Kissing
and clawing.
Is it possible to devour a person with only your fingertips?

we're loving we're fighting we're feasting we're struggling.

We're pushing.
We're scratching the paint from all of the walls.

we're forgetting we're losing we're crumbling.

Confronted by reason,
we fall to pieces.

It's funny.

We were so convinced
instead
we were supposed to pull each other back together
again.

Some love is patient.
Some love is kind.
But just not always necessarily mine.
My love is urgent.
My love is fierce.
Like a memo not to be ignored;
like weaponry-
When readied can strike and pierce.
Some love does not envy, boast,
and it is never proud.
My love is capable of all of those things
and can be really ******* loud.
Some love is not easily angered
and keeps no record of wrong.
But my love flips **** sometimes and
has a list of grudges a mile long.
Some love does not delight in evil
and instead rejoices with the truth.
Well mine can play some twisted games
and deceives with the ease of impetuous youth.
My love can be difficult, irrational,
and devastatingly insecure,
but if you are fortunate enough to earn it,
it is guaranteed to
always protect,
always trust,
always hope,
And always persevere.

Each time my heart cracks
it just opens new spaces
for love to grow back.

Even in the spring
this city is so cold when
waking up alone.

Passion,
immediate and better (or worse) yet,
unable to be explained;
Not sparked or ignited
but rather somehow
instantly ablaze,
and consuming.
Selfish and relentless
it tore through our lives.
A force so potent, unforgiving,
and undeniably alive.
Violent and manic,
it forced us to believe,
magnetic,
that the universal powers that be
had something for us
waiting up their sleeves.
We trusted it,
followed it,
and tried to exploit every delight
while fighting and protesting,
falling victim to hope,
and subjecting logic to spite.
The rising crescendo was intoxicating,
aching escalation bringing us to this.
But who would have predicted
that this tremendous passion
would not explode
but rather fizzle out so abruptly
with a quick whimper and a brief final hiss?

Potential,
as opposed to the actual,
is just that:
an almost tangible force
of what could be.
Simply capable
of becoming or being-
the expression of possibility.
It goes hand-in-hand
with sometimes soaring
(and often heartbreaking) hope;
shares company
with expectation.
Waiting and wondering
to determine the likelihood
of something to develop.
Potential is promising
but never a promise
and in some cases
it is even a lie.
For there is no disappointment
deeper than having
a front row seat
to stand-by
and watch
potential be
ignored,
defeated,
and
quietly
dissolve
and
die.

You once told me sarsaparilla
was your favorite word.
I always thought it was a novel choice,
but I suppose I see the appeal of a word
with such delicious lightness.
And a crisp, definite end.
The word does not wander or linger,
but it simply concludes.
A final 'a'.
So many syllables for
a moderate number of letters, really.
They do not stumble over each other
but rather bubble softly,
bumping each other softly,
nonthreatening and soft.
As if just to make sure
the others are still there.
Comforted by what they find
they sink back into their place in line.
Sar-sa-pa-ril-a
The lazy sprawl of a word
that understands the importance
of understatement
and subtle complexity.
The silent letters
promising to keep our secrets safe
locked in with a whisper
only a word like this can offer.

Temperature gauge
above
20
for the first time in months.

But I've played this game before.
What's your angle, ND?

You,
darling,
are my longest
day
and my shortest
night.

getting day-drunk and
wallowing in self-loathing,
not only
welcomed
but
encouraged
(and more importantly-
                                         expected).

Conversation minefields,
to navigate
with only
the utmost care.
Talk about the weather
and whether
                       or not
"the game" will go the way you want,
the sitcom situation will reach resolution,
the recipe could use some almonds,
or cumin-
                     (or *****).

But avoid the specifics
at all costs.
Just remember:
School is
                "good."
                              Work is
                                             "busy."
                                                         Your husband/wife/bf/gf/partner/cat/landlord is
                                                              ­                                                                 ­                      "great."
                                                        ­
                                                                ­             You are
                                                                ­                "fine."
Just remember:
Today you are not
                                overwhelmed.
Your personal life is definitely not
                                                             in shambles.
Your financial situation is completely in order and not
                                                             ­                                   inadequate or
                                                              ­                                            hopeless or
                                                              ­                                                   causing insurmountable stress.
  Today,
                                                ­                             You are
                                                                ­                "fine."
So
laugh politely,
accept the guilt-trips,
roll your eyes only when they look away.
Know
they mean well.
                            (or at least pretend they do)
Reminisce and
overeat and
don't apologize.
Fight and bicker and debate.
Cheat at cards
(but don't get caught!)
and accept each other's flaws.

No matter what,
just remember what
is ultimately important-
Despite the criticism,
                                    the misunderstanding,
                                               ­                            the generation gaps,
                                                           ­                                                    the dysfunction,
                                                    ­                                                                 ­                      the disappointment,
                                                 ­                                          the unrealistic expectations,
                                                   ­              the heartbreak,
                                    the competition,
             the confusion,    
the pain.    
To have a family (no matter what form)
guarantees
you have a place you belong.
The place can be uncomfortable,
and small,
and unbelievably hard to find
and a nightmare to maintain
but it is yours,
so be grateful.

And revel in the strange and difficult and wonderful love only a family can offer.

I

Kissing you
was like tying my shoes.
(He said)
It was that automatic,
that natural.
It's true.
(He said)
I just want you.
(He said)

Your eyes so blue,
I'm overwhelmed and confused.
(He said)
I can't help but to lose my breath.
Can't help but to drown.
It's true.
(He said)
I just want you.
(He said)

Waking up with you
is all I want to do.
(He said)
Tangled up in each other.
Up in between sheets.
It's true.
(He said)
I just want you.
(He said)

I really just want you. (He pled)


II

I know,
but we're at the end of the road.
(She sighed)
This can't keep happening.
Can't be sustained.
I should go.
(She sighed)
We just need to let go.
(She sighed)

Even though,
I've never felt so comfortable.
(She sighed)
We fit together so snugly.
Our lives and legs  intertwined.
But I should go.
(She sighed)
We just need to let go.
(She sighed)

This just got so out of control.
I'm ******* miserable.
(She sighed)
I feel so conflicted.
Feel so confined.
So I should go.
(She sighed)
We just need to let go.
(She sighed)

We really just need to let go. (She tried)**
*I think we finally let go. (She lied)

If you need this much
reflection time,
just go buy a ******* mirror;

(I'm waiting)

Because while you're away
investigating,
I am quietly sitting here.

(Still waiting)

You once told me, over drinks, that
" 'first sight' isn't a thing."
I think at the time we actually agreed but
I guess we didn't think about
what that would ultimately mean because
now we still have to find an answer.

Then, how long does it take to fall in love?

The length of three movies we will never watch all the way through?
The time it takes to make a clever joke,
drink a few glasses of ****** wine,
or finally wash those **** dishes you are never motivated to do?
Long enough to roll my eyes a thousand times,
listen to a Radiohead album,
or battle three rounds of death rattles and the flu?
How about the amount it takes to share 100 cups of the best coffee,
finish a gallon of milk,
or to deliver the evening news?
Or maybe just the mere moments it took
to memorize your eyes and their exact shade of blue?

To determine the specific time length it takes to fall in love,
would be impossible,
and a definitive answer found, I would probably doubt,
but at the very least,
I can tell you that it is a hell of a lot less than
the painstaking time it is taking to fall back out.

What's the going exchange rate
for a heart/body, used?

You have the only phone
I have ever known
That only works at 3am.

How convenient.

Won't you scoop me up
into your arms as if you'll                                            
carry me to sleep?

To the student who called me a "stupid *****" in period 7 today:
It's okay.
I know you didn't do it because you wanted to hurt me,
but rather you have been hurt earlier
and you were just feeling frustrated.
It's okay.
I understand.
I hope tomorrow is better.

To the student who refused to work at all today:
It's okay.
I know you don't really think this class is "stupid"
but rather you were worried you looked stupid
and you were just feeling insecure.
It's okay.
I understand.
I can help you do it.

To the student who was out of control, obnoxious today:
It's okay.
I know you weren't trying to be disrespectful as the center of attention,
but rather you were really craving attention from an adult
and you were just feeling neglected and ignored.
It's okay.
I understand.
I see, hear, and appreciate you.

To the student who slept through my entire lecture today:
It's okay.
I know you aren't just lazy or refusing to care,
but rather there was no one at home last night to take care of you
and you were just feeling exhausted.
It's okay.
I understand.
I want you to rest.

To all the students who were with me in E18 today:
It's okay.
I know I will never really know exactly what you have been through
but rather I want to help you get through this day
and I am just feeling overwhelmed.
But I promise it's okay.
(With me)
You are understood.
You are safe.
You are important.
You are loved.

No amount of coffee exists,
to make today
seem okay.

breathe in,
                 breathe out,
know
         without doubt

i Love you.

Enough
ungraded papers
to make
a coffee table.
Hello, Sunday!

Pull your chest to mine.
Lets smash our hearts together.
Beats
        perfect
                   in time.

Tonight
I need violent words.
Not the soft, sweet whispers
of syllables
meant to comfort or console.
I require a certain salty vocabulary
that will stun and shock
and sting the eyes
of the unfortunate souls
who stumble upon it.
I seek the pieces necessary
to construct sentences
that send messages of
dissatisfaction and
distain.
I want to foam at the mouth
and inspire shame.
Tonight,
I need violent words.
to make you realize how small
you have forced me to feel
while manipulating you
to feel the same.

I'm in Love
with a man
whose love
for me
it seems
is wired
to a switch.
And
without warning
something
last night
caused it
once again
to flip.

It used to
lead me
to question,
if he gives
a **** at all-
But now
I just
passively wonder
how I go
about getting
one installed.

For solitude
is  less
intimidating,
than insecurity
and fear.
And laying
awake alone
is better
than company
that's
adjacent
but ultimately
insincere.

Even though
I should leave
I will place
my troubled
questions
in boxes
to forget
about tonight.
Endure the
deep breaths
and eye rolls
and stay
if only out
of sheer
stubbornness,
exhaustion,
or maybe
out of
spite.

Friday nights are the biggest lies
That I found adulthood has to offer.

We spend all of our week hopeful;
Clawing to catch up just to scoff at her.

Only to find when we arrive,
We're too exhausted to do anything but blow off her.

Walking hand in hand,
we made the streetlights go out.

I declare this a lazy Saturday.
We'll drink scotch in our underwear,
share cigarettes and stories on the stoop.
And just once pretend we have
absolutely nothing better to do.
Measuring the hours passed
with the pots of coffee
And the empty cups.
Affectionate insults, used as currency,
Cure  us of our quarter-life ruts.
We'll mix  nonsense
and narcissism,
A cocktail for the unrefined.
We'll talk pop culture and trade white lies
And leave adulthood sulking on the steps outside.

Snowflakes fall-
tiny, dancing razorblades,
to welcome me to Tuesday.

Please invent a tool
to measure the volume of
what the heart can hold.

"You overwhelm me Chelsea."
For someone so uncertain about so many things i am sure of that.
I think
( I speak I scream I want I need I curse I feel I fear)
I love
too much.
At least be comforted
that no one will ever be more overwhelmed with me
than me.

I AM A ******* ADULT.

At the very least, the status is implied
by the Jenga-tower
of (mostly unopened) envelopes
on top my refrigerator
(which is full of ingredients now,
occasionally,
instead of scraps or dead-end, quick-fix options)

My wine comes in bottles, now;
$6 bottles, on average, but still.
(though I maintain my
unconditional support of the
undeniable
economical benefits and efficiency offered
by pumping it into/out of a box)


Why is the measure of maturity exhaustion?


Two years ago, I bought a file cabinet,
for no other reason
than it seemed like the
'adult'
thing to do at the time.
Inside lies reams of papers
instinct tells me to save.
Some with impressive
time-sensitive, stamped, sealed, italicized importance.
Times New Roman.
PAY ATTENTION.

My plates don't match,
and technically until less than four months ago
I only had one bowl,
but i have a decent can opener and
measuring cups of various degrees.
-No ladle. -
(But how often does one really need a ******* ladle?)


Why is the measure of maturity exhaustion?


A queen-sized mattress
minimizes the volume of my
minimally-spaced apartment.
A point of pride last year
after the 24 it took to shake the twin-sized option.
Sheets with a thread count
low enough for my cat to count to
but I could get some throw pillows,
or a dust ruffle. (do people still have dust ruffles?!)

I am a ******* adult.
What a shock
to discover
from where I sleep on this red denim couch.
(Did I forget to mention, that
I only sleep in my bed like once a month?)
But I can see the file cabinet from here.
Doesn't that count for something?

**Why is the measure of maturity exhaustion?

Every day my face
remains intact,
chalk up to victory.

I am in love with a boy
I can only really love when he sleeps.
Once he wakes and starts to speak
We run into trouble.

The way he uses spite is appalling and
(quite frankly) impressive.
At the end of the day we are equals of the worst kind-
Weaknesses targeted
and terrorized.
Bent on destruction
of both each other and (most certainly) ourselves.
We pick and choose the rules.
Common decency means nothing.
What is common?
What is decent?

Why can't we just find a way to love each other that makes sense? (I frown)
Why does it have to make sense? (he pries)

But when he sleeps
It always seems rational and reasonable and
even sometimes doable.
Every movement, every whispered word, every muffled thought
dulled by dreams and expressed by snore.

Your breath is never regular.
You are never regular.

Please ignore the cigarette holes
Burned into my clothes.

I will always lie
And say they aren't mine.

But these secret smoke rings
Carry away unspeakable things
And tonight from this balcony
They are just what I need
to be fine.

i'm not
very patient
but to be fair,
you're not very kind.
i think we can agree that
things will even out over time.

You once told me
How much time you spent
Screaming "I'm sorry" at the stars.

I must admit that I am starting to see
The reason you need excessive apologies.

I woke up to see the fog had lifted.
Just another minor inconvenience
Brought to you by March in the Midwest.

The fog last night seemed calculated,
And dangerous
For those of us
Whose moods depend so largely on surroundings.

The fog has always unsettled me;
Dulled senses make me nervous.
The unfamiliar can prompt innovation and adventure,
But in the end, being lost just ******* *****.

If I could stop
This life's relentless clock
And split my very being;
Then exactly one-half
Would stay right on this path
All the while freeing-

The other part,
With a more curious heart,
And considerably bolder.
It would be content to sit,
Study the curve of your lips,
And rest its head on your shoulder.

I'm in Love with an *******.
It might sound harsh,
But its mostly just accurate.

He says his feeling for me are in a state of 'flux.'
He says a lot of things like that.

He thinks I repeat myself too often.
It's one of my many flaws he feels compelled to highlight
With alarming frequency.
But he says a lot of things like that.

He ***** me like he has something to prove though.
(Probably because he does.)
It's almost biblical ****; I swear
we can move mountains then.
Or more impossibly,
we can show each other we actually care.

The things his wandering hands can whisper to me
Coupled with the things his hips can scream
Give me brief moments to believe
this is real.

But then its over.
And it's back to
nit-picking
bickering
******* contests.

We will never be comfortable.
We will never behave.

We both know how this will end.

An endless loop.
The world's worst song on repeat.

He says a lot of things like that.