and maybe i just
want to keep you
all to myself
—which is hardly fair,
but one thing I know for certain is that
I will miss the smell of your sweatshirt (it’s
hanging in my closet now, but I keep
the door closed)
I will miss the way I could fold into you
when everything around me felt like paper
flat and dull, but here you were
exhaling a sort of life force that came in the form of
a slight grazing of your knees and mine
your hands and mine
and I’d drift off sometimes, melt into
the perfect crease of your collarbone
so we’d thought, maybe
the measurements of our lips
would match up, too
that night it had hailed outside, and I
ruined my shoes
by the time I arrived
it was a strange place, it was not our living room or
glass vase or sofa
but you wouldn’t have been able to tell by the way we
collapsed into it and
each other, we spoke in hushed dizzy tones
drunk on adrenaline
and it was not long before lips grazed lips
and suddenly hands ran through hair and we could not stop it we could not
stop
I wore your jacket on the way home (you offered
to walk me to my street corner and I said yes)
I think we both knew this Us
belonged to that night
and that night only
but lord, was it
lovely
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 12:58 PM UTC
her ankles are close to
breaking and
she teeters when she walks
heel-toe-heel-toe then
please oh please god let me stay
upright when the wind blows
her collarbone might just shatter
and her wrists could snap in two
it isn't anyone's fault, per say, but bones
and we, as a
fragmented people
need wholeness
and these little cracks, they
add up
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
nothing seems tangible
anymore
a realm that I am either intruding or simply
incapable of reaching
and they say shoot for the moon but
what if I have used up all of my arrows
on shooting stars, or
never had any to begin with
and what if my aim is a little off
all the time
and in a world where "landing among the stars"
isn't enough, I seem to have
no choice but
to put down my bow and
gaze at the existing
constellations
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 1:25 AM UTC
Sometimes, I feel like
the days are drip-dropping away
like a broken faucet
(is sixteen too young
to be nostalgic)
and it scares me quite a bit
how everyone is always trying
to catch the drizzle in their
Wrinkled hands and
raisin-fingertips
but every time, it manages to
slip through
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC
I should warn you, should
you try to pick up
all those shards of
glass
the fragments will
slice the solicitous skin
of your fingertips and leave you
somewhat broken
yourself
some things cannot be fixed
and some don't want to be
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
Im going to pretend
(I'm going to
try) that
all I see isn't
wasn't
could not have been
me, or else I will surely
drive myself to [solicitous]
insanity
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
I refuse to
speak
but I will resign to
whisper
don’t you want to can’t you
breathe
wind you
thief
but, lips should remain linear,
its a rule
one hundred eighty degrees
its hot in my head but i
do not say
anything
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
that love we thought we had
is centuries old
and centuries failed
and there are only so many words that haven’t been arranged
artfully and articulately enough
to be considered
interesting—
isn’t that interesting?
the new and the old the
timid and the bold
—there are all sorts of people, sure
but they are all versions of the same ones
so that in this contrived
circle of [seldom present]
consciousness
the spiral continues on and so
we do
too
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
that night it was hailing outside
the stars had frozen and fallen from their perches
and when they hit my cheek I
brushed my finger to my lips instead
because they were burning
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
we try to clutch the sun in our
cracked hands
but the moon needs a turn to be beautiful
too
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 10:53 PM UTC