a hot fridge

Memories with you taste like crusty old bread and our refrigerator stopped working,
so everything including you is moldy and sitting in black trash bags on my street corner.

It's not a singular you,
since you and you and you are just you's now.

This is something I am trying to understand,
and I have a MINE now,
but you's come and go so deliciously
and someday we all get stale,

even me.

You see,
I have no control.

Everyone that whispers, sings or screams in our lives is a blessing,
sent from above,
below,
wherever.

Some use words, some use touch, some eye gaze and others silence to tell you they love you. 

But they all love you.

YOU.
you,
you?

He asked, "have you said the words yet?"

I cried.

inside.

I laughed.

outloud.

and then I told You, and we laughed together,
sometimes you can know so clearly and still have no idea which way the road turns,
and it's pretty fucking awesome to just ride, and straight, for a long full while.

YES.

So when the bread turns to croutons,
and the salad is wilted,
and the dressing is warm,

we go to grab donuts,
but you see me from behind the counter, eye's linger,
and I see you miss me,
but there is no time for wondering or sorry's.

I have become the most solid, beautiful, full, loving being I have been yet in my life
and all the you's have aided me in this new me.

you
me
you
me
No


ME
ME
ME
Yes
hell yes
ME.

This not poetry, it's saturated outlines, metaphorical statements,
not for your intentional perusing,
but so that I can go out now, and be fully embodied within.

I am here,
me,
not you,
not you,
me.

hello sweet, sticky bourbon caramel sea salt donut!

I got sugar high,
then crashed,
but this seems to be life.

High up flying now,
you say you are sick,
and all I want to do is hug you and feed you soup.

But I am getting myself a job, a full on big girl pants job,
and I am focusing on this body, love. love. love,

and if you asked me if I said the words,
I would say,

look at my eyes,
I say them everyday, every second with every breath.