Let me tell you the story of our serendipitous meeting, when we had been working not too far from each other for months but only just met.  Let me tell you about how I was slacking off because I was bored of work, and tired of life in general.  Let me tell you about how meeting you literally saved my life, for I had already made the plans and set the groundwork-my decision made long before and solidified more every day.  Let me tell you about how you walked up oh so casually as I was talking to a mutual friend.  And baby, let me tell you how I thought you were pretty freaking cute, and how I was so nervous and excited when you joined in our conversation.  But let me tell you also how I showed myself to you from that very first meeting and you accepted all of me wholeheartedly.  Because, let me tell you, I was at my very worst in those moments.  And let me tell you how I walked away from that meeting with a genuine smile on my face, the first in years.

In, out
Just breathe
All I can this is
how much I want to leave.
I don't know how I'll make it
through all of today.
God, there's just no way.
In, out
Just breathe
This day is just
so very, very long
and everything I touch
seems to go so wrong.
In, out
Just breathe
I'm just trying to focus
on each individual breath
but every one is just
too substantial to handle.
In, out
I can't breathe.

I am a tempest,
     the most violent of
     winds whipping around
     without concern for any
     who surround me. 

I am a volcano,
     the lava of my emotions 
     exploding up and over
     to seep throughout
     every nook and crevice. 

I am a typhoon,
     my gale force winds
     showing mercy to
     neither sea nor land as
     I rip-roar over it all. 


And you…
     you are the halcyon tranquility
     I've been searching for
     all along, the serenity needed 
     to calm my frenzied turbulence
     with but a stroke of your lips,
     leaving me breathless and
     my winds settled at long last.

"Make a wish," he says,
"you get a wish on your birthday."

"Anything I want?" she asks...

"Anything," he promises,
          not realizing
          he's already made all her dreams
                    come true.

On occasion I'll look over
only to find you already gazing
right back at me.

"What are you looking at?"
                                 I'll question,
getting shy under your gaze,
afraid your scrutiny will unveil
all the flaws I hope you never see.

You always say something most
flattering in return, such as,
          "only the most beautiful girl
                       in all the world."

And sometimes,
                 sometimes,
you'll ask me,
                "why are you so beautiful?"
And I always,
                always
reply back,
               "for you, sir."

And it's true, for you see,
       it seems I have fallen
                quite
         madly
                      in
             love
                with you, my sir.

I don't know much of anything about life or love or the grand "meaning of it all," but this I know: I hate the constraints society places upon us, ropes gathered up to knot relationships, tie them up and place them all in nice neat little packages with a cute presentable bow on top. We're supposedly in the "honeymoon phase" right now and we joke about how we'll know when it's done, when the real stuff has begun. But sir, the way I've spread my scars open, reopened all those old wounds for you to discover, evaluate, and assess, I refuse to believe none of this is the "real" stuff. Sure, maybe one day we'll have an actual, honest-to-goodness argument where our mouths become cannons for the shots we volley back and forth. But I can't believe, stubbornly refuse to even consider there will be a day I'll look into those emerald eyes of yours and not fall utterly in love all over again. I can't imagine a morning of waking up and not being grateful to have you next to me. Maybe love isn't constant perfection, and there's no way that every single day will be a dreamland fantasy, but maybe, just maybe when you've found a forever kind of love there isn't a "honeymoon period" at all. Maybe it just is, and that's enough.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
I lie my head there on your chest
and find my absolute favorite place to rest.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
And I've been tested many times over in my quest for peace, but I never would have guessed I'd find it so quickly with you.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
Your heartbeat is the rhythm of my universe.

Metamorphosis
I feel a churning within
This change is coming...

I'm sad,
and no, I don't want to talk it out
because there's nothing you can do about it.
It's a sad sad,
the kind that permeates,
stays and repeats things in my mind
until it confiscates every vestige of peace.
I'm sad,
and no, I'd rather not discuss it,
because there's nothing you can do to fix it.

Spy the turtle-there!
Playing peek-a-boo with me,
loving the whimsy.

Standing in a room of hundreds,
a cacophony of voices rising
to form a moving mass
of noise and confusion.
You look down at me and smile,
swing your arm up to
its familiar position on my shoulder.
I encircle my arms
around your waist,
their rightful place,
and wrap my brain
with nothing but thoughts of you.
And inside my mind,
a quiet peacefulness settles.

The decision was mine,
     and throughout the day
     I own it.
But late at night,
     home alone,
     lying in bed,
     the façade crumbles.
And I think about
     everything we had,
     how perfect it seemed.
I wrote poetry proclaiming
     my love for you,
But now I'm stuck with these
     tear-marked pages.
Logically, my head tells me
     it was the right choice,
     but it's hard to explain that
     to my heart sometimes.
If I let myself,
     I miss you so ******* much.
But this was my decision,
     so I have to own it.

The one person I want
                                           to talk to most is
the person I need
                                           to stay away from.
And how can I decide between
the one who
                                takes my breath away
and the one who
                                makes it so I can breathe?

I got a text today with news that was
     a long time coming.
But that fact didn't make receiving it
     a single bit easier.
Working in pharmacy is
     high stress
     low thanks,
Gotta develop quite the
     thick skin.
But some patients are different.
They become favorites,
     your smiles to them are genuine,
     you share hugs with them,
     your heart twists at their struggles,
     and you rejoice in their triumphs.
You come to love them.
The problem with that connection is,
     when they die,
     they take a piece of you with them.
You'll no longer
     see their name on your computer screen,
     pour their medication into a vial,
     have them brighten your day.
Working in pharmacy is
     high stress
     low thanks
But the worst part is when a patient is gone
     and you don't get to tell them goodbye
     or how much they meant to you.

I dismantle you little by little,
pick you apart piece by piece
as I edge you ever closer to the precipice.
Your curiosity is titillated
by the tantalizing nothings
I whisper to draw you near,
promises I never intend to keep.
I tease as we creep, and you have no clue
as to the depths of my nefarious intent
until the moment I lay my hands
on your chest
         and push.
Your hands catch, grasp tightly.
So I lean forward and gift you
with one last kiss
before I stare into your eyes
as I peel them from the surface.
Laughter pours forth
as I witness your fall
from high above.
I turn and walk away,
my deceit complete.

Forgive my hands
for their wandering ways. 
It's simply that I could spend
the rest of my days
exploring every part of you. 
Running my fingertips
gently across your skin
just to feel the sensation 
of you over and again.

I snuggle up closer,
                      ever closer,
trying to close the centimeters 
between our bodies,
Breathing in your energy,
Let me sink into the essence of you.

We have that easy, lazy kind of love.
That sleep in late and wake up gently
     to morning kisses kind of love.
A love so simple and genuine
there's no effort involved at all, really.
                        It just is.
I knew from the very start
we were something special, baby,
when your slow smile reached out
to take hold of my heart,
no trying needed.
                       And we just were.
And now, now baby,
we have that beautiful love,
     that lazy kind of love.
And it's sitting together for
     a cup of morning coffee,
And little reminders of affection
     left for surprise.
It's the slow breath in
     after the content sigh
     following a deep kiss in the rain.
And never wanting to leave,
     always returning for
     just one more.
We have that easy love,
     the carefree kind of love.
                      And it just is.

My sweetest dreams
are created from
the remnants of your kisses
lingering on my lips
as I slip into
the land of slumber.

                        I catch wisps of them
                        in the exquisiteness
                        of your eyes
                        upon my waking
                        when you press your lips
                        to mine once again.

Let me tell you a story about the time you walked me out of work, and how it changed the course of our lives.  Let me explain how wiggly my insides felt to have you walking beside me.  And let me tell you how I slowed my pace the closer we got to my car, trying not to be obvious.  Let me tell you about us standing there, talking face-to-face outside of work for the first time ever, and how good and natural it felt.  And let me tell you, time passed so quickly then, and the drizzle started turning to rain but I still didn’t want to go.  So let me tell you about how I got courageous again, and asked if you wanted to go sit and talk in your car.  Let me tell you how happy I was when you said yes, and how I’ve never been so thankful for rain.  Let me tell you about our first of many “car dates,” when we just sat and talked.  And let me tell you how it became clear very quickly that we are a natural fit.  Because, let me tell you, I was so nervous that I’d be too quiet and we’d have nothing to say and it would become the bad awkward.  But let me tell you how that didn’t happen, and we sat for hours in conversation.  Let me tell you about our goodbye and how it was getting late because time had become nonexistent with you.  And let me tell you about how you drove me back to my car because you didn’t want me walking in the rain, and I was so taken by how sweet you were.  Let me tell you about how I was unsure of what to do, because we had hugged many times before, but honestly, I’d spent the whole evening wanting to sample your lips.  But let me tell you, I’m not the one to make a move like that, so I just went for a hug as usual.  And let me tell you how disappointed I was in myself.  So let me tell you how I turned back, determined to kiss you, but quickly lost every nerve I had, and so started to settle for a second hug, this time adding the quickest kiss on your cheek.  But let me also tell you how that somehow brought back the bravery, and I went for the kiss I truly desired.  And let me tell you, baby, I’ll never know how I got the courage to kiss you first, but **** am I glad I did.  Because, let me tell you, that kiss became one of the most pivotal moments in my life, and made me believe there was something worth living for.  Let me tell you how your kiss saved my life.

My bones have become filled
     to the brim with lead
until each step I take
     is so labored
     I can barely make another.
I am exhausted
     to my very core
And I'm expending
     every ounce of my energy
     simply attempting
     to hold my eyelids up.
I can't anymore, I'm sorry.
I just can't, I'm too tired,
I'm going to sleep now,
that deep, restful sleep
     from which one doesn't awake.

Love isn't spoken.
It's a silent conversation
     held in a glance,
or small gestures
     just to provide
     occasional reminders
     that you care.
Love isn't spoken.
It's sitting together
     and inching closer
     just to feel the touch
     of them against you.
Love is effort,
          concern,
     unbridled affection,
     and memorizing
     the sound of a voice
     until it becomes its own
     special kind of embrace.
No, love isn't spoken.

This morning I rose before the sun, 
Stretched slowly and yawned wide,
Then drove to the skate park,
knowing it would be empty this early. 
I skated, really skated, 
braver away from others' eyes. 
Others trickled in over the hours. 
Sitting, resting on the bleachers
A question from another,
"why is no one skating?"
I, confused, reply incredulously
"Why are YOU not skating?"
His explanation saddens me. 
He doesn't skate, 
is twenty years old,
and so feels it's too late. 
I'm 26, I tell him,
I just started and I'm terrible. 

It's true. 
I'm unsure of myself
and my form
       is
   off
but I'm trying. 
We have this one life,
one chance. 
Why would you not try
for something 
you've always wanted to do
or something you love?
You don't have to be good,
but ****, 
you do have to try.

Tick, tock
We count the seconds, minutes,
          hours, days,
                    years, decades
          of our lives.
Why?
Time is a man-made construct.
We're taught to define our lives by it,
          confine our very selves by it
          from the time of our birth,
          counting down until our death.
One, two, three, four.
Stop the counting.
Do what you have to, but then...
As far as I'm concerned
time should not be a rule,
          but merely a suggestion.

Tiny buds push up
Popping their heads out to ask,
"May we come to play?"

Louisiana
Distinction between seasons
Almost unnoticed

Perfection now, but
mosquitoes will swarm us soon.
Spring is oh too short

The world is melting
Shuddering off her top coat
To display her skin

Spring-so colorful
But you want to know the truth?
Winter's more my style.

I'm trying to navigate through life,
but the roads are iced over
and this vehicle wasn't built
for the treachery of snowy slopes.
My tires turn at odd angles,
oscillating wildly in their attempt
to catch some semblance of traction.
But the snow bank is getting closer
and no matter how I twist the wheel
I can't seem to steer away from
what seems to be impending impact.

Let me tell you the story of how you showed me what it means to be part of a family.  Let me tell you how sometimes I joke that “hitting means love if it’s your family,” but I’m only actually half-joking, because that’s how I grew up.  Let me tell you how family has been for me in the past and how it meant people that would hurt you, betray you, abuse you, and destroy your very will to live.  Let me tell you about the nonexistent dad, the hateful stepdad, the cousin that liked hand jobs, and the uncle that came for me every night without fail.  Let me tell you that the abuse wasn’t just ******, and how that one time we got sent to the orphanage I was only upset because they took away my little sister.  Let me tell you about how I found a strange peace there.  And let me tell you how all the people I have loved most have died, and how I thought I was a curse so I stopped loving at all.  Let me tell you how weird it is to me to have parents calling to check up on you, and eating dinners together, and just having conversations.  Let me tell you how I look at y’all, confused as to how you can stand one another without the help of drugs.  Because let me tell you, that’s all that stopped the yelling and punching and hate at my house.  But let me tell you about how y’all seem to genuinely care for one another.  And let me tell you how much it makes me want to cry to be enveloped within this family.  Let me tell you about the time your mom told me she loves me and I didn’t know how to respond, because my mom and I only traded hate.  But let me also tell you about how I started saying it back, and mean it.  And let me tell you about my 26th birthday, when your family threw me my very first birthday party, with cake and ice cream and presents, and I didn’t know how to react to such an outpouring of love, or how to begin to show how thankful I was.  Let me tell you about y’all planning a trip six months away and inviting me.  Let me tell you how much it means, not only to be invited on a family trip, but to be accepted so much that it’s just assumed I’ll still be around then.  Because let me tell you, I live in fear of losing you.  And let me tell you about the time you almost gave me a heart attack by asking if I’d be okay with your niece calling me “Aunt Amber,” because part of me is still scared of getting that close.  Let me also tell you how my heart clenched when your mom told me your niece threw away your high school dance pictures because I’m not in them.  So let me just tell you how I cry happy tears now, knowing I am part of a real family.

Times before I've looked at my own insides,
Delicately moved my own private sword across the flesh
And watched as I proved to myself I was still alive
Despite what I felt inside, I knew what I saw. 
Don't ever call me weak. 
Days before I've stared into the eyes of my tormentor
And pretended nothing was awry though I knew
I knew he'd prove my bravery false later that night
Don't ever call me weak. 
Before, I've dropped pills in my hand, watching them cascade as a waterfall
And let them slide down my throat by the hundreds
Knowing there would be no coming back after I laid down
Waiting for my gentle release
Don't ever call me weak. 
Times before I've walked the halls of school, 
hearing others complain but knowing that was my happy place
Because "home" held such worse torments
Don't ever call me weak. 
Days before I've medicated, taking in more than should have been possible
Knowing that at any moment I could be taken
But never stopping, only going back for more
Don't ever call me weak. 
Before, I've watched with hawk-eyes every morsel that passed my lips
Going days without sustenance 
But knowing it was worth it in the end
Because I had gained control over my life, finally. 
Don't ever call me weak. 
Don't you ever ******* call me weak.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" you inquire.
I shrug and shake my head, trying to make the question slip-slide its way past me.
"Something. I can tell," you **** on.
I don't exactly know how to explain the hodgepodge of thoughts bustling around up there.

How all of the mismatched puzzle pieces sometimes inexplicably manage to assemble themselves into a picture, but it always comes out distorted.

How my mind is eternal dusk, that magical moment where anything is possible and the night is full of promise. But remember, that's also when the monsters come out to play.

How I have this uncanny ability to skew every word, look, or memory until every one of them is so tainted I will burn us alive while you wonder what the hell is going on.  I'm good at sabotage, you see.

You don't want to know what's going on in this head of mine.  You can try to connect the dots, but none of them are numbered, and you'll lose yourself attempting to understand me.

.                          To seek                  out love
                       is a letdown         in the making.
                    They feed your     heart with all the
                false words, but the moment you try to  
             grasp on to that love it turns out they were
           just using an accumulation of sounds that do
          nothing but disguise their lust.  For that's all it
             is underneath. Peel back the proclamations
                of love and adoration, seek out the truth,
                      the purpose of the utterances, and
                          maybe you'll be able to peek a
                             glimpse at the truth within.
                                They say they love you,
                                     *******, they just
                                        want to ****
                                               you.

I don't know how to quite fit
in this skin I've been given,
so I take my time to slowly
       oh so slowly
cut it open,
figuring that maybe
it just needs some adjusting.

Sometimes the words you say
make me look down and blush,
delve into my own headspace,
wondering what brings such
wondrous sounds pouring forth
from your lips.
And these things you say,
they aren't obscene in any way,
but oh sir, do they twist me up inside
and steal my breaths straight
out of my lungs.

I'm said it before,
written it before,
                                we have an easy love.
The kind you just
            fall
back in to,
like children tumbling
backward onto a trampoline,
lungs bursting with laughter.
And they never fear the fall
because they know
they'll be caught and
bounced right back up.
And let's be honest,
the exhilaration of the fall
is half the fun.

There's a beast inside my head
throwing his fists against my brain
and with every breath I take
in, out,
I feel as if I'm riding upon
the crest of a wave
up, down,
a terrible journey
I never intended to take.

But enveloped within
your arms so tightly,
your chin resting on my head
oh so lightly,
I find myself within a cocoon
of safety, comfort.

You leave far too soon,
and I wish I could keep you
here with me at all times.
But even after you've gone
I dream of you,
and when I wake
you're the first thought
that flutters into my mind.
And I am calmed.

My being aches for the rhythmic caress of your chest pressing solidly against mine in that most intimate of dances.

Your control over me is insane.
Do you realize that the words you say
       jiggle round and round my brain,
pounding, pounding,
tearing at me from within
and I can't even begin to make it cease,
this tortuous game
from which there is no release.
pounding, pounding,
You really have no clue, do you?
how much your words affect me,
make me reflect on everything
and the effect is nonstop
pounding, pounding,
causing me to clomp to the brink while
struggling, trying not to sink deep
into the very emotions you cause
by attempting to stop them. The ironic
pounding, pounding,
of a few words, you have no idea
the consequence they bring
and suddenly I'm running,
bounding, bounding,
leaping willingly off the edge.

You call me your princess,
     but I'm not worthy of a title
     filled with such nobility.
I'm far from regal, you see,
     and I wish you wouldn't give
     me so much to live up to.
For I'm destined only to disappoint
     when you hold hopes so high.
I'm nothing more than a child
     playing dress-up
     in her grandmother's old clothes,
     pretending to be royalty.
What you think you see,
     is nothing more
     than make-believe

I think there are parts of our
lives that we can't possibly know
the meaning of until we are
months or even years removed.
                                                                    I'm
talking inconsequential moments
that snowball, gathering up value
over time. Then you look back,
and suddenly you are just
                                                                    so
surprised at how many actions
interacted perfectly, the necessary
amalgamation of happenings to
bring about one exact minute. I'm
                                                                    glad
to have had this experience the
second you walked up. At that time
I could never have possibly known I
would be here today. Never guess
                                                                    you
would have such an impact on my
life, knocking an avalanche into my
world, leaving me gasping for breath,
showing me what it means to
                                                                    exist.

I've lost all semblance of myself,
an island that I unwillingly left behind.
Stepping gingerly at first
to test the water upon my toes,
venturing further as I grew bolder,
only to turn around
and find the shore gone,
all sight of land lost.
Now I'm stuck, treading,
tiring quickly.
And I've no idea which direction
I'm supposed to swim
to find myself again.

I'm unsure of how to persevere
in this role I'm supposed to
be pretending I was given.
And I fear that I'm continually
mistaken for my mask
when all that lies beneath
is treachery and deceit.
Yet you are fooled over and again
while I am left with the slimy remnants
after I've sent out the venom.
Tell me, is there truly such a thing
as a good-hearted executioner,
or am I only attempting
to fool myself as well?