in another life
i wear clay beneath my fingernails
and linen pants around my hips
fastened with a braided leather belt
rescued from my mother’s closet
one she wore in the eighties
when she met my father on the seaside of france
i carry flowers from the corner
down a gum-stained sidewalk
past the park i fell asleep in during one
slow sunday afternoon
there are cherry red stains on my pillow
some from my lips, some not
i’ve never been in love
but i’ve never felt alone
my nose is slender
and my collarbones flaunt themselves
beneath tanned skin
i am someone who drinks ***** and
orange juice while watering my plants
a longhaired cat licks its paws
in the windowsill
as i lie naked in the sunlight
reading tolstoy and kerouac
and obscure poetry introduced
by the neighbor in 4F
none of it matters
i am just like a cloud
like a creaking step
i share myself only through
spearmint breath and coffee dates
here are my sweaty palms
here are my uneven bangs
you will never know me

why do i crumble
fall into pieces of
oats and sugar
something beautiful
in a white bowl, but
a mess on the floor
when i wake up
in an empty house
why do i wither like
brown leaves
under brand new and
borrowed boots atop
autumn sidewalks
when i’m alone,
i’m alone,
i’m alone
it is not enough
to eat breakfast
however small
to wash my hair with
coconut milk
to not step out into
the busy street;
i freeze before the ice
touches me
i do not allow
the chance to warm
my own hands
i lie down, on
***** sheets,
and wait for someone
anyone
anything
to awaken me

i have forgotten
to linger 
in love 
with you
in a past life
wanting only 
to be found worthy 
of your affection
revere your touch as holy
like goosebumps 
in the italian sun
to write melodies
and ballads
and captions
not of purity, not of beauty
but of how you make me feel
forget all the rest
all the fighting
all the ugly
all the words
we didn’t mean
for i am ill 
when you are not around
and it is poetic enough
that you are broken 
yet you are
what makes me whole

one day
it will be easy to breathe
my lungs will inhale flowers
and honey
it will be second nature
like riding a bicycle
like tying a shoe
like swallowing a pill
and i will hold on
tightly and
with shaking hands
until then

i do not feel compassion
for the man who made me
learn what it means to survive,
to come out the other side
with wounds that hide under
repressed skin, only to reveal themselves
as silence or black ice caught in
a flash of remembering;
i do not wonder what made him this way
think, did his mother hug him enough
when i hear his voice echoing
in nightmares where i cannot scream
and my legs feel like lead
burdened by the weight of all this baggage,
a torn up suitcase
filled with blood red bricks—
it does not meet the carry-on weight limit
and
i cannot unpack it.

you wait for it to come
that aching feeling,
that sinking feeling

like waking up
after running a marathon
you didn’t train for;
like all the ocean is
in your lungs

but then you take a breath
another one, another one
until all of the sky is
in your lungs

and after a very, very
long winter
of bitter snow and
frostbitten feeling

the sun hits you
just barely
just enough to turn
your skin a shade
of golden

and everything
is okay

it feels like pulling fabric out of drawers
and none of it fits
last night, you put everything in the dryer
and fell asleep while
the things you thought you knew
tumbled and knotted and turned into
an unfamiliar mess

it feels like a bumblebee landing on your shoulder
you’re supposed to stay still
and wait for it to move on
until it realizes you are not a flower
it doesn’t
it stays and buzzes in your ear until
you turn to dust or learn to scream

but then, one day
it’ll feel like waking up to
rays of sun through the window
when you haven’t slept in weeks

like forgotten pocket change
like a present on your half-birthday
like an entire april without rain

and it’ll feel like
it was always there—
you’d just forgotten
to turn the light on

just as the sun rises without fail
even when the world feels like it’s ending
like it couldn’t possibly still be filled
with light
one day, it’ll hurt less
it’ll feel more like a good memory
and less like
being stuck in a bad dream
and it’s impossible to understand why bad things happen
how they could possibly be turned into good
but you’ll doggy-ear pages
and write down notes in your phone
notes that look like prayers but sound like hope
and you’ll smile and smile and smile
and smile and smile and smile
because to ache is to have known love

and to love
is to live—
infinitely.

some knobs come without locks
they live in houses where
the windows and doors are open
through every hour of the day
bees and flower petals
float through the open air
the cat comes and goes as it pleases

even when the seasons change
when the weather brings a gentle snow
the covers the floors in white
remember the beauty
of living without deadbolts
of walking into old spaces whenever
the sky reminds you through
contorted clouds

you do not need to pack it all up in boxes
to mop the floor, to sell the couch
you can keep the door open
as long
as you like

we are taught by the rain

the soft water,
the heavy tears

a mother who runs a bath, without asking
she just knows

trench coats are worn only if you care
about getting wet

when you swim in the ocean,
you do not know the difference

learn
to float

to catch the droplets
on your tongue

to run naked through puddles
forget your galoshes at home

and you will understand

i am envious
of what you have,
but not
of who you are

regardless,
it withers me

instead of watching
your garden grow, even if
i find it
utterly dull;

perhaps,
i should start digging up
the earth in my own,
neglected plot

and observe
what becomes

who would have thought i would become so obsessed with clean? not
my mother, who’d nag me to pick up all the clothes scattered across
my bedroom nearly every day of ninth grade. we rarely saw the floor.
i’d sleep beneath books and laundry on my half-made bed. now i
scrub dishes, scrub counters, scrub the floor at night because i can’t
stand the thought of a ***** kitchen—little cockroaches scurrying
in and out of pots and pans. my home smells of lavender oil, a soft
mist, air cleansed by a pink-glowing himalayan salt lamp and plants
in the living room. now i put things away in drawers, close doors of
rooms that are the slightest bit messy. now i straighten books on the
coffee table, set the remotes parallel to one another, everything must
be in place. now i floss, wash my face every night, stare in the mirror
and repeat i am clean, i am clean, i am clean. now i burn my skin in the
shower, inhale the steam until my breathing is slow and my sinuses
are clear. i am clean, i am clean, i am clean. now i fold the laundry, stack
our clothes into two piles, his and mine. i make our bed, i organize
our shoes by the door, i kiss the man i love goodnight. i am clean, i am
clean, i am clean. i know what my father must think, i know he loses
sleep, i know there are holes in his tongue where his teeth have made
a home. i am clean, i am clean, i am clean. i know he wishes i still went
to church, wishes my boyfriend believed in a god, wishes i was clean.
i am clean, i am clean.

this is
your open field
this is
where you lie on your back
on a fluffy, plaid duvet
eating strawberries
forgetting the sound of honking cars
and car alarms
this is your studio
replace the clay with bars of soap
paintbrushes with shampoo bottles
write your thoughts on fogged glass
lists of run-on sentences, scribbled
without inhibition
this is where the water runs off
your shoulders
this is where you reflect
it is not poetic
it is quiet, it is ordinary
knots of hair from gushing wind
smoothed over with aloe conditioner
everything is spinning, but here it slows
this is where you pause
this is where you breathe
this is where you begin again

you and i
broken windows
open only to embrace the
soft morning dirt
born with poison on our lips
devouring the universe
in small breaths
wondering why the days
feel so dizzy
again and again and again
there are no flowers here
there is nothing to help them grow

80 degrees in the shade
with a breeze
by a pond with a fountain
sprinkling
overalls over calvin klein
underwear
on a thursday afternoon
in the summer
far away from an old home
closer to a new home
free,
        free,
                free

the roads are wet
i don’t know when it rained
maybe i’m not
a writer anymore
maybe i stopped
paying attention
maybe i left
behind all wonder
in my adolescence
maybe i forgot
how to find meaning
in ordinary things
flowery air
and lemonade
gingham dresses
and handwritten
letters covered in
glitter and cursive
maybe i need
to read more books
and take more walks
and spin more
beach house records
then, maybe then i’ll find
stars in blue irises
and messy hair again

with skin of ivory
that blushes at the sight of sun
even when the clouds are out,
i turn into a silly shade of pink
          with a heart that drops
falls down, down, down
into a rabbit hole
at the sight of anything
remotely shattering,
gasping at little cracks on the sidewalk
carefully tiptoeing around bumblebees
          with lungs that fill with cotton
in fear of a hansel and gretel gingerbread house;
lead me to the witch
where i will cry and wonder,
“how did i get here?”
and forget about
all the gumdrops in my stomach
          with poise that only lasts seconds
in the face of spiders,
they crawl into my mouth
kept there until given the chance to spit
them back into your face
          i will hold my breath
and picture fields of lavender
where a tanned girl spins carelessly
until my tissue-paper limbs
learn how to hold me up

everything is in boxes
in my mother’s house
in my father’s house
in the back of my trunk
different things in each of them
books and vinyl
jesus, innocence, mirrors
paintings that my little brother and sister
made for me at school
and i can’t find my journal in any of them
i didn’t used to have to tie strings
around my pinkies
to remind myself to breathe in words
i used to write too much
with ink smears tattooed on the
side of my left hand
i carried it around
******* on my fingers
tasting the poetry drip
from my mouth like sticky mango juice
and people read it
and my muses hated me
and i didn’t even have to try

lulls of silence—
wide-open meditative spaces
where everything is washed
and vacant,
stretching on into pale skies
in every direction,
void of anything
it is lonely, maddening,
a desert, my home
where i feel very small,
where there is nothing
to run towards—
they haunt me like shadows looming
on bedroom ceilings
above twin beds,
where i lie below, motionless
with a dream catcher
hanging on the wall above
my messy, braided hair and
chapped lips buried
into a pillow,
empty

“you’ve changed.”

digs itself between your ribs
gripped by the hands of someone
who had already painted their portrait of you
but then you came along and sprinkled
rose-colored glitter across your cheeks
dragged sky-blue painted fingertips
down the sides of your face
exhale deeply
dust off your hands
different looks like ghosts to some;
they don’t see people as perennial flowers, ones that
bloom in the summer, but wither by winter
only to bud again as something new in the spring
they assume autumn’s mess of orange and brown is the
end—
that things cannot be reborn
so clenched fists punch holes through canvas
leaving red-glittered knuckles and
spit that looks like teardrops
without considering that maybe blue
has always been your color

an afternoon accompanied by
rushing water and rustling trees,
the scent of a spruce candle burning,
i recalled that fire is often described as
something unapologetic,
a force that burns through forests
with resilience, and power, and no inclination to look
back; this is something i’ve spent my whole life trying
to be

but i saw myself in the flame of a candle
burning in a different light,
i saw something soft, and warm, and calm
something reborn, consumed
whipping itself back and forth as the wind blows it,
dancing from side to side like an eager child
it makes no effort to keep still
it accepts the movement, the wind, the chaos
and as it lets itself go,
as the wax melts down
slowly
          slowly
                    slowly
it glows.

i am overwhelmingly in love and it is the most peaceful yet
exhilarating feeling in the entire world. i feel like rain, a tornado, and
the sun peeking out from behind the clouds after a violent storm,
all at the same time. i am a mess of contentment and wonder.
he is all i’ve ever wanted.

i was sixteen, you were pretending
young and lonely, someone else
my imaginary friend,
who was never really a friend

deep in the shadows, you lurk,
a memory that won’t repress,
you were a distraction
from my mess of a reality, a place
to freely feel, although it was ugly

a mess
apart from
a mess

one that was okay because
it didn’t really exist,
a black-and-white silent film,
spinning on the screen and then forgotten,
i could turn it off and it would
be gone, you would be gone, you are gone

but you were never really there,
and i lie here motionless
caressing the memories of a ghost

i always regret the nights i stay awake
for no reason at all
except to trace and retrace every fear
that lies awake on my chest
the evening grows closer to the sun
and more unproductive
c h  o   p     p      e      d
into little bits where the light creeps in
a hazy glow, lost memories that are insignificant
and not much of a loss
down feathers scattered across an orange sunrise
and pillows piled on top of piercing silence
all i wish
is to be asleep
tucked into a dreamland
where nothing can excite me

i have a crush on a boy
but i’m afraid of hurting his feelings
because ever since late january
i feel like i don’t really have any myself
just logic to judge
no emotions to indicate
he says he needs to be careful with his heart
and being cautious may pay off in the end
you may end up with less
fingerprints and teeth marks on your ribs
but right now i have no interest
in anyone who doesn’t
want to let feeling consume them
to chase their impulses
into the dark, by the pond behind my house
maybe you should have kissed me

i’m not sure how artists have the patience
to sculpt marble slabs into gods
or why they feel it’s worth their time

but i do know that
the nights i stay up until 3 a.m. are usually the worst
and the mornings i wake up at 8 a.m. are usually the
best

and that it’s worth the money to buy a decent mattress
instead of losing sleep on fiscal responsibility
and i feel grown-up having wrapping paper in my closet
and extra birthday cards in my desk

and i might always be crazy
always holding on to pieces of the past
tacking them to my bedroom walls
and pretending it’s okay that i still think about it all

but i won’t forget that some people are brave enough
to put on big white suits and fishbowl helmets and leave
their families to go walk on the moon
or that i flew on a plane by myself even though i was
absolutely petrified of being alone in the sky
or that spring exists,
and that winter cannot, and will not, last forever

you are not a hospital room
you don’t have to keep everything
pure-white and sterile

you are ugly red clay on the walls
covering up your bruises with
pink cotton-candy fluff and
bright yellow smiley-face stickers
that you saved from first grade
living out of your car
and calling it a slumber party; sleep-away camp
far away from the monsters beneath your bed

you don’t have to paint your cheeks
with roses, leaving out parts of you like
a mad libs story we played to pass the time
on long car rides to the coast

we can sit in silence
while the world around us buzzes
with all its uncertain chaos and
my soul will find yours
in the space that rests above
this mess of existing

i’m in a constant battle with reality and pretend
with who i am, who i want to be,
and who i wish i could be

with picking up the pieces, painting portraits of something
strong, something whole,
something to be proud of
and shattering crystal vases on wooden floors

while smiling, without blinking
with seeing just how far i can run away from myself
without forgetting myself

i lie in my bed, and i sip my tea
and it feels like the rain outside is going to
swallow me whole

and i’m happy
and i’m sad
and i’m panicked
and i’m trapped
and i’m everything
and i’m scared

and the sky is dark
blue and the night is
so dizzy

          and so am i

and i’ve forgotten how to exist

the panic begins at night
and it follows me through
the day,
anchors me to my bedroom
floor when everyone begins to
shut their doors and turn out their
lights

my ceiling doesn’t look like
a galaxy, or even just a
ceiling, it feels like a hand
lowering
itself, slowly,
until i’m stuck beneath fingernails

i change my sheets, bathe my dog,
it lingers inside my throat
my twin mattress feels like i’m
drowning in a bathtub

there are tan lines on my
shoulders where your arms should be

in my house, i’m not alone,
but when the moon is in the sky,
and my friends are in their beds,
and these incessant thoughts
are in my head,

i might as well be

i want to keep falling asleep to your voice till the world stops existing.
i wish i could dissolve up out of my body and take a photo from
above of me lying here, arms outstretched and duvet covering
most of me except for a few strands of hair peeking out because
then you could see how tired i am, i am so tired.

you make so much sense
amidst the tangled vines of
learning and unlearning
please don’t go before i get better

life is too
fleeting
and beautiful
to hide away in
a green overgrowth
of escapism

the unease is temporary
the shaking
will wash away
like bird **** flowing down
the side of a car door
in the warm bath of
a summer
storm

but the habit
of escapism
lingers, always
outstaying its welcome
taking your leftovers
from an empty fridge
without asking

yet, the momentary aching
melts away
in the bliss of sunlight

so, breathe.
be.
give in
to the freedom
of what is fated
apart from
grinding teeth and
collapsed shoulders

it either will
or will not

so be there
here
now
in spite of everything
that could
or could not
be.

everything is covered in ****
i step in it, i sleep in it
i feel it running down my back in the
lukewarm shower
my slippers are sopping wet

right eye is red and stinging
it feels like nothing is clean

there are no black lights
i cannot find every stain to
kneel in front of with paper towels
and blot until **** and saltwater blend
so i mop the entire floor

throw away the couch;
i was never told it gets so hard to feel clean

does your skin ever melt into the mirror
do your palms ever reach the other side
will these reflections ever make sense
ever feel familiar
ever seem right
whole
on purpose

do you find yourself, one day
staring back, unsurprised
thinking, i know her well
able to plaster her on billboards and
not shiver with questioned identity

because i am terrified
i’ll never look like the person
i hope to see when i squeeze my eyes shut

will they ever open

there are ladybugs crawling all over my mother’s house
or maybe it’s my stepfather’s house
or my brother and sister’s house
it’s someone’s house, it’s not mine
there are ladybugs scaling the window panes
and upside down, polka-dotted carcasses
lining the kitchen floor
the faucet is dripping
it has been for years
you dream of growing up in a house with a
fireplace in the living room
you forget that you might live there with people who
won’t fix it
they grow cold instead
they throw cardboard boxes over the side of the front porch
and pungent trash bags into a rusting and dented trunk
the basement is unfinished, filled with dead mice
and god knows what else
the washer trembles when it’s off balance
it won’t stop till you rearrange the soaking threads
there’s a yard full of untrodden grass

it looks so large and whole from the outside

but there are holes in the walls
the size of doorknobs and fists

i would really like to go home

a small, fading hickey on my left
breast
reminds me that
you’re
the
best
even when i’m picking my face
in front of a ***** bathroom mirror
shirtless and un-showered and smelling of
cat ****
you’re the best
even when you’re the worst
even when you scream and criticize and
bleed
you are trying and you’re human and
you
see
me
you’re the best
because you care enough to grab my hand and
hold it
when you see that i’m digging my fingernail
into the side of my thumb
you’re the best
you leave marks on my chest
because i told you that i liked it once,
forever ago

i’ve given up on days that begin in late afternoon,
skipped breakfast and lunch,
days that fade slowly and end with
****** cut-out holes in eyelids because
the second i close them and it all goes black,
every moment with you comes back
played on fast-forward, the memories moving so quickly
that both our faces are blurred
and it feels like everything i’ve ever felt for you
is overflowing the tub, filling the washroom with
suds that take forever to melt

i’ve given up on those days.

i’ve traded them for ones that begin with
sunrises instead of sunsets,
days that are spent falling forward
instead of trying to chase the past, and i don’t
look back and see something broken, or
something that was better off left unopened

i look back and see our bodies so close together
that you can’t tell where yours begins and mine ends,
i see my heart that grew twenty-three times its size,
i see you and me wrapped up in something that
i didn’t know existed outside of blurry 35 mm
and overdue and falling-apart library books
that sit on the nightstands of middle-aged women
who are bored with their lives

and i’m just so happy i got to love you at all.

but i’ve folded up all the days spent with you
and taped them in the messy pages of my journal
and now i’m running into the sun,
running away from every lie that’s trying to
wedge its way in between my ribs,
running in the opposite direction of words like "regret"
and any feeling that insists that none of it was worth it

because all of it was worth it.

every moment we were together pumps
through my veins, and it will always be there;
it will be there when we’ve both graduated,
when you move out west,
when you kiss your family goodnight,
when you sit in your backyard with tears
in your eyes because you’ve lived a life
you are proud of

it will be there when i finally make it to new york city,
when i kiss someone who isn’t you,
when i find the answers you inspired me to search for,
when i sit on my rooftop with tears on my cheeks
because i’ve lived a life fuller than i could’ve ever imagined

and you and i will live these lives apart,
we’ll move on and forget what it felt like
to wake up beside one another;
we’ll find what we’re looking for elsewhere
and we’ll understand why this all had to happen the way that it did

but what we had will always exist somewhere,
in rotting apples and old mail and unplayed mix CDs,
in mosaics that line the city streets, in sirens and
red and white flashing lights that shine through
your window while you are asleep

you and i were magic,
we always will be.

I am slowly learning to disregard the insatiable desire to be special. I think it began, the soft piano ballad of epiphanic freedom that danced in my head, when you mentioned that “Van Gogh was her thing” while I stood there in my overall dress, admiring his sunflowers at the art museum. And then again on South Street, while we thumbed through old records and I picked up Morrissey and you mentioned her name like it was stuck in your teeth. Each time, I felt a paintbrush on my cheeks, covering my skin in grey and fading me into a quiet, concealed background that hummed “everything you’ve ever loved has been loved before, and everything you are has already been,” on an endless loop. It echoed in your wrists that I stared at, walking (home) in the middle of the street, and I felt like a ghost moving forward in an eternal line, waiting to haunt anyone who thought I was worth it. But no one keeps my name folded in their wallet. Only girls who are able to carve their names into paintings and vinyl live in pockets and dust bunnies and bathroom mirrors. And so be it, that I am grey and humming in the background. I am forgotten Sundays and chipped fingernail polish and borrowed sheets. I’m the song you’ll get stuck in your head, but it will remind you of someone else. I am 2 in the afternoon, I am the last day of winter, I am a face on the sidewalk that won’t show up in your dreams. And I am everywhere, and I am nothing at all.

It terrifies me that we only get a limited amount of time with people. And that some people get more time than others who should have. I’m forever envious of those who’ve gotten more time with you than I have. That I may never get to be with you as long as they have. That our time is running out. And I miss you already. And I never want to say goodbye. At first it was slow, late nights in your car and afternoons in my bedroom. But now it feels like it’s happening all at once, like you’re doing a snow angel on my heart and it keeps getting bigger and bigger. Kissing on the sidewalk, holding hands in your coat pocket because I forgot to bring gloves. Wandering around museums and having hard conversations on your couch that make me love you even more; even when the air becomes glass, I can’t stop thinking about how lucky I feel to know you. That there’s no one else like you. My heart aches in your arms and aches when we’re apart. And I just want to be as close to you as possible, for as long as possible, because you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, and I love who I am when I’m with you.

you are the song
i want to listen to
in that cliché and timeless
3am moment on the highway
windows rolled
down with the
potential-filled and empty
yet comforting indigo
sky blowing past,
only car on the road
just us, me with my
feet up on the dash,
fingers interlocked with
yours on my lap,
headlights illuminating
the road and trees
ahead, can’t think about
anything else except
for the pulse of the night
and cold air on my skin
and oh God
this is my life and
i feel so alive

my stomach is in knots
and i feel so sick thinking about you
holding anyone that isn’t me
and i don’t understand why you thought it’d be a good idea
to tell me that you’re falling asleep at night
with another girl in your bed,
even if you’re not kissing her goodnight,
i tried to drown out my sobs all day with
modern vampires of the city on vinyl,
but it still feels like someone
sunk fangs in my lungs

it’s only been a week, the cuts from your nails
from holding my heart so tight
are still fresh
and i never asked you to stop,
i never told you i wanted to try
to be more than friends again,
i never tried to paint your hands red,
but all you could seem to do is defend
yourself and repeat that you’ve done nothing wrong
“you said we’re just friends
you said we’re just friends
you said we’re just friends”

and we are just friends
i just wanted you to understand and acknowledge
that it still hurts

and you can say you’re sorry, you said sorry,
but i’m sure she’s tucked in beneath your sheets right now
and you’re still repeating in your head
i’ve done nothing wrong
i’ve done nothing wrong
i’ve done nothing wrong
we’re just friends
we’re just friends
we’re just friends

and i’m glad you’re comfortable,
i’m glad you know you’ve done nothing wrong,
i’m glad you have someone to hold at night,
i’m glad thoughts of me don’t rip your heart out,
i’m glad you’re okay with being just friends

i’m glad you’re fine,

but, i’m sorry,
i’m not.

it’s so frustrating because i know you wanted to be with me, on those days you drove almost an hour each way to see me and you kissed me so often and held me so tight and always pulled me closer and i could feel your eyes on me when i wasn’t looking, and we spent day after day like this, just being together and pretending that time could stand still, but at the same time, i feel like it was all just something for you to do while you were home, even though you deny it. i remember starting to tear up one afternoon with my head on your chest while you slept, because i knew it was just a matter of time till this was just a memory. i can’t picture you actually missing me, i can’t imagine you actually wishing i hadn’t said i was done with grey and in between. i feel like i’m so insignificant to you. like you have no feelings, like you couldn’t care less, this is just life, people come and go. and i know that, i know this is just life, and that people come and go, but it hurts that it’d never cross your mind to ask me to stay, that i was fun while i lasted, that you never wanted to make me yours. i’ll fade soon. i want to matter more to you. you’re a thinker, i’m a feeler, you hate that i’m so black and white. but i’m selfish and i want 3am texts that you can’t stop thinking about me and that you need to see me again soon. but that’s not who you are. and it’s unfair of me to want you to feel that way when you don’t. and it’s really okay, because if i extended my hand to you and you took it, i don’t think we would’ve gotten very far anyway. i loved being so close to you, but i’m excited to hold someone’s hand who doesn’t want to let go, to kiss someone who wants to kiss me forever, to not be anticipating an inevitable end, to be able to trust someone fully with my heart, to have someone that wants to hold it. and i don’t need that, i don’t need someone, i don’t need anyone. but if one day it’s what’s meant to be, i’ll let it be. i don’t want to be careless with my heart again. i don’t know why things happen the way they do, and i don’t regret you for a second, and i still think the world of you, but i’m too emotional and i fall too deep to give that much of myself again to someone who never asked for any of it in the first place.

i hate that i’m lying in bed
with a cup of tea
and can see myself in the future
in our bed
with a cup of tea
and you lying next to me

and i hate that i can see myself turning out the light
and laying my head to rest
on your chest

i hate that i can see us sitting at a little round kitchen table
next to the window
you in your black rimmed glasses
scrolling through your phone
me with my hair ******* and one knee draw up to my chest,
eating a bowl of oatmeal as the sun creeps its way
into the middle of the sky

i hate that i can see us side by side
brushing our teeth in a cramped bathroom
in front of a foggy mirror,
listening to music as we get ready for the day

i hate that i can see us walking out the front door,
i hate that i can see us kissing goodbye

because i’m lying in bed
with a cup of tea
thinking about all of this,
thinking about you

yet i’ve already kissed you
goodbye.

i want to dissolve into the sky
without a sound
without anyone noticing my empty space
in the most gentle and subtle way possible
i want to go away from here
i want to walk backwards and save myself
from what inevitability is ahead
i want to leave
i want you
to wish i’d stay

afternoon light shining in through the sheer curtains hanging over my bedroom window, on the most ordinary day of the week, your arms were around me and my head was on your chest as it slowly rose and fell, and you twitch as you’re falling asleep, and i never thought i could fall in love with the sound of someone snoring, but your sleepy inhales made my heart swell, and since then, the day has been a series of heavy exhales. i can feel the weight of you behind my ribs and in the corners of my mouth as i smile at the thought of kissing you, your laugh, the way your eyes look when they’re looking at me, the sound of your voice when you’re trying to get music to play in your car, how i feel when i can feel you next to me; i hope you don’t mind, but no matter what time or space is between us, you’ve written your name in the sand of my soul and no amount of wind or waves will ever be able to wash it away. the time we’ve spent together feels like seconds, but you will always exist in my memory as someone who held my hand as i walked into the sun.

It’s been three and a half months since we last spoke,
really spoke, not just guilty hellos
and scattered half-hearted pleas
And it’s not you, it’s never you
it’s me it’s me it’s me,
but you love
me
you love
me
you love
me

And my head has forgotten what it feels like,
but I know my heart is safe with you

Because you’ve never stopped chasing after me
and I’m tired of looking at my feet, telling myself
I’ll be okay without you, trying to navigate
through a thick forest at night,
pretending I don’t have matches at
my fingertips

You are the only thing
that has ever made me feel truly whole

I’m sorry I’ve kept my eyes shut so tight,
but I’m here now and I love you and I miss you

And I don’t want to keep living
like fragments of a person anymore

I’m Yours.

i’m always all too conscious
of moments hanging in the air
like watching helium balloons slowly
fall down the wall to cover the ground,
i keep stepping on them till they pop

like looking out the window once the suns starts to set
and you can’t see the light fading, but then you
blink and you’re sitting in a dark room

sitting next to you
with eyes closed and breath held
in a moment
that doesn’t feel real

like i’m looking down at the earth
while standing on the moon

and i know i’ll miss it once it’s gone,
but i can’t seem to figure out
how to freeze the hours that feel like seconds
passing by and

then it’s time
to leave and i held your hand
while you drove me home,
thinking about how real everything felt
with the lights blurring past on the interstate,
how i wanted the road to go on forever,
watching you rap stupid songs and
talk about how to feel grown up
without really growing up
and then suddenly

it was gone,
like it was never there

and i sat on my bed
wishing i could walk back into
the hands on the clock and
your hands on my face, but it
disappeared, floated up to the ceiling
carrying my heart with it

and all i have now are
memories that feel like dreams

to play back in my head
until time fades back into you.

are hands and knees that hit the floor
and crawl back towards what i’d sworn off before
weak, or brave
is it braver to run in the opposite direction
or to stay even when it stings
because when we’re in your car
i know what the crickets outside
are thinking, is it true
am i throwing white sheets over old reminders
written in dust, small whispers leading up
to an attic where all the hurt and confusion is stored
in cardboard boxes labelled DO NOT OPEN

right now i’m sitting on the stairs
with my back against the door
and i’m looking at your face, your face, your face
searching for something maybe i didn’t see before
and the words you wrote at two in the dark
made me miss you when i promised i didn’t,
and i want to stay, but when i try
to convince myself that you’re right,
that pushing you away is the easy way out,
that what we feel is a reason to keep each
other around,
i still find it hard to believe myself
when i tell myself
that i am being strong