Becca Allen

“It ends or it doesn't.
That’s what you say. That’s
how you get through it.
The tunnel, the night,
the pain, the love.
It ends or it doesn't.
If the sun never comes up,
you find a way to live
without it.
If they don’t come back,
you sleep in the middle of the bed,
learn how to make enough coffee
for yourself alone.

Adapt. Adjust.
It ends or it doesn't.
It ends or it doesn't.
We do not perish.”
― Caitlyn Siehl

“Do not fall in love with people like me.
I will take you to museums, and parks, and monuments, and kiss you in every beautiful place, so that you can never go back to them without tasting me like blood in your mouth.
I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. And when I leave you will finally understand, why storms are named after people.”
― Caitlyn Siehl, Literary Sexts: A Collection of Short & Sexy Love Poems

“DO NOT FALL IN LOVE WITH PEOPLE LIKE ME
Do not fall in love with people like me.
People like me will love you so hard
that you turn into stone,
into a statue where people come to marvel at how long
it must have taken to carve that faraway look into your eyes.

Do not fall in love with people like me.
We will take you to museums and parks and monuments
and kiss you in every beautiful place
so that you can never go back to them
without tasting us like blood in your mouth.

Do not come any closer.
People like me are bombs.
When our time is up, we will splatter loss all over your walls
in angry colors that make you wish your doorway
never learned our name.

Do not fall in love with people like me.
With the lonely ones.
We will forget our own names if it means learning yours.
We will make you think that hurricanes are gentle,
that pain is a gift.

You will get lost in the desperation, in the longing
for something that is always reaching,
but never able to hold.

Do not fall in love with people like me.
We will destroy your apartment.
We will throw apologies at you that shatter on the floor
and cut your feet.
We will never learn how to be soft.
We will leave.
We always do.”
― Caitlyn Siehl, What We Buried