Friday Poetry: "The Cartographer"

Hello friends! This week's Friday Poetry, entitled “The Cartographer”, was inspired by a friend of mine who shared with me a beautiful song that he wrote. I've been playing it on repeat for the past week and wrote this yesterday, along with a couple of other pieces that are a bit more personal (but also inspired by the same song).

This one is completely fictional, and it's something I don't really write about often, so I would love to hear your thoughts and interpretations! (My friend didn't want me to post the song here, but I'm working on it—I'll let you guys know if I succeed in wearing him down :))

Have a lovely weekend, everyone! xx

The Cartographer

you touch me as if I am a masterpiece:
worshipful, like there are secrets hidden
beneath my skin and you have all the
time in the world to tease them out of my
tangled veins. I have never been one to lie
to myself, but there is a wonder in your
eyes that I am not quite sure how to fathom.
you spread your hands across my body like
you are crafting a beginning or an ending.
maybe both.

but there are hurricanes swirling in my bones,
mountains raising on my skin. I have been burned
so many times before, forest fires raging across my
topography. you seem oblivious to the hitches in
my breath as you run your fingers across the valleys
of ghosts long since vanished. your hands are on
my ribcage, words unspoken, waiting for my quiet
breaths to reveal answers to questions I didn’t know
you were asking.

I have never been one to lie to myself, but
oh so suddenly I want to open my ribcage and
let you into this dark dark cavity where no one else
has ventured. perhaps there is a space for you there,
reverent in ways that should be reserved for
moonless nights and flashes of angel wing. perhaps we
could stay like this, with you mapping out the scarred
landscape of my body. touching me like my shattered
pieces hold beauty. listening to my shivering heartbeat.

in this moment I am tethered to the earth by the
sound of your silent wonder and the shape of the
impossibility that forms it.