i passed your house on my way home from his
and i felt my eyes fill with tears
thinking bout every time i came over
and every time i wish i did over the years

i'm too stubborn to ever admit it
but god do i miss you
it takes up my dreams at all times of the day
but my pride won't let me tell you the truth

and even if i did,
if i pulled out my heart and wore it on my sleeve
would it even make a difference?
or would you still just turn and leave?

mom always said "you don't know til you try"
but either way, in the end, i'll be crying
so i keep my love to myself
i'm just so tired

bury my head in the sand
but leave my soul for the breeze
i'll die with these secrets
they'll stay between me and the trees
and i won't mind
never knowing if there was hope for you and i
because i sat on my hands and wondered,
"is it better to speak or to die?"

pride goes before the fall
but it comes after it, too
it's all that keeps me together at night
when i think about falling for you

i always think of you
and i always think of this
in the moments when i pass your house
on my way to his

EAT AND BE EATEN
and eat again, and probably be eaten again, too.
AND. and! finally. not a choice, not a decision to be made incorrectly or regretfully.
i can eat. AND. i can be eaten.
no!
I WILL EAT AND I WILL BE EATEN.
there is something very satisfying about the prospect of "both"
i am not afraid of being eaten. i am afraid to eat.
but if the worst consequence of conquering my fear is not a fear at all, then who am i to not be a conqueror?
i can dismantle and overthrow, and build my new empire up from the very first stones.
first i must create. first i must write something that, like a flask full of sweet liquor, i can bathe in for courage when my feet start to tremble. i need to write like i drink: urgently, passionately, as if my happiness depends on it.
if i have a drinking problem, so be it!
as long as i also have a writing problem.
i will send my liver down the river in a basket if it means i can welcome creativity into its place.
i will. i will!
i dare someone to stop me.

bare bones stained with blood
linking together with all the power they have
(and though they look weak,
they had no choice but to become incredibly strong)
holding up a gentle, bruised soul.
tired fingers sigh as they put down their pen and form their net,
preparing to catch the falling heart.
this is routine, like praying the rosary but colder.
the fingers strain under the weight but do not falter
then softly, slowly, transfer the iridescence to a feather bed.
she sleeps, and they watch.
they wish she would learn.
they shake their head and pick up the pen again.
golden light casts a moving shadow across the paper
as the barely holy spirit's chest rises and falls in her sleep.
soon, the fingers know, she will wake up in a sweat
unable to shake the nightmare,
and will be filled with an insatiable desire to dive
into the deep end of her limitless mind.
and when she jumps, they sigh, put down the pen,
and link to catch her once again.

four years and three months today
without you
the spirit in my attic
the white feather on my nose.
one time i picked up a ouija board
giggling with new friends and no expectations.
and you... you were sitting right next to me
and jumped at the chance to use your voice
(you were never good at keeping quiet).
you spelled hello into my hands
and when i asked you for your name
and the planchette moved to "L" then "U" then "C"
and one of the girls whispers "oh my god we summoned lucifer"
i smiled and a tear fell in my mouth
because my heart was weightless all of a sudden
and you were next to me all of a sudden
and i'm sorry it took me that long to realize
that you were still so close.
so we talked
and it was almost like the old days
and for the first time since you died i could hear your voice saying the words our hands spelled on the board
and--my god-- was it good to hear your voice
(sounds don't sound the same without you
and i can't sing on key without you).
as we talked i sobbed and laughed
and probably scared the girls around me
but it was me and you, you and i, like it always used to be
so i didn't care.
the best part was the white feather, dancing hazily above my hands while i spelled your words.
i hung on to every word
because i knew they might be the last for a long time
at least until you're ready to talk again.
when you said "goodbye" i felt my heart float back down into my body and my soul felt less sore
and then someone looked up "what do white feathers mean"
and google said "lifting of bereavement"
which i think was your way of telling me to man up.
and you're right! why should i grieve and bereave when you're still right next to me
in the white feathers that have fallen on me and followed me
every day since the ouija board chat?
i miss you still. of course i do.
but you're still here in every little white feather

last night i gave God an ultimatum.
i told Him that He had 24 hours to deliver me a heart
and if the 24 hours came and went,
without the heart in my hands,
i would accept His sign and move on.
there are three hours left,
and my hands are empty
but my faith is unbreakable.
every time i pray i tell God i'm ready to love,
to hold a heart and hold it close,
and most importantly,
to be held in return.
He knows it's taken me years to say that,
to take a deep breath and want to blow it into the world,
not keep it locked in my chest.
and He knows that when He made me,
He didn't put a whole lot of patience in me.
so i gripped my rosary and gave God an ultimatum.
at the end of the day,
when the 24 hours is up
(no matter the outcome)
my faith will glow even stronger
because whether my hands are empty or full,
whether my heart will be sent abroad or staying home,
i will have God, as He has always had me.

i think i have a problem,
for real this time,
because the only words i've been able to write for months are
"i'm drowning"
and just what the **** am i drowning in?
to be honest i think i'm just numb
like when you're drowning and your brain shuts off when you run out of breath and--
there i go again.
i need a hug, and maybe a plane ride.
or just to sit on the top of a mountain, away from the depths of a body of water.
because i think water is out to get me right now,
like it's planning something
(like drowning me)
because i haven't really cried in a while,
which is just absurdly rare for me.
i cry all the time! it's my thing!
but tears haven't fallen in a long time,
and i've been really dehydrated, too.
so i think the water is saving itself for the big event.
it's hurricane season again, after all.
why do i feel like i'm drowning, if the water is waiting?
she hasn't drowned me yet, so why do i feel like it's already happening, or is currently happening?
the only answer i have is that i'm just become too numb.
and bracing myself for every eventuality has numbed me into oblivion, and that's what the draining drowning feeling is.
i don't really understand any of this.
but the good news is: i don't have to!
because by the time i get close to an answer, hurricane season will have ended and started all over again.

how i wish i could see you grow
outlive the confines of cruel adolescence
become a man taller and more beautiful than me
outside, yes, but inside where the flowers bloom
and your heart blossoms proudly
you had to leave us
captivating smile carried away with the wind
in autumn, always autumn
and leaves crunch under foot as i chase the last of you
hand outstretched and begging for just one ash
you had to leave us, and i will never not wish for more:
more time with you and your glowing golden heart,
more laughter in a quiet room
i want to hold your hand again with everything in me
but if it's alright with you,
i'll stay here for a little while longer
say my goodbyes slowly and savor the sunlight
try not to miss me as much as i miss you
we will hold hands again soon, i promise