It's 10:55 on December 27th and I swear that I
will be able to forget the constellation freckles on your arms
and how you shoved the "passive aggressive" note you asked me to write like I used to
into your bag and shrugged it off when I asked like--
like you don't know your own charm.
It told you to "stop messing around on Facebook and write your **** :)",
which may have been the last thing I would ever tell you to do--
I forget--
just like you forgot how much you missed my notes and reminders and all of it
(except for me).
So, if you can forget about every Sunday night
and the way your fingers danced on my ankle and my thigh,
then I can pretend I never loved you in a way I swore no one else could
because, to this day, I'm upset that you seem to think that there was anyone else besides you
in this endless universe that ever would
do.
I will forget the way you said my name when you were tired, frustrated, and alone,
and the way you asked me to get wine drunk,
because the 150 reasons that I was in love with you
are the same reasons that I need to let you go, too.
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 12:22 AM UTC
I can’t wait for the day when I don’t think of you,
when I feel acid rain pouring on my face like fiery fingers and tears,
or when curls bounce around my face like the phone cord in the first house I remember,
or drink cinnamon orange tea and write forty pages of gender theory.
I can’t wait for the day when I don't remember you won’t message back,
and I’m left on read like a newspaper reporter without a following,
or when brandy and coffee doesn’t smell like your breath or how I thought you’d taste.
Because fiery tears are acid rain on my cheeks
that won’t burn the scattered pieces of you away.
Dec 26, 2018
Dec 26, 2018 at 1:09 AM UTC
Despite everything
There’s something
About
Texting someone under
The table
At holidays,
Hoping no one will
Ask you
Their name
Or
Their status
Because
Despite everything
There’s something
About loving
Without
labels and
Friendship without
Names
And once it’s said
Aloud
It doesn’t mean as much
Anymore
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 2:48 PM UTC
there’s something about the way i’ve hit my
head on the awards on the wall
that makes me love
this place.
it’s the specks of maroon in the evergreen carpet
and the way we
used to sit on the table too
close together.
i love the way that the wheels
of the chairs catch on the computer cords
and the coffee stains
on the floor.
it’s the whiteboard we built
and the movie
we watched
and all
all
all
of the ink smeared on
our fingers and our
faces
that makes me wish i could never forget this
and also that i entirely,
completely
could.
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 9:55 PM UTC
Tonight is cold coffee
sitting in a paper-and-ink colored mug
on the corner of the desk;
it’s propping old tennis-shoes feet
on your swivel chair
and sitting so close i can see the holes in
the collar of your shirt
and nothing less.
Tonight is trying to pretend that
your arm on my shoulders
doesn’t matter to me;
it’s telling myself that we’re
just friends
and that everything beyond that
is so unclear;
it’s swallowing the lump in my throat
and inhaling your
bittersweet cologne.
Tonight is tiled floors and silent hallways
broken by eighties pop music
and dropping things on the floor,
because I worked ten hours today and
“i just can’t”
anymore;
it’s thin mints
crushed into chocolate and stardust pieces
on the floor of the office that I should’ve vacuumed
Friday, or Monday,
or probably the week before.
And tomorrow is going to be two meetings
and too many shuffling agendas
and everything else that I hate;
it’ll be khaki-colored pants
and a glimpse of you through
the window
if i’m lucky,
because the wet blanket
that will settle in tomorrow
and make itself at home
is reality.
But for tonight,
it’s almost ten thirty,
and I’m sure that I could
walk faster to my car
and kick less concrete pebbles
along the way,
but then I would’ve missed
you shouting
that you’ll see me
tomorrow,
so maybe
tomorrow
will be
okay.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 7:40 PM UTC
i want to touch the stars
in the skies
like you touched me—
with all kinds of
steady hands and
breathing confidently.
i wish i could brush stardust
off of my fingertips
like your thigh brushed against mine—
with all kinds of
painful knowing and
just trying to get by.
i would love to watch
you disappear like stars in the
light-polluted
smog-city sky,
but the stars somehow shine
even brighter
in your ocean-colored eyes
so maybe i should start
wishing on stars to
sink,
and drown,
and die.
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 2:05 AM UTC
my favorite thing
about you was the way that
you fell
from the sky and
set my entire universe aflame
with a white-hot
accidental fire
and the way you let everything
burn down
instead of roasting marshmallows
over the ashes of our
minuscule town
because if we can’t celebrate
the inevitable destruction
of our lives
then maybe you should’ve
stayed in the sky
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 2:03 AM UTC
the monsters lurking
behind my eyelids
make up nebulas of
nightmares
and the pieces of
every man
i have yet to love
because sooner or later
everyone
lets you down
and terrifies you
and explodes
but i don’t think that i could love
any other way
so i beg the monsters
to please
stay.
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 2:00 AM UTC
you know,
people are kind of
like stars,
and not because of
the way that they
glow radioactive,
grant fairytale wishes,
or shoot across the sky,
but because of the
way that they
explode
into dust,
inhaling the broken remnants
into their black holes,
just like you drew my shattered pieces
into yours.
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 1:58 AM UTC
Everything stops.
Rain stops falling like
a two-year-old’s tantrum tears,
and rocks stop skipping when
inertia gives in to gravity.
Clocks stop ticking when the
gears start to rust,
and hearts stop beating, like
a melody too tired to play.
Just as “I love you” stops buzzing like
insects in my head,
and you stop caring whether or not
we see each other that day.
Eventually, our time here will stop, too.
And looking back,
maybe you’ll wish
that I never stopped and that
you never gave yourself
the chance to.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 11:45 PM UTC