i accidentally typed "ana" instead of my full, real name
into the blank document.

and for a brief moment, i felt like a different person,
like i assumed the persona, the qualities, the life of whoever "Ana" would be.

and in that brief moment,
i felt real, counterfeit, foreign, familiar, and birthed anew. . .

he's a soft place to land,
where the black doesn't turn white
but gray at the very least.

he is the comma in a sentence,
the moment amidst the story
and every time after.

he uses our friendship
to end debates,
his bathroom soap smells sweet like sticky dates.

the world moves south but we go north,
against the current
and we're heading straight for the storm.

a gut-wrench. stomach tumbling like an olympic gymnast. butterflies (not the good kind). feeling the wind being squeezed out of my lungs by hurt like a go-gurt tube in a toddler's merciless grip. the sweet taste of cinnamon coffee cake turns sour in my mouth like month-old freshly churned butter. speechless (not the good kind). my eyes become kaleidoscopes. i knead the ball of socks in my hands that i was in the middle of putting away. "hello?" he said on the other end of the line. but i cannot move. i cannot speak. i cannot breathe. i can only feel. feel the panic. the way it moves...creeps and seeps into every crack and crevice of my bones, blood-filled veins from limb to limb. the panic that i may not be enough. i can only think. think too much. think too much. think too much.

and i miss you 'fore we ever say goodbye
goodbye
and we never had a clue
goodbye
i was never enough for you
goodbye
was there ever something i could do?
goodbye
further apart, apart we grew
goodbye
and i would cry myself askew
goodbye
but now i see myself anew
goodbye
goodbye
goodbye. . .

to feel unloved so he can tell me how much i am loved.
pancakes stacked to my nose, dripping with maple syrup and sprinkled with junk.
a retirement party before i have even graduated.
a wall of blue china plates, the ones with the pictures of snowy
                                                                ­  barns, cows, and bridges.
a whiff of him--plastic ziplock bags, overripe banana, and cologne.
a short-lived sin, intentions so pure it doesn't count.
yellowing pages and broken spines floor-to-ceiling.
a love for my mother, one without fear, fire, or fury.
a sun so generous, that i forget what november ever felt like.

cherry-vanilla soda instead of strawberry vanilla

i drew a heart next to my belly button in navy ink

he never asked me how my day was.

i heard the geese fly by at midnight, peculiar but lovely

the air smelled of october

october: hay, orchard, football games that ended a week or two ago, bittersweetness, and fine droplets suspended in the atmosphere

desserts taunt and temp me but i stay away for now.

easter is not on april fool's day this year

but it's still His best trick yet.

my fingertips dry and raw from flipping through so many pages

she licks my hands until they're clean

"death, he is not mean."

i rearranged my vanity, displayed my new perfume

bought myself flowers to lighten up my sanity

i couldn't see the moon tonight, is that why there's been no gravity?

no gravity for the thoughts

i wish i could say they come & go as they please but they never really go.

i'm thinking about those little white pills again.

sleeping dust: lavender, chamomile, tonka, benzoin...soft like dandelion, smooth like milk slipping down silk

the childhood bird coos and suddenly, i feel better

spring is still cold but warm.

i want to be the sun, i want to be the breeze...

i want the monarchs & swallowtails, the lawn mowers & never-ending birdsongs...

today we laughed as hard as we could, "mission impossible style"

a love letter lost, laying on the ground

anonymous but sacred.

i wish it would feel like it did all the time.

i don't know what happened.

the ambulance screams.

i lay blinking in the moon-less dark.

my thighs warm against my stomach.

but for the first time, i know the only one who can free me, is me.

my head was pounding with nothing, nothing but everything and nothing but everything all
at once, all at once the revolving door revolves again, no revolver to my head, no escape and no
soft bed, i thought my head was in the clear i thought everything had turned to nothing but is
nothing ever in the clear? i know, now i know there is no trigger to pull but the one that’s
already inside my head, inside my head the monsters wake, they taunt they pull they push they
prowl, preying on the “mind-killer”, fear, fear is what i fear, it eats it gnaws it rips it digs
a hole, a spiral hole, a hole with ridges to craft illusion that i’m burning bridges, when i am
actually building it stronger, solidified, worried, i make a frenzied dash out of the brief opening, the
opening that teases a sweet escape a sweet brain a sweet artery a sweet lung a sweet forever
that goes on forever until everything becomes nothing, there is no escape no escape from this
revolution this mind-killer this past this pattern this pool, pool of blood, pool of the same old
stab same old loud eyes same old breathlessness same old heart-race same old panic same
old irrational-rational darkness same old thought-spaghetti same old doubts same old destruction
same old replay of dagger-words same old over and over same old everything same old nothing