born for this

I’m born from secrets and lies and scandal but I was born into love, into the green house on the hill that I will always call home, into the arms of my grandfather – the only man I’ll ever trust.

I was born from freedom and free cocktails and dancing ’til practically lifeless in New York City, I was born to use this body better than I am, I was born to do more than just quietly walk the Earth, I was born to move these hands and scream.

And now I think I was born for you, for laying in your arms in the gray morning light in the same house I still call home, where I breathe in your kisses and wonder what we were made for, if we were born for this.

This was written for Tri-Writing with Maya Stein, 3 lines for 21 days. The prompt was: “In 3 lines, write about where you’re from (geographically or otherwise).”

Photo by Becca Tapert on Unsplash

shaping up

I know I can’t keep up with you, I mean, sometimes it hurts to even move and we both know it’s my own fault.

But you touch and kiss and love my body like no one else ever has, even at the biggest it’s ever been.

Maybe you dream of me being better, and I do too, for you; I want to fix these aching legs and run.

This was written for Tri-Writing with Maya Stein, 3 lines for 21 days. Photo by João Ferreira on Unsplash

out of focus

I’m not sure you see me as I am and I’m afraid one day I’m going to be found out, you are going to know me and then leave me.

I am hiding in plain sight, a bundle of nerves held together with a handful of pills, holding my breath and waiting for the worst to come.

No one sees me this way, not even you, and sometimes when I look in the mirror I don’t even recognize myself anymore.

This was written for Tri-Writing with Maya Stein, 3 lines for 21 days.

What I do for us

I imagine us one day sitting on a covered porch drinking iced teas because we’re too old for beers, watching the world pass by, most of our lives behind us.

But now we’re just at the starting line, I’m crouched and ready to pounce into a new life with you and you are keeping me baited and waiting.

While you’re holding on to the past, I’m holding on with the tips of my fingers and by the skin of my teeth and with every ounce of hope in my heart, praying that it won’t fall apart.

This was written for Tri-Writing with Maya Stein, 3 lines for 21 days. The prompt today was: “In 3 lines, write about something you’re trying to arrange (or rearrange).”