inversion (n.)
is the word for
that feeling when
the cold air sweeps underfoot
at dusk in the park
and for a moment I can imagine
the asphalt path
isn't a path
but a river
deep and eternal
carrying me forward
into the night
and up
towards the stars
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 10:06 PM UTC
The houseplant you gave me
sits next to the kitchen sink.
Which is nice cause
usually I forget to water it,
so at least it catches some peripheral spray.
It's pretty confident, that plant.
Stands tall and earnest,
reaching and growing for something more.
Just like you.
The succulents I took from your sister's wedding
sit on the dining table.
Every day I eat dinner with my parents
and study the curves and corners of each leaf
and remember the times I've spent
memorizing yours.
And sometimes I can't sleep at night
or lose my place in dinnertime chatter
because I'm worried about those plants
and if they're getting enough water
or sunlight
or fresh air
or if because one leaf is weird does that mean they're all dying???
Because, I figure,
if only I can keep those plants alive,
then I can keep you too.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 10:21 PM UTC
what I would say to you if I never had to see you again
I was so tired
of giving you more than I was able to give
only to not just get nothing in return
but to feel my energy leaving my life
I was throwing emotional capital at you
like a desperate stockbroker
trying not to lose it all
but then the lies began
and suddenly I lost all my capital overnight
my market crashed, plummeted
except to you, I was the unintended side effect, an inconvenience
something that could be apologized to and then pushed away
don't think for one second that just because we don't talk about it anymore means I've forgiven you. I'm simply done talking.
what I say to you (since I see you every day)
My weekend was alright. You?
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 6:27 PM UTC
she was so used
to being alone
that to be needed
was an adventure
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 5:26 PM UTC
The first snow
keeps the company of my tears
as they stop, frozen on my face
confused, concerned
as the words you are saying
don't align with the reality
I've assumed
I wait
for things to make sense
for mistakes to be unmade
for everything to change
I wait, frozen on the sidewalk
my thoughts stutter
and my heart falters
as the cold becomes within me
throughout me
bound to every fiber of my being
twisted with my sinews
climbing through my bones
dancing up my spine
and greeting my heart
with an embrace
long overdue
But this won't ever make sense
and those mistakes will never leave us
and everything's already changed
So I take my heart of ice and unsaid words
and leave
you standing there
with words half out of your mouth
and regrets already peering over your shoulder
And the tears start moving again
racing down my numb cheeks
as the sobs leave my body
they no longer leave puffs of memory in the air
as the breaths inside me
match the stillness of the molecules around me
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 11:14 PM UTC
With every broken heart
I find myself
scouring the past
searching
for some clue, sign, pattern
of failure.
Can I find a rhythm
among the voicemails
and unanswered calls?
Do the stifled tears and sobs,
collected from various midnights,
carry a tune?
Is there some kind of code
among the bruises and scars
scattered across my soul?
Is there any hope that
all the falling and failing and breaking
is their faults
and not mine?
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
As I lay here
in the same bed
with the same pillows
and the same pajama bottoms
as I did a year ago
and read the words you never shared with me
by the twelve am glow of my cell phone
a lot of things cross my mind.
Mostly, I miss you
and the romance we almost never sorta had
But also I'm worried
about where you're going
and where I'm headed too.
I'm afraid the future will never be
anything we ever hoped
and that it will beat us both
into a senseless death
before we even have the chance to try.
And I know
you also feel the same
which is maybe why I still get texts from you
(though I like to think it's because we truly
have a profound connection of friendship)
and it's definitely why I bother responding
because I like to make sure
I don't have to mourn you
(or me)
just yet.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
You've been lurking
in my thoughts all week
*(ever since that night
we spent in each other's arms)*
which has been made worse by the knowledge
that you haven't given any thought to me.
I had given up
on loving you
except now
the imprint of your arm across my chest
and the smell of your breath in my hair
linger on,
each memory a tendril
attached to my body
dragging me deeper into
the waters of the past.
That night we spent
together
*(as friends but bodies curled
against each other like lovers)*
has been following me around,
a second shadow
goading me
a dull reminder that
what mattered so much to me
*(that night together
your head against my back
your legs against mine)*
*(and all those other nights
flirtations conversations smiles whispered exchanges
promises)*
meant so little to you.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
We danced
on the precipice of love.
Hands clasped,
elbows linked,
twirling and laughing
as the music filled our lungs.
Feet
stepping in
and out,
hopping to the rhythm,
tapping to the music around us
and the beating of our hearts within.
We danced
on the precipice of love.
A finely tuned balancing act
of half-extended invitations
and half-remembered promises.
We danced,
our feet searching for purchase
among the loose earth.
We danced
and held our breath,
waiting for the fall.
Waiting for the tumble,
the scrapes and bruises,
the part where nothing else matters
except your eyes and your heart
and mine.
We danced.
And I slipped.
(You did too.)
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
Fitzgerald wrote
of a faint green light
(and so many other things too)
"So we beat on, boats against the current, ceaselessly into the past."
Am I beating on, now? Face pressed
against the cold window,
I feel the wheels beneath me
rolling and rolling
slapping against the pavement,
but that's not me.
That's just the minivan- at most
the person
holding the wheel and pressing the pedal.
They beat on,
petals of a different sort,
elephantine limbs
rotating
rolling like the wheels of the car,
but moving in
a different fashion entirely.
The red lights
blink
in unison
on
and off
as each massive
wing crests
and then descends again.
You can't see them
but I know they're there
from the fraction of a shadow
that falls over each
red light.
We're moving too, though
maybe not like Fitzgerald wrote.
This minivan, this minivan
is moving forward
with the current
and the longer I spend
thinking about it,
face against this cold window,
I know I'm
moving forward too.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC