he chooses silence while she chooses attention
from anyone who will give it to her
he thanks them for the invitation
but he will not go. and everyone knows.
she drowns her pain in things, things, and more things
he holds tight onto what he does have
though it isn’t much. and they all know.
he folds his frustration into tiny, little pills
and swallows, already feeling lighter
she drinks hers slowly
loving the warmth, but hating the burn.
I don’t write to be perfect
I write for you
Who is wonderful
In your imperfection
And so I write
To feel wonderful
To feel emptied
And replenished
Each time that I am filled
To the brim
With all that it means
To be human
I write
To be imperfect
And to feel
Perfect doing so
she was the sky above an empty rainforest
sprinkling droplets of water to be witnessed by none
he was a single rose in an unbothered garden
enchanting from afar, thorns uncharted
You can’t tell me how to love
Just like I can’t tell you
That your heart is hideous
Though your heart is hideous
To know hatred
Deeper than lust
Deeper than desire
Deeper than anyone
And even deeper than
Yourself
You can’t tell me to grow up
Not when your heart has aged
A lifetime in a few years
Not when you have grown cold
To a world that still has warmth
To give. And will take nothing
But you will give less
You can’t tell me who to be
When you’re withering away
Inside a shell of complacency
Not even feeling anymore
Because you tell me
That to feel is to feel weak
Though there’s strength
In these words
And there’s strength
In allowing yourself to feel
Weak in love’s embrace
you’re about to move.
those words echo inside the walls
of my brain
despite the recognition
that the space
is filled to capacity,
overflowing.
you’re about to move.
i feel that, all hair rising to attention
i feel that; taste the truth before it can even
roll off of my tongue.
leave my lips.
i feel it in the wind
over and over and over again.
and between the “about to”s, He does.
He moves.
and then i feel it again; first
in my bones and then
in the wind
as i prepare myself to
sing the words out as if preaching
to His people.
i want to reach my hand into the sky
and touch His face
and feel it.
and then i’m out at sea
and suddenly the waves stop
crashing into my will
like a prayer, and i feel it
in my bones,
and He’s about to move.
and so He
blows on through.
tell me you want me, then tell me again.
tell me until you’re blue in the face.
angry. wondering who could possibly be this insecure.
wrap those words around me.
they’re all I need to stay warm tonight.
surround me in your security blanket,
and if I wake in the night, shivering cold,
asking those words. begging. “do you still want me?”
tell me those words, and let me hold onto them until I fall asleep again.
for after a difficult month, having the discipline to look back in reflection:
november passed me in the blink of an eye
leaving no time to catch my breath
instead, perpetuating the gasping
for oxygen.
I begged to stay afloat,
and barely,
I did.
I am thankful for this,
and being that the day for giving thanks
resides within this month
that passed much too quickly
I take it as a challenge
from above
to remember,
and in remembrance,
give thanks.
I am thankful for a trip
to my home,
to my family,
into love.
I am thankful for old friends
keeping me stable.
for new friends
keeping me moving
through the changes
and phases
of life.
I am thankful for november
giving way to december
giving way to january—
the first month
of a new year,
of a new decade,
of newness,
and its potential
for greatness.
In a crowded room, my eyes will always find You. It’s unnatural. You aren’t magnetized.
They will scour the room, looking for a hint. Tall— there are lots of tall people. Brown hair— there are many brunettes. Find the man surrounded by beautiful people with lustful eyes, and there He is. His gaze won’t meet mine. He’s busy entertaining the masses.
I will walk to him, not drawn; it’s a conscious decision. I will hold out for the recognition that I have joined His crowd of admirers. I live for it.
It takes awhile, but finally, His eyes flick upward. He sees me. “Hey!” And that’s all I need. Good, because that’s all He’ll offer. One little word. I clutch it to my chest. I’d die for it.
And that’s the way it’s always been. Desiring without being desired. Chased, sure— but I don’t want to be pursued. Put me on a pedestal. Worship me. But if you chase, I will run.
And I will always run toward Him. He doesn’t bat an eye in my direction; isn’t phased by my lust. I will always lay myself at His bounty, yearning for His attention, but I will not beg for it. Instead, I will search the crowd, find Him in infatuation, and dote.
he wanted me
because my lips tasted like honey
drenched with innocence
my hands light
in the depths of his
he wanted me
because i danced little circles
outside the brim of his heart
tapping, not knocking
never forcing my way in
he wanted me
for the whispers
the gentle embraces
that offered escape
into my reality, out of his
he wanted me
because i gave myself
untethered
uninhibited
into his unknown
he wanted me
because i was free for the taking
every ounce of my being
laid flat across the table
to be picked and chewed
he wanted me
but he wanted you too
and neither of us
he wanted
for long
but first, for making it halfway through a year of abundance and blessings. i am grateful.
grateful for july 14th, the day i brought home my new puppy, a blessing in himself.
yellow, floppy ears
puppy dog eyes accompanying every utterance of
“no,”
and then,
acceding. me to him, not him to me.
giant paws, cuddles, and clumsy sprints.
for him becoming best friends with my best-fur-friend, and then, a best friend to me.
i am grateful.
for rekindlings of friendships long neglected but not forgotten.
the sweet sound of “i love you”‘s uttered late but not too late.
i am grateful
for confidence,
genuine and not faked,
paired with red lips and a soul
bursting at the brim with dreams.
for desire
to write. and for this platform that let’s me
speak in words to strangers and those known
so that they may see me right down to my heart.
and for words, especially. and especially, words given to me
by God.
i am grateful.
for july, one of my favorites;
second only to june. june, to me, is the month
of deciding.
july is the month
of acting.
for you, july.
i am grateful.
Hey It's Tay 