It's 3:30 in the morning
and this always happens
on the nights we stay apart.
I'm suddenly up in the middle of it,
wide awake for no reason at all,
sleep eluding me until
it's almost time to rise anyway.
I can only guess that my body
is subconsciously yearning
for the trace of yours against it,
and my mind would rather have me
not sleep at all
than to peacefully slumber
away the darkness
without your presence.
It's 3:30 in the morning
and I need to get back to sleep,
so I roll over and try to pretend
I have your limbs wrapped around me
in your usual manner,
the best kind of full body embrace.
My imagination is no substitute
for the warmth of you.  
It's 3:30 in the morning
and I lie awake, restless,
unable to stop thinking of you.

He discovered her in a world of grays and blacks.
She put forth the image of smiles and pinks, but held back
secrets, kept in the shadows,
which revealed an artist
trained in writing with silver.
And though she tried her hardest to create purples or the yellows of happiness
red was her medium
until he discovered her,
and ripped her tedium apart
with his sea of green.
He peeled back her layers:
     The false pinks used to fool the world
     Bright oranges, tools for when the pinks began to crack
     The black, forming an endless pool she was slowly drowning in
Until he found the blue
     Blue as the sky in which he made her feel like she was flying
     Blue from the effort of actually trying for once
     Blue as the sea where her soul now seemed to float
He peeled back her layers and showed her just how colorful
the world could be.

.                                                   I miss you.
Every morning when we part ways,
                                                    I miss you.
Throughout every day I'm thinking of you,
                      always,
                                                    and I miss you
until the moment we're together again.
My body misses yours
when we unwittingly pull apart
in the depths of our slumber,
and I seek you out sleepily,
needing to have you closer.
But most of all
                                                    I miss you
when I've been looking forward to you
because I've had a hard day
and my own frustration is exactly
what causes me to
                         push you
                                                    away.
I lash out at you,
and wind up missing you most
when we're side
                          by
                            side.

And in the moments that follow
I realize and regret my mistake,
but can never seem to correct
that crash course of action.
So I fold
      down
      deep
      into myself,
hoping with all of my might
that you won't one day grow tired
of this undeserved fight
and leave me
          crumpled
      in the dirt.
                  Not that I could blame you, really.

But please,
           oh please,
you really must know
the reason I try to learn
from my rash reactions
and grow as a person.
Look in the mirror
and you'll see it right away,
the very thing that keeps me
going each
            and every day.

I'm all alone here in my room,
but the voices dance in my head,
singing me that convincing tune,
telling me it's time...
                   go ahead,
                   release the red.

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.

Your words are glass that you keep spitting out at me
And they're ripping my skin to pieces
And your looks are grenades that you throw right at my face
And I'm picking shrapnel out of my hair
But I can't help myself
I've always liked the way you hurt me.

After repeated inquiries
into the state of my mind
                                                      you
resort to lingering side-
long glances, trying to
                                                      see
the truth behind my
steadfast denials and
imitation smiles.

You attempt slyness, but
                                                      I'm
qui­ck to notice these
analytical gazes. It's not
your fault that I am
both unable and unwilling
to allow you into
the maze of my mind.

Though hurtful
to us both, it's
                                                      just so
much easier to lash out
than to let you in.

There's simply nothing
                                                      goo­d
in there, you see. Trust
me when I say the terrors
flinging themselves
                                                      ­at
my brain will gladly
make you their prey too.
No one is safe from my
                                                      sabotage­.

One kiss, and an explosion occurred.
Neither expecting this, yet nothing different
     would we prefer.
I didn't fall for you gracefully,
but the siren's call of your soul to mine
     was a blitzkrieg attack.
And honestly, I'm looking forward
     to never going back.
For you, sir, have filled me wholly,
     completely my voids,
     and sealed shut every wound.
Every heart beat boomed in my head,
     drowning the sounds of all else
     the moment I knew for sure
     I had found it, found you.
Without trying, I came unfrozen
     as your voice caressed me.
My breath arresting, hitching,
I knew then, I know now-
     I want you to be
     my always and forever,
     my happily ever after.

I've always been a small child
who likes to draw and play with toys
and you, you've got glitter in your veins
and I've always been attracted to shiny things.
So you caught my attention from the very beginning
and I, I who am easily distracted, became hooked
on the colors in your soul.

I'm the destroyer of your dreams.
I will sabotage us until
     there is nothing left to cling to.
And I will stand over
     our ashy remains,
Unable to contain my remorse,
     even though I walk through
     the pile left there
and leave bare footprints
     in my wake
     made from the soot of us.

I don't know what I'm feeling anymore.

He loves me,
     so why can't I let myself love him too?
     What's holding me back?
And he says he loves me too,
     so why am I so wary of his love, and often
     left feeling unfulfilled and deserted?
I don't love me right now,
     and when I look in the mirror
     I don't recognize this person
     in front of me anymore.

My nights are filled with
     stolen kisses and
     drunken ***,
     yet I'm always left alone
     at the end of it.
And it's then, when I'm
     lonely and tearful
     that I question everything,
     most of all
                           myself.

I'm uncomfortable with everything,
lying here on your floor
at four in the morning
     in my world of blah. 
I've been awake for hours,
listening to your sounds…
     the breaths in
                     and out. 
And I just want to cuddle up,
push my back against your chest
     and feel my head rest 
     in its rightful place. 
But there's no room for me. 
     …story of my life.

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.

"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.

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 want to bolt,
                run away,
escape while I can,
before I'm in
              too
                 deep.
                                                                                   One glance from you
                                                                                  and I know-
                                                                                                 I fell,
                                                                                                    too deep,
                                                                                                            long ago.
                                                                                    I couldn't run if I wanted.
It's too much!
                 Too fast!
        Irrational!
my brain cries out.
                                                                      My heart has no room for reason.
                                                                                  It reacts to you,
                                                                                                and you alone.
All senses beg with me
     step back,
              reassess,
         calm down
                       breathe...
                                                                                          But how can I breathe
                                                                                     when you are constantly
                                                                                     taking my breath away?

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 should come with a ******* warning label,
cautioning others about my tendencies
toward self-destruction,
and warning them of the consequences
of choosing to get too attached
to the inevitable time bomb of me.

I try to warn them away,
but they don't listen,
or they brush it off as nonsense.

"You shouldn't love me," I say,
eyes deep with grief
because I know the truth of the words.

But nobody heeds my ******* warnings,
so I'm left stepping over the remains
of us, having to live with the knowledge
of what I've done.

******, I tried to tell you.
But no one ever listens,
they refuse to believe.

And in the end I'm left having to watch
you shatter, knowing I'm the cause.
I tried to warn you.
You should've listened.

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?

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.

I give out so many mixed signals
even I can't hope to understand
all the contradictions, though
that doesn't make them any
more intentional. I assure
you that I see exactly
what I am doing
though I'm
powerless
to stop,
because
each
conflicting
word and action
is precisely what I'm
feeling in that moment. So
with each passing day my feelings
seesaw back and forth, and we're just
stuck in the seats, unable to walk away
from the ride in which I have entrapped us.

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.

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.

If you could possibly count
the number of stars that spatter
themselves across the nighttime sky,
perhaps then you might know
the number of days
I'd like to spend with you. 

Tell me, would you mind very much
if I asked you to share tomorrow
with me, and each and every
tomorrow after that?

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.

Come to me, sir.
Undress and bare yourself,
a secret only I can know,
so that I may worship the
very essence of you.

Come to me, sir.
Lie here beside me and
let my fingers wind a
path down your body, testing
the clarity of my memory.

Come to me, sir.
So that my kisses may
rain down an electrical storm,
catching wildfire to every
surface of your skin.

Come to me, sir.
Come close to me, so that I
may be consumed whole
by the beauty of your soul.

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.

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 words come out swift
                          and angry,
accompanied by the contempt
                          in your eyes.
                                                         ******* *****.
I stand, accosted by your
                          animosity,
accepting every insult you fling so
                          unceremoniously.
                   ­                                      ******* *****.
Sorry, don't think I heard you quite
                          well enough.
Please, repeat so I may keep your words
                          clutched closely.
                                                         ******* *****.
I take these taunts you throw out
                          so casually,
                          mold them tightly
                          into a ball
and force them down my throat,
                          swallowing them
                          like the poison
                          that you are.
                                                       ******** *****.

I never know quite what to say
when people ask about you.
"Tell me about this new guy,"
they'll ****, curious as to who
has brought about this change in me. 

But how do I explain you to them?
Do I tell them you're the most
flawless amalgamation of parts
I've ever witnessed? That my soul 
recognized yours within seconds
and I was comfortable enough
to let you sew me back whole again?

I can't describe you adequately,
but I can guess that they see,
can tell by the change in me,
that baby, you're perfect for me.

You know, I'm pretty sure
I could watch you for just a minute,
     the most fleeting of moments,
and find a hundred reasons more
     to fall in love with you.
I catch myself staring all too often,
eyes tracing over your features
as I try to understand,
     even just a little bit,
this spell you have over me.
I'm not speaking of swooning
     over the curvature of your clavicles
or tumbling down into the depths
     of your green eyes.
Though if I'm honest,
     I love all those cliché things too.
                                                                 No, baby, you see,
                                                                        I've fallen quite madly,
                                                                             for you, wholly,
                                                                                  mind,
                                                                                      heart,
                                                                                           and spirit.
                                                                 It is the very essence of you
                                                                     that causes my ardent adoration.

Don't you think I want to be able to
have a drink with him
without the panic setting in.

Don't you see that when I say
my ex was an abusive alcoholic,
I mean that I'm still recovering.

Don't you feel my panic rising
with every sip of liquor
that flows down past his lips.

Don't you realize that when you
downplay my worry
your words are a vicious slap.

Don't you think that I do want
to get over it, but that I just
can't help but remember.

Don't you see the impact
I still feel from the squeezing
of his fingers around my neck.

Don't you feel any sympathy,
or are they just words to you,
"abusive ex."

Don't you realize that to me,
that was years of expecting death
at the hands of the one I loved.

So please, just. Don't.

There's no way you could have possibly known
when you called while I was driving home,
but the whole day my thoughts had been
utterly preoccupied with plans for the moment when
I arrived and would go into my reclusive
mode. I had thought too much about those elusive
non-feelings, and how I could quickly achieve
them. And on the ride home, I couldn't believe
it when I found something that had slipped
my mind-a pocket knife. Now equipped,
a renewed sense of purpose fueled
my drive. Then you called and my thoughts cooled
considerably, instantly. But you knew,
like you somehow always manage to do,
that I wasn't by any means okay,
no matter what I attempted to say
to convince you otherwise. So I drove
and you crawled in my head and wove
a net for me to fall into. And you stayed
on the phone with me until the call of the blade
was drowned out by our laughter sounds.
You managed to, yet again, turn me around,
and I don't know if you realize just how much
of an impact you can have, how such
insignificant words can change the course of a life.
So I'd like to thank you for helping me beat the knife,
not just today, but every single day.

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.

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.

I'm restless and *******
but ******* isn't even really right
because I'm not angry,
I'm just not remotely content.
Frustrated, but it's more than that
and I'm unable to put into words
the inability to fake more
enthusiasm or happiness.
I'm not ok with where I'm at
not just in life, but literally,
geographically.
I want to pick up and run,
run far away, fill up the tank
and drive until I'm on empty,
and I'm not sure if I'm referring to gas.
Where would I end up
and could I find some semblance
of an adventure there,
something to kickstart
me back to life.

You said I broke your heart
     when I decided to leave,
but baby you broke mine
     every single day I stayed.
I couldn't stand by
     watching as you sat there,
     your soul collecting dust.
I'd beg you for more, to BE more,
     but my pleas went unnoticed.
So I cried silently to myself,
     crimson tears
     leaking from my veins.
And now,
     now that I've finally gone,
you've awakened to shudder
     off that layer of dust.
Tell me, baby,
     how could I be the one
     to break your heart
when I was obviously
     so irrelevant
     to your motivations.
Tell me, baby,
     why you didn't notice me
     bleeding, begging
     for your attention.
Tell me, baby,
     why was I not enough?

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.