Separated by gravel roads
burning rubber tires
and airport runways,
I am alone.
A blue lit up screen
is not the same as
feeling your breath
on my cheek.
A gust of wind brings
the smell of pinecones
and cigarettes—
I am choking
on your memory.
I glance at a window
and I think I see your face,
shimmering, glowing,
but it’s just a reflection of what could be—
what could have been.
Misery chills my bones
and freezes my heart
but I remember porch swings
and handwritten letters,
catching snowflakes
and counting stars
and the promises we made
fills me with a glowing fire.
I remember you and I remember us,
and the ocean waves could not drown
the life we breathe into our love.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
I want a boy
who can drink and fight
with the devil inside him
in such a way that
drinking a fifth
and smoking an eighth
is as pure as Sunday Brunch.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 1:29 PM UTC
There are ticket stubs to quiet towns
and cigarette boxes litter the ground.
The TV is nothing but static,
the out of date maps are enigmatic.
A Bible is yellowed and battered,
a lipstick stained mirror is shattered.
The guitar on the bed is out of tune
next to paper plates and silver spoons.
37 text messages go unanswered,
love letters written to poets and dancers.
Peeling wallpaper and flickering lights
would make any sane person take flight.
But in the midst of chaos and decay
The wandering poet will always stay.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 1:24 PM UTC
I once loved a boy
who let me hold my breath
until I turned blue
waiting for him to say
three simple words
but he set me free with
three words of his own:
“You’re not her.”
I once befriended a girl
who went apple picking
with her family every fall
and swam with the jellyfish
every summer.
Now she spends every Christmas
and New Year’s with men who will
run their hands up her thighs
but cannot remember the color of her eyes.
I now dream of boys with
colorful tattoos and smoky hair
who let me rest my head on their
broad shoulders and take my cares away.
I am now like the girls who prefer
to dance and sleep alone.
I love the girls with broken hearts
because maybe we can gather our shards
together and create something beautiful.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 6:49 PM UTC
I was driving down I-64 with Jesus
on my dashboard and the Devil on my shoulder,
and on those warm midnight drives
I learned that I never found God
in colorful rosary beads or begging for
forgiveness from an unknown face
behind an iron curtain.
I found God on the street corner
begging for groceries and promising a good time,
I found God bagging my groceries
or waiting at the bus stop.
I found God's reflection in the tears
of my mother.
I found God in every love letter
I sent and every kiss I received.
God isn't dead.
His heartbeat lives in all that we do,
we just have to find the pulse.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
I found my confidence in the peeling
floral wallpaper of cheap motel rooms.
We ate with paper plates and napkins
and though my paper heart was easily torn
she always taped the pieces back together.
She promised that we'd live somewhere warm
where nobody could tell us who we should be.
Her Chevy pickup was the only place I felt safe,
and slow dancing with her to Johnny Cash
at that old Texas bar is where I felt most at home.
She was a cool summer breeze and
I was a cold winter's night, but together
we could stop the world.
I was a poet and dreamer, and she fueled
every shining star in the night sky,
every wish I ever made.
I spent my whole life with clenched fists
and gritted teeth until she kissed my knuckles
and relieved my grief.
I never needed the midnight drives,
the sunset dreams or the crackling stereo,
but she made me want those things.
She made me want to live to love,
and love to live.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
I have to be naturally beautiful and cultured
and funny and sweet but I can’t be too demanding
and I can’t prove him wrong or else I’ll be deemed
crazy.
I can graduate top of my class and have a PhD,
but I will still make less money than men.
I’m a **** for sleeping with him and I’m a *****
if I don’t, I’m a doormat if I don’t speak up for myself
but I’m a ***** if I do. I’m a nag if I ask questions,
but I’m a good wife if I don’t.
I cannot walk down the street without fear of
being attacked, I can’t like rock bands or math
without proving my eternal dedication to them.
They get mad when we fight for women’s rights
saying they’ve given us enough, but being able
to vote for men who will not even let us
control our own bodies isn’t going to cut it.
Being a woman today is a battle but we will
defend our worth going down swinging.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
I am not the type of girl who gets missed.
But when I’m gone I hope they still set
a place for me at the table.
I hope they look through my writing
and know that I loved them.
I hope they listen to the bands I adored
and something good stirs within them.
I hope they read my beat up books
and realize why I cherished them so.
I hope they ride the subway trains
in New York because that is where
my heart lies.
I hope they remember my name.
I am wary of ever letting people get
close to me, because the more people
I befriend, the more people I must apologize
to for ending my life so soon.
But I hope many faces are at my funeral.
I hope too many flowers cover my grave.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 1:27 PM UTC
There's nothing romantic
about true love fading,
there's nothing beautiful about
the memories we so passionately wrote
being harshly erased by the hands of time
and the feet of distance between us.
I will be lost in as sea of your past lovers
that made you drown in their affection,
but know that you were an oasis
in my desert of loneliness.
I've loved and lost,
but you were my gravity
and now I'm floating in a space
of confusion and nostalgia.
Please bring me back to Earth
and back to you.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
The gun you have pointed at the mirror
is really aimed at your own head,
so in trying to destroy the monster
in the reflection, you just wind up dead.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 1:17 PM UTC