I only write love poems when I'm not in love
when I can only just recall the weight of another's hand in mine
the ghost of a thumb tracing circles in my palm
moving up and down the side of each finger
the gentle squeeze, gone as soon as imagined.
I only write love poems when I'm not in love
when I can only just recall the feel of another's back against mine
pressing and shifting as we sleep
a roll, a stretch, and then
an arm lazily, gently wrapped around me
the firmness of bone pressing into my side.
I only write love poems when I'm not in love
when exact words of forgotten conversations are falsely filled in
and I fail to place what I had said and what I wish I had said
in the right spaces in time
I never say I love you quite right to the people who deserve it
because I lied so often to those who did not.
I only write love poems when I'm not in love
so this is not a love poem
because when I'm with you, there is no room
for the flowery imagery and spark of idealized romance
or the burning ember growing into a flame that fills me
with longing for another body.
There's only you and I and whatever sky
we comment on while I take in everything you are
and everything we could be
and I miss you before you are gone.
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 7:30 PM UTC
I forgot your name last night
closed my eyes
smiled
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 12:48 AM UTC
If platonic marriages were a thing,
we'd have 5 dogs .
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
A kid I saw today looked like you.
Poor *******
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 5:32 AM UTC
When I die
(if my parents don't know)
remember to weigh me judiciously with authorial intent.
Don't let my father go to the front
and tell everyone what a good daddy's girl I was
how I loved fishing with him
and wore my camo pants like a champ.
I was 2.
I didn't know better.
Don't let my mother's lip tremble
or let her say how much my writing made her cry
how I spent my evenings worshiping textbooks
and typing til 2 am for large red A's on my papers.
I was worshiping the body and mind of a guy
who never wanted me back.
Don't let my father see my body
the tattoo next to my left hip bone
the one I got my freshman year
because why the **** not.
Don't let my mother see my face
the rings in my lip and nose and ears
because they told me only ***** had those
and I wanted to see if they were right.
Don't let my father tell stories afterwards
all my achievements and awards
every 100% I ever gave.
He never told them to me.
He only has pride in the dead.
Don't let my mother tell stories afterwards
because she'll get them right
but tell them wrong.
She'll either laugh or cry halfway through
and I don't know which is worse.
Don't let my father sing the hymns
or even say how much he loved hearing my voice.
I could never hear myself over him.
Don't let my mother lament that I never sang for her
she knew why
she married him.
Don't let them tell you how I was a good Catholic girl
who always went to mass
and prayed the rosary on roadtrips
and never ate meat on Fridays during Lent (not even on accident).
I stopped going to mass after freshman year
and never prayed while driving
and made it a point to eat as much meat
as I possibly ******* could.
Don't let them tell you how I was a good sister
how excited I was when she was born
so helpful and caring.
She never fell off the bed when she was little.
I kicked her.
But especially don't let them trick you into thinking I was perfect.
I do not want to be canonized by my parents
who knew so little
and saw even less
because I hid myself away
so they wouldn't be
disappointed.
In fact,
don't let them come at all.
They'll be mourning the wrong girl.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
I wrinkled my nose
and said
It smells in here
You remarked
Maybe it wouldn't
stink so bad
if you'd clean the litterbox
Yes because
the litterbox
smells like
stale beer
and chewing
tobacco
*******
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
I unpacked all my bags then decided
staying is harder.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC