m not scared of ghosts.

ellerin (your hands)

your hands,
always seeking mine to hold for comfort;
at night, wielding a knife to cook for me;
when you write, holding your pen the wrong way,
and holding on way too tightly;
your hands, my love,
are precious to me.

they are calloused from work;
there’s dust under your fingernails.
still,
even if divine angels came down from heaven,
and reached their holy hands out to me,
I would reach for yours instead,
because your hands, my love,
ellerin,
they captivate me, then set me free.

landscape

I have no poetry in me;
in me, there are valleys
full of dark memories,
there are rivers foaming against the rocks,
full of incomprehensible thoughts and anxieties.

In me, there are mountains,
made of challenges I am yet to overcome;
struggles with my sense of self-worth,
fear of the unknown,
a cruel view of my own self.

There are dark clouds made of past mistakes,
threatening and ominous,
obscuring a blue sky full of hope,
nevertheless,
the sun shines through,
and love endures.

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