it's valentines day
and there's this boy

he's got blue eyes
wears olive green
and this monogrammed
color pooled scarf in
red heart mexicana
that his grandma knit

(i'm also wearing olive
green with denim and
lace -- a skirt?? but
diggity **** he's looking!
i picked this outfit not
knowing it was the precise
shade of green made for
storming beaches on v-day)

i've been making his
espresso since last august
but today he came around
the back of the counter
to make it and chat so
i gave him some pie

...pie
many successful
relationships have
started with pie

(mental note: 2/14/17, 11:30
underbaked coconut custard)

it might be the 8oz
***** chai with
three shots espresso
making my stomach
flitter or it might be
him not the oven

that's got my cheeks
spotted with lightly
browned freckles and
cinnamon flavored blush

(he's a cook
i'm a baker
doesn't that
work somehow?)

***** it
now i've got a
heart shaped
pink polka dotted
sugary royal icing
cookie cutter crush.

Here I am

by the sea

Shanghaied

from the mountains

a long ways

from loving

let the record read

I'm ****** if I don't

and ****** if I do

and let the moon

hide in my boot.

i guess all of us get
scared sometimes

some in front of
raging bulls and
snarling lions

and others in front of
crosswalk signs and
slightly raised expectations

either it's the flight or fight
response gone wrong or
worse yet a symptom
of the human condition

i wish my parents had
loved me enough
or just had enough
good sense

to put me on a diet when
i was nine years old

because now that i'm
older i can say with
certainty that i would
have rather grown up
thinner and slightly
worse for the wear

than grow up the
way i did
(fat)
and be the way i
am now
(fat)

because i ended up
distorted and
unhappy even though
they told me i was lovely

and i would rather
have had me miserable
and skinny rather than
miserable and fat

i only wish they had
told me the truth
instead of letting me
discover for myself

it's not me
pushing you
away except
it actually is me

it's the kind of
morning that the
wind is blowing
just right so that
the open flag
flutters in front
of the window
where i can see it

the kind of morning
i don't need coffee
and i try not to
think about

it too
much

(i just wanted to
be the girl in
an owl city song)

pacing back and
forth in straight
lines and gritting
my teeth against
an onslaught of
small town gunfire

(i'll bet annmarie
never had scars
or scratches
brielle didn't cry
and shake for
hours thinking
how to end it all
it turned out
okay for anna
and vienna probably
knew how to dance
between the snowflakes
and underneath her regret)

i've never been good at
drowning out thoughts
they just get louder the
longer time rolls on

good at rolling out
cookie dough and
good at drowning
in dishwater when
the brownie batter's
baking and the bowl
needs washing when
nobody's looking

(i've had moments
here and there in golden
sneakers and navy blue
lace covered dresses
but i'm not the girl
in an owl city song
not something worth
writing dreamy poems
about not so lovestruck you
replace your words with dada)

girls like me wear flannel
khaki too much day old
eyeliner too many day old
scones have half heads of weird
colored hair and spend valentines
day alone watching tv

so maybe why i'm bitter
as the inside of a lemon is
that i'll never be able to change
to someone drenched in verbena
spinning through the sunny
skies between your fingers