he said,
(this boy
who is not who i love
but could have been
in a life
where i didn't love
someone else already),
"i would kiss you now,
if i could."
i said,
"i know. i feel it."
i said,
"it's in the air."
i said,
"it feels thick, between us."
i said,
"the air
feels
tremulous."
"tremulous," he repeated. "that's good."
and so we sat
in the tremulous air,
me and this boy i could love,
but don't,
but don't,
but maybe.
we sat in the tremulous air
and we didn't act on it
and i'm glad,
but now
i can't
sleep.
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 2:29 PM UTC
I used to write to wend my way out of the darkness,
to talk myself out of the sadness,
to cure my broken heartedness,
but now I find that
Because you took my heart in your hands
and because you bared and repaired me
I have only joy.
I alone hold the joy of your freckled skin,
I alone know your virtues
and I alone hold your sins.
I alone know your tenderness, your truth,
and I alone have you, and
You, alone, carry my burdens and my vices,
hold my laughter and my care,
and you alone have brought me here.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
there is an undauntable light in my eyes
and a hickey sliced warmly across the middle of my throat,
and the half-lingered and utter warmth of your hands in mine.
there are murmured "i love you"s
and unsuppressed smiles
and the promise of
soon, soon,
seeing each other again.
there is rewarded patience
and the warming of my long unkissed mouth
to yours
and there is the reassurance that
yes, it was worth it.
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 6:05 PM UTC
The rabbit-tap tattoo beatings of our hearts,
They leave imprints on our chests
Our necks
The hollows of our hips.
The soprano pull off my breathing
And the forever-hold of your fingers,
It marks me,
A you-shaped tattoo in my heart.
Fingerprint bruises on my skin,
Scratches at the small of your back,
They are more permanent than ink,
More lasting than ink and more precious.
Alcohol hazes,
Smoke screens in our kisses,
Tumbled words and slurred laughter,
Our rabbit-tap tattoo hearts and our tangled-up legs,
The forever mark of our hushed hysteria,
It is more permanent than ink,
Cheap and wild and real.
A tattoo,
A stain of you and me
clinging to my skin
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 8:13 PM UTC
this is love,
we'll do what we do if it gets us drunk,
we'll find what we find if it gets us drunk,
we'll risk what we risk
just for the untainted rush of your skin absorbing mine,
of hair and fingers and breathless things,
of push and pull and longing things,
the wildness, the want
the drunkenness, the drift
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
I am my mother's only daughter
fear of the love, fear of the water
the wildest laughters and the sweetest of kisses,
the innocence my father misses
I am the kisser of skies,
open arms, open eyes
I am the shaker of your bones
sing me there, sing me home
shakenness and gentle wear,
steady my heartbeat, steady me there
I am the words before your lips,
careful whispers, restless hips
joyful fear and fearful laughter,
I am the heart whose stops you're after.
I am the kisser of skies,
open arms, opened sighs
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 5:51 PM UTC
i am the hookah queen
and drifting in my hookah dream, i find
that i have no one else
to care for.
i know nothing of their bitterness,
their wantonness, their greed,
i know nothing of that world,
only me.
and sifting through my hookah dream,
colored with a hookah ream,
and pulled apart with all the careless shadows,
i smile, (i the hookah queen) and contentedly i drift,
i am going, i am going, i am gone.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC
under the pink lemonade sky i left you.
not really, because you left me first,
but i left your memory there.
in the summer twilight i left you.
i left you for vast skies and glorious people
and pink lemonade sunsets.
under the pink lemonade skies i left you,
and under the pink lemonade skies i ran head-on into myself.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
there is a place by the river
where i sit
and where i think
and where i watch the water
and the trees.
there was a person there today -
he had long hair
like a boy who used to love me,
and he was playing
a song
on his guitar
that i knew,
and it carried down the river,
down from the rocky spot where he was
to the tree-rooty dirt spot where i was.
in places like that
a stranger's music,
it seems natural.
it made me remember
that i am young
and joyful
and that the world is vast beyond my imagining.
it made me feel content
and whole
and it filled me with things i've felt my whole life
and still don't have a name for.
and later,
when i saw him walking up from the river,
carrying his guitar
and singing still
i thought,
he and i were,
for the length of a few songs,
the same.
that's what places like this
do to people,
and it's why i come here.
and i walked home
and i felt all the peace you can imagine.
i remember good things,
and this place is a good thing.
the boy who used to love me,
he is a good thing.
the sun on the water
and all my small joys,
those are good things.
a stranger's music,
a spot on the river,
it can remind you
that things are good
more often than they are bad.
it takes a certain place and a certain headspace to think like that,
but today i did.
there is a place by the river,
and that's what it does.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 7:08 PM UTC
as a disclaimer -
to you,
to everybody -
my poems capture, in a permanent way,
my temporary feelings.
as a disclaimer,
i am bombastic and aggressive
and prone to melodrama,
and honestly,
we're actually fine,
and we actually get along really well,
and i'm actually not as tortured and pained as i sound.
in fact
i really only feel the way i feel in my poems
like,
0.2 percent of the time.
i'm actually very happy.
and not angry.
and,
well.
just for the record.
just so everyone knows
and no one has me institutionalized.
i'm great.
he's great.
this poem is a piece of **** but
i had to say
something.
ignore me.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 7:12 PM UTC