at midnight
my hair had been a tangled mess
pulled back in a bun

at one a.m.
it had been a wave atop my head
greasy but beautifully dramatic

at two a.m.
it had been a nuisance, oil at the roots
but i said i looked too pretty to take a shower
(that’s such a funny and sad reason)

at three a.m.
i got the idea to cut it
i said, “i need a change, talk me out of it”
and you tried; thank you for that
but even so

at four a.m.
i cut my hair

and i didn’t feel any different.

rush hour interstate
and winding backroads
both have seen me sobbing
but neither has seen me
feel anything at all.

your smell is stuck in my head
i made it up but i know it’s true

i daydream of your hands on my cheeks
your lips on my lips
my fingers in your hair
and i can smell it

you sing strawberries and watermelons but
you smell like firewood and ink
its my most absurd fantasy
that you could find a piece of me to love
so i’ll keep your voice in my ears
and let you sing me to sleep
with that sugar and salt melody

if it burns my tongue
then so be it.

when i say
“i want you to come home”
i’m talking to the woman
i was always expected to be

i don’t miss her and
i don’t love her
but she would make it
a little less messy.

"But what if we're wrong?"
It was silent
But her thoughts echoed around in my head as we laid on top of her pickup truck
I swatted at the eighteenth mosquito chewing on my leg
I don't want this to be love

We were tangled up in the acoustic music they play on the radio on Sunday mornings
She was trying to dream up something clever to write about
And I was pretending I could learn to play guitar through osmosis,
As if blending myself in with the harmonies, finding her in every lyric, and sheer willpower would give me wings or at least magic guitar hands

She set the alarm, checked it over and over
She was not going to be late for her first day
I told her I'd be asleep when she got home, she told me she knew
I told her to wake me up

I wasn't looking for perfect
Perfect really only applies in first year physics courses
After that, we learn to fall in love with "rough around the edges" or "unique" or "unfinished"
As if their life is a puzzle that we need to complete
Just so you know, it isn't

She bought me breakfast and dropped me off
She used to tell me she loved me, but I know she didn't
She does now, so she doesn't have to say it anymore
When I said, "love," before, I didn't really mean it
Not like I mean loving the garden on the balcony of her apartment or thunderstorms in May
Even if I was a puzzle that she completed (and I'm not saying that I am), we didn't need any glue to fit perfectly

I have been debating right and wrong my whole life.
I have been standing on a tightrope waiting for my emotions to crave it.
Being taught my favorite color since age 2 and the way I was supposed to be.
I have truly learned a few number of things,
the most important being suicide isn't the worst thing.
Failing to completely be who everyone chose you to be is the worst thing.
Not wearing a dress and tights to church on Sunday, not loving flowers or the color pink.
The worst thing is choosing who YOU want to be.
So I think I have found the reason it is more likely for someone like me to **** themselves off.
I am not who they or you wanted me to be.
I am free.

the day i was cast out into the world
through *******
they looked between mine
and declared, simply:
“it’s a girl”.

we’re taught to be ashamed
of who we are
that people like me, like us,
are freaks of nature.

told me the body i was given
this body, is sacred.
that i should never tamper with it.
that it’s blasphemous to trespass
on divine territory.

(who knew i could be a trespasser in my own home?)

you point to the sky,
tell me
god doesn’t make mistakes.
turn that finger back on me, on us,
spew ridicule for the ones we’re supposedly making
for merely having the courage to be.

what is it that makes doctors and parents alike
so reluctant to believe that
there are other colors out there
besides pink and blue?

the lines are blurring ––
[**** robin thicke]
this is not a phase.
this choice was not mine to make
(unlike the one you made for me).
don’t tell me who or what i am.

i didn’t climb out of one box
just to be shoved into another.