Maps Are Dumb.

I press my finger flat against the map,
momentarily tempted to push straight through
but it wouldn't do any good.
The length of two knuckles- there are small scars
littering this hand, compounding papercuts and
childhood mistakes-
two knuckles and over two hundred miles.
I can't think of anything else lately,
I'm being eaten by a beast
and these miles are teeth.
Distance is my boulder,
and I am always struggling
uphill.



---
Fun Fact-
I am a terrible navigator.
Not-so-fun-fact-
less than half my soulfriends (and regular friends!) are living in my home state.
I have a bad habit of making friends with people when I travel someplace... which certainly doesn't help!

Enough

What is love if it is gone,
if it is absent from the
space beside me,
if it is stretched between
us almost to the point
of breaking? It is a string,
a road, a letter or
a short call just to say hello.
It hides in the
small moments and shines
in them, like a child’s nightlight
or a candle in the window. So
from me to you, I send love.
I hope it is enough.






Yet another poem about long-distance. I am so original.
It's the thought that counts? ♥

Bridge

These tendons stretch to no avail-
my muscles were not made this long,
to push against the bonds
of distance and fail,
falter, try again
and fail. The aching in my very bones
to grow, like a dried sponge
put in water- to expand and fill
every empty nook and cranny until
there is no part of the world
that I cannot be; saying,
“There there, I’m here. Please,
have some tea and cookies and my love.”
But
I was born human, not a bridge-
these are the things
we must build and cross,
and I am still at a loss.






Maybe flowed better all in one piece, but oh well.

Just found this as a draft, to be honest. Kinda forgot it was there. This is back from October! Better late than never.

Pressing

I can feel the distance growing like a solid thing,
a coil around my lungs that keeps on tightening
until it's a struggle to keep breathing.
The weight of it presses against my eyes like
fat greedy fingers fighting to find the hidden prize.
I try to push back, but the pressure holds fast.
"My Dear," Distance laughs,
"You could never fight me! I am constantly
a threat, and we'll inevitably meet
again." I wanted to forget those words, but they
itched in my chest and burned my soul with truth.
Now I feel them every time I say goodbye,
and often when I'm missing you.







Awwwww.
I can't seem to stop writing this kind of poem, possibly because I feel guilty for not keeping in touch/ visiting all of my friends.