i accidentally typed "ana" instead of my full, real name
into the blank document.

and for a brief moment, i felt like a different person,
like i assumed the persona, the qualities, the life of whoever "Ana" would be.

and in that brief moment,
i felt real, counterfeit, foreign, familiar, and birthed anew. . .

he's a soft place to land,
where the black doesn't turn white
but gray at the very least.

he is the comma in a sentence,
the moment amidst the story
and every time after.

he uses our friendship
to end debates,
his bathroom soap smells sweet like sticky dates.

the world moves south but we go north,
against the current
and we're heading straight for the storm.

a gut-wrench. stomach tumbling like an olympic gymnast. butterflies (not the good kind). feeling the wind being squeezed out of my lungs by hurt like a go-gurt tube in a toddler's merciless grip. the sweet taste of cinnamon coffee cake turns sour in my mouth like month-old freshly churned butter. speechless (not the good kind). my eyes become kaleidoscopes. i knead the ball of socks in my hands that i was in the middle of putting away. "hello?" he said on the other end of the line. but i cannot move. i cannot speak. i cannot breathe. i can only feel. feel the panic. the way it moves...creeps and seeps into every crack and crevice of my bones, blood-filled veins from limb to limb. the panic that i may not be enough. i can only think. think too much. think too much. think too much.

and i miss you 'fore we ever say goodbye
goodbye
and we never had a clue
goodbye
i was never enough for you
goodbye
was there ever something i could do?
goodbye
further apart, apart we grew
goodbye
and i would cry myself askew
goodbye
but now i see myself anew
goodbye
goodbye
goodbye. . .

to feel unloved so he can tell me how much i am loved.
pancakes stacked to my nose, dripping with maple syrup and sprinkled with junk.
a retirement party before i have even graduated.
a wall of blue china plates, the ones with the pictures of snowy
                                                                ­  barns, cows, and bridges.
a whiff of him--plastic ziplock bags, overripe banana, and cologne.
a short-lived sin, intentions so pure it doesn't count.
yellowing pages and broken spines floor-to-ceiling.
a love for my mother, one without fear, fire, or fury.
a sun so generous, that i forget what november ever felt like.

cherry-vanilla soda instead of strawberry vanilla

i drew a heart next to my belly button in navy ink

he never asked me how my day was.

i heard the geese fly by at midnight, peculiar but lovely

the air smelled of october

october: hay, orchard, football games that ended a week or two ago, bittersweetness, and fine droplets suspended in the atmosphere

desserts taunt and temp me but i stay away for now.

easter is not on april fool's day this year

but it's still His best trick yet.

my fingertips dry and raw from flipping through so many pages

she licks my hands until they're clean

"death, he is not mean."

i rearranged my vanity, displayed my new perfume

bought myself flowers to lighten up my sanity

i couldn't see the moon tonight, is that why there's been no gravity?

no gravity for the thoughts

i wish i could say they come & go as they please but they never really go.

i'm thinking about those little white pills again.

sleeping dust: lavender, chamomile, tonka, benzoin...soft like dandelion, smooth like milk slipping down silk

the childhood bird coos and suddenly, i feel better

spring is still cold but warm.

i want to be the sun, i want to be the breeze...

i want the monarchs & swallowtails, the lawn mowers & never-ending birdsongs...

today we laughed as hard as we could, "mission impossible style"

a love letter lost, laying on the ground

anonymous but sacred.

i wish it would feel like it did all the time.

i don't know what happened.

the ambulance screams.

i lay blinking in the moon-less dark.

my thighs warm against my stomach.

but for the first time, i know the only one who can free me, is me.

my head was pounding with nothing, nothing but everything and nothing but everything all
at once, all at once the revolving door revolves again, no revolver to my head, no escape and no
soft bed, i thought my head was in the clear i thought everything had turned to nothing but is
nothing ever in the clear? i know, now i know there is no trigger to pull but the one that’s
already inside my head, inside my head the monsters wake, they taunt they pull they push they
prowl, preying on the “mind-killer”, fear, fear is what i fear, it eats it gnaws it rips it digs
a hole, a spiral hole, a hole with ridges to craft illusion that i’m burning bridges, when i am
actually building it stronger, solidified, worried, i make a frenzied dash out of the brief opening, the
opening that teases a sweet escape a sweet brain a sweet artery a sweet lung a sweet forever
that goes on forever until everything becomes nothing, there is no escape no escape from this
revolution this mind-killer this past this pattern this pool, pool of blood, pool of the same old
stab same old loud eyes same old breathlessness same old heart-race same old panic same
old irrational-rational darkness same old thought-spaghetti same old doubts same old destruction
same old replay of dagger-words same old over and over same old everything same old nothing

i bite the skin hanging off of my thumb with ladybugs in my hair.

last year, my mom made a wreathe of green and pink hydrangeas that she grew on the side of the house. they're dried up now.

i promise i'll make up for all the years i was supposed to be kissing you instead of them.

my eyes glaze over with euphoria from knowing i will soon douse my whole self in childhood.

ten years ago my father's day gift to my father was moving 2,429 miles away...

the sea turned into lakes, and lost it's salt and starfish.

i sigh heavily as i weave through the cars, another seven hours ahead of myself, and hold my breath as i walk through his cloud of cigarette smoke as he says, "you just coming in?"...

california hasn't forgotten about me...it waits patiently for me knowing i would always return
|
return to it's dusty air and beige dry grass, shriveled in my palms after i picked them out from the cracked ant-infested dirt as i sat "criss-cross-applesauce".

it waits patiently...i wait impatiently...

the mountains watched over me through every black-top-scraped knee and monterey sticky-fingered ice cream cone.

the seals slept soundly on the sun-heated rock beneath the obnoxious seagulls, unbothered by the tide-splash.

SEQUOIA NATIONAL PARK
|
KINGS CANYON
|
DINKY CREEK
|
YOSEMITE

the redwoods and i are related by blood, but they never believe me when i tell them. i can scream it until i am black and blue.

my hair looks like night in the evening, chocolate in the day, and becomes fire in the sun.

dopamine limbs, serotonin mind, and oxytocin heart.

i was never impressed by blue eyes until mine met yours.

eye-contact is a language in and of itself. but few are fluent.

i arrive at you fully made up and exactly how i want to be...
|
wisp and bisk rub off onto your clothes and skin as you love me whole.
|
i leave as more myself, seen raw and authentically bashful.
and to my surprise, i leave feeling more beautiful than before...

this morning i had to look up the definition of "LONELY" because i forgot what it meant.

(a week later) this morning i remember what being lonely feels like.

medical supplies is becoming my unfortunate attributed aesthetic, i fear.

i have never been particularly athletic but i would swim across all fifty seas for you if you needed me.

walking with purpose but mindlessly, all others only blurs i didn't bother to distinguish, daydreaming of your black shirt scrunched into my fist-

i notice she was asking me a question ! begged to know what smelled of indulgence and unidentified nostalgia...
|
: vanilla, salted caramel, saigon cinnamon, heavy cream, sandalwood, orgeat, ice cream shop.
|
she told me it fits me perfectly...sweet but subtle...niche but noticed.

eleven minutes left and feeling very corporate as i look out the third-floor window. neighboring building's & office windows.

the sky was cobalt but my skin was pale.

and you don't say much in reciprocal anymore...are you tired, my love?...

i cried when you told me you loved me.

much-anticipated days of strawberry milk mustaches, laughing until our stomachs ache, and sun-slapped cheeks.

eye watery, pigeon-toed in ***** shoes on the pale checkered floor. she's a summer baby.

i tell him i have known him for four years now, in asl from across the market (in my head, over and over and over again)

i only half listen as she tells a story of a woman who was obsessed with saffron-colored fabric. the other woman argued that the thread wasn't saffron, but red. in which she then stood corrected as the other explained how the water turns orange when the thread was dipped into it.

i miss her and her purple hair. i only pay her a visit when my bangs poke my eyes every morning before i curl them.

a box of chapbooks sat upon his desk touching a ripped manila envelope full of printing press letters.
|
"S"

between debates about jam v. jelly and strawberry v. grape jam/jelly, we dance as friends and friends only this time..

i recall, last summer tasted of cookies too-sweet, but this time it'll be just right.

our star beams & casts shadows onto your sheets. your eyes ablaze and your hair afire. i won't kiss you gently when you look that beautiful.

they told me they'd teach me how to swim, then left me drowning in their pretentiousness.

you held me down but i was set free . . .
|
you're more gentle than i thought you were.
|
it actually hurts thinking of you kissing someone else.

"she used to wear that shirt a lot." my mother told me. she deserved a life full of joy.

BRUISE COUNT: 15

BRUISE ORIGINS: WORK, WORK, WORK, WORK, WORK, WORK, WORK, WORK, WORK, SLEEPING, SLEEPING, ??, ??, ??, ??

_ _ _ _    _ _ _ _ COUNT: 5

_ _ _ _    _ _ _ _ COUNT ORIGINS: LOVE

they don't know the valley the way i do. but i hope they will.

i take up as much space as i possibly can to feel more comfortable.
i only end up feeling more vulnerable. retreat or proceed

tears of fear when eyes should be closed.

i watch her weeping with poor statues of woeful beautiful women
with nameless faces and bare ******* not-quite covered by chiseled cloth. modesty.

my cheeks are flushed as glitter mixes with salty tears, making my skin itchy, raw, bare...

i lean over the vintage sink, peering deeply into the mirror in a dimly lit bathroom of someone i only met once before...

when i was younger i always thought that it was impossible to die in a church. i thought that being inside of it made us
INVINSIBLE . . .

when i was younger, i never really thought about how
birthday cakes don't only have to be "birthday cake" flavored
|
meyer lemon-raspberry, chocolate-cinnamon, quadruple-chocolate, key lime-blueberry-strawberry, carrot, german chocolate, red velvet !

the cars in the review mirror made a total eclipse.

you are the softest color i have ever touched.
and...
you still know me better than most, even if you don't know my favorite ice cream flavor.

logopoeia of ellipses.

i will know the touch of the rays, the slimy backs of 𓆏 after the rain,
and the sting from stepping on chipped shells in the wading water . . . . .

sweet churns sour.

stable now shakes.

sun into somber.

night seeps into day until they become one.

curtains drawn.

sunless skin.

sleepless eyes.

increased to 20mg.

little white tablet, taken once daily.

CAUTION

world in swirls.

lay down lay down . . .

can't stay awake...

don't want to be awake...

it hurts . . .

stomach befriends the throat

befriends the mind, befriends the mouth.

i want to collapse...

it takes getting through hell to be happy.

and the worst part is, i'm not sure if it's worth it.

the sun
kissed me
as the
night's knife,
unsympathetic, honed, & deafeningly-silent,
took me...
took me
to the headstone
like ebenezer
on christmas eve...
i knew what
i was getting myself
into
but i dove in
anyway. . .

eyes wide open
but they're gently shut

vermillion eyelids
and the smell of warm...

dusty dirt-caked hoola-hoops
and birthday barbecue hotdogs,
lines of black and smoke-saturated hair

10-year-olds on roller blades, bicycles, and scooters, dropping f-bombs and kicking pebbles.

suburb golf carts
and splintery playground woodchips
waft through the leafless pencil-like trees

daydreams of sun-naps on the sidewalk,
when we would watch the shadows of ants march across the cracks with driveway-chalk hands...

saying "no no no" with a warning tone
as she tries to lick year-old sticky ice cream stains from the pavement

that new house smell
somehow being better than you remember it

summer's grand re-opening

and we're all here,
then, now, and waiting.

I remember digging my toes into the thick, goopy mud in our overgrown backyard when I was a little girl.

I remember running home from the dirt-dusted bus stop with my siblings, trying to beat the shadows of the clouds cast by the sun.

I remember the hug of the summer air, enveloping me like a second skin.

I remember the fiery pain of the hornet stinger beneath my right foot.

I remember my older brother dunking his slice of watermelon into salt and taking a bite out of it, red sticky juice dripping down his chin and wrist with an absence of grace.

I remember hearing the off-key song of the ice cream truck, faint but within earshot.

I remember my mom waking me up to eat a steaming bowl of brown-sugared oatmeal in the middle of the night, just because.

I remember the thud of his loving heartbeat against the bumpy skin of my warm chest.

I remember jumping as high as possible to yank off the juicy oranges, the size of a softball, from the tree.

I remember her knotted, gray, no-longer-stray fur nuzzling against my faded jeans as if she’s always loved me.

I remember holding his hand, winter-wind-dry, cold, and skinny just moments before breaking up with him.

I remember the soft autumn mist, creating a veil of gray across the football field.

I remember how slippery with sweat my skin was on the suffocating bus ride home in September.

I remember how my dad packed his lunch the same way every day; 7 baby carrots, 2 granola bars, 1 banana, 12 potato chips, 1 bologna and American cheese sandwich with mayonnaise.

I remember his beige Coleman lunch box with the maroon lid, rough and smelled of plastic, too-ripe banana, and “Dad”.

I remember the thin skin beneath my eyes, rubbed raw, flaky, and salt-ruined after countless hours of darkness.

I remember sitting with my stubby girl legs spread out in front of me on the wooden kitchen floor, dipping cinnamon cookies into pink and blue yogurt.

I remember our first kiss, stiff and clumsy, but electric…gentle…and not enough.

I remember the look of loss hidden behind my dad’s smile as we grew smaller in the airport security on Father’s Day.

and i'll pull you along
until there's no need
as we run with whimsy along
the unbounded lakes

i will be right there
from sunrise to sunset
& all of the suns in between

our summer captured in seconds
until september ends,
we'll replay it until the curtain closes

a summer felt
in toes buried deep in the hot sand,
in cinnamon roll icing on the tips of our tongues,
in the tall grass that makes our legs itch,
& in the sting from a day spent too long beneath the sun

i'll hold your hand
as we drive through those trees
with the same sultry breeze
running wild through your sandy hair

a summer
through a camera lens,
where the glances are noticed only by
you & me

the graze of your fingertips
turn me wild, maddened with deepened
desire and fondness
as the road widens & winds

a summer
painted in blinding golds & puffy pinks,
far away from all the cities & dreams.
"this is one of our own," you'll say, as we build our house of hopes

the frogs & crickets
are no match for our harmony
& the unpicked flowers should be jealous
of the ones i will place behind your ear

a summer of
flushed cheeks & breathlessness,
fireflies in gentle palms,
& dandelion seeds scattered across your river

leaves with veins,
something so fragile-perceived
can grow through crack or concrete

i will move closer
& hold onto you tightly
even if we're in a sea of strangers

a summer of firsts
and exploration
and experiences

a summer of rain,
fireworks on your birthday
and sitting through lightning storms with you because you want me to

a summer of doting
and "finally"'s
and running

only this time,
not away from something
but towards  e v e r y t h i n g . . . . .

no matter how pure,
how nourishing, or how flourishing...

the itch drives me mad as i wait for it to heal...
impatient, i rub it just enough to satisfy it.

i wake up with dried blood crusted over my ankle,
where the scab used to reside...

a wound re-opened is a wound likely to stain, rip, and ruin every innocent thing in its path... i leave you with one word or less.

i stammer into the bathroom, and gather the tools needed.

THE ACHE! THE ACHE!...

i prepare for the procedure and breathe heavily...
with shaky hands i attempt to craft my own suture:
_  _  _

THEY'LL SEE YOU FOR WHAT YOU ARE!...

no assistant at my side, always the lone surgeon.
it bleeds...it bleeds...it bleeds...

a tourniquet, a needle, a thread.
just enough so abandonment doesn't show up at my door.

THE NOISE...THE NOISE...

just enough to heal in time for them to love me...
just enough to forget that seemingly perpetual past...

THEY'LL LEAVE...THEY'LL LEAVE...

THEY ALWAYS DO! THEY ALWAYS DO!...

DON'T SHOW! DON'T TELL! JUST FEEL!

deafening silence, whispered cries, and visible sighs.
NO MORE! NO MORE! NO MORE! . . .

i open my eyes as the sweat falls from my brow...
the blood is no more and my heart is full.

the silence has come and the light floods the bathroom floor...
my hands stop trembling and my heart beats slow.

i stand up and stay there for a moment.
i turn around and walk out...

out and to you.
out and to my love...

for now,
or for forever . . .

the way he thinks like a movie
and talks like a scene

the world, shades of gray
now a symphony of green

i hear him when he sighs
and when he says, "i'm fine!"

when everything is tough ,
some words are never enough

stop trying to be so cool,
just try to be so sweet

i know we are together,
but my heart's not like a feather

i need you next to me
even when we're six feet deep

stop trying to be so cool,
just try to be so sweet

the way he moves like diction
and walks like a work of fiction

our world, no longer in distress
or a need to "dress to impress!"

i hear him when he's quiet
and when his mind feels like a riot

though everything is easy
i can't always be this cheesy

stop trying to be so cool,
just try to be so sweet

i know we are together,
but my heart's not like a feather

i need you next to me
even when we're six feet deep

stop trying to be so cool,
just try to be so sweet

i prefer the lights dim, because that way i can't see the details on my skin...my dark circles, the little red spots speckled & scattered across my cheeks like a sky full of stars.

i'm going to miss her.

i will be fast asleep while she's high in the sky, on her way to paradise.

she will be worrying about us

she will be out at sea, in the middle of the north atlantic while i am counting the hours until she returns home.

"goodnight, mom"

i say to her one last time.

i love her

& i hope she knows that.

you are the softest color i have ever touched

your eyes a certain shade of nature at it's most overlooked finest.

my feelings for you are as pure as the snowflakes that drift slowly from the pale blue-gray sky that decorate your soft *****-blonde hair

i just see the beauty in every little thing that you do, no matter how trivial...the things that no one else seems to notice, not even you, sometimes.

the subtle movements of your eyes when you speak or the furrow of your brow while you're on the phone...the way calmness washes over your expression when i walk through the door or the way you take off your winter coat...the barely-there dimple that forms on your right cheek when you grin while petting my dog or the way your speech slows when you notice me tracing your name on your back...the faces you make while telling stories or how flushed you get when i tell you how much you mean to me...the way you tie your shoes like you did when you first learned how or the way you say goodbye when we're done talking on the phone...

only one month has passed us by, but i feel at peace knowing that there will be many, many more . . .

& i miss you but i don't know what it is about you that i miss.

i don't want you that way anymore but thinking about you obsessed with someone else makes me jealous.

i miss your mere presence more with every minute that passes.

he's properly beautiful
even while eating the messiest burger.

i can't tell you how many times within just the past couple of days i just wanted to kiss you.

your smile makes me smile

blinded only by the condensation from my breath as we walk through the woods mid-december.

you drove 50 minutes just to see me for 30.

& it's really hard to talk to you like a friend, looking like that.

i want to know you...see you...understand you...feel you...protect you...care for you...want you...need you...love you...

everything friends wouldn't normally do.

it's january 4th
& the sky had never been more baby blue.

it's january 4th
& my love for you is as pure as the frosty tips on the blades of grass in the morning.

it's january 4th
& the parking lot seagulls turn this buslting city into an intimate warf off of the coast of some state...

it's january 4th
& it's the beginning after an end.

it's january 4th
& this weather makes me simultaneously want to go walk in the woods, exploring all the parts of this town i have yet to find beauty in and wrap myself in a blanket in bed & never leave this house again.

it's january 4th
& i hate the bitter winter wind burning my ears but i walk my dog in it anyway because she loves it, and i love her.

it's january 4th
& there are so many dragons i have yet to slay or even know what they will be or when they will come for me...

it's january 4th
& i am trembling. i shut my eyes tight, & curl into a ball...praying for sleep to overcome me...

it's january 4th
& i can't wait for january 5th.

i ran with the wolves only to find out that i'm a sheep...i thought we'd run hand-in-hand but i should have known mine would always go empty...

i don't want you to be blinded by how you feel about me now. i want every part of you to love every part of me...not just what your eyes want you to see standing before you...but also what your mind knows...what your heart feels...& what your soul was made for...

it feels like something we've waited an eternity to finally be able to do but also like we've been doing this forever...

i can't believe you're mine & i'm yours.

luck is to know you.

lucky is to be next to you.

this is a different kind of happiness...

i just want you. i just want this. nothing else. nothing less. always more (of you of this of us).

i just want to experience everything with you...

i want to do anything with you, even if it's nothing. because it would never be nothing.

"you & i . . . we're alive . . ."

is it too soon to know that every second i want to be spent with you by my side? . . .

that feeling when you're completely out of breath & you can feel your heart pounding out of your chest thumping so loudly you can hear it... 

this time, a holistic ****** experience that i became the heart.

we fall asleep with our fingers interlaced.

we soon became inseparable...

if euphoria was a color, it would be dark, faded-but-electric-blue.

you're someone i could fall madly, unapologetically, undeniably, unconditionally, helplessly in love with.

before, things would always fall apart in the fall...but we fell into each other.

i have never felt more helplessly weak & undeniably strong all at once before.

i never knew how much i'd want you until this moment.

we're in a room full of others but we only see each other.

you are my proof that the poetry does get happy again.

our song is on repeat & i never want it to stop...

forced, nothing.

& just as we're as close as we can possibly get, it's never close enough...

i'm supposed to be sleeping but instead i am writing about you, & i hope that is okay.

i melt into the floor when i see you, when i hear your voice, as smooth & sweet as maple syrup

i could never lie to you.

the thought of you not with me is unbearable.

never leave me...

the thought of the absence of you is cold down to every bone in what would feel to be this desolate, dark, & aching shell...

i want you
oh god, do i need you too?...

do you want me too?
oh god, do you need me too?...

[this love monster may be prowling deep within me, but it is as pure as snow & gentle as a dove.]

this song makes me want to plan anything, anything just to get us in the same room...

"it's in the space that the energy lies"

there is so much i want to know, but won't ask (yet)...

"for now, we'll dream about it, but soon we'll be there."

i want you to want to take me into a dimly lit room like you once did with her.

a minute without you is the strangest thing...

a second without you is the strangest thing . . .

my evening walk,

i barely remember a thing.

a blur of street lamps polluting the night sky full of stars with names we can't pronounce...

you is all that occupies my mind now.

i hope that is okay

is that okay? . . .

i haven't forgotten about you

without me,

but me without you

i have.

an unthinkable time

an unbearable thought

an uncomfortable feeling.

i wasn't sure what i wanted then,

but i'm sure now that i don't want your feelings to ever change.

i don't know my way back yet

but i will.

& when i do i promise i will let you know...

i don't know what it is yet

but there's something about you

that pulls me into your orbit

& something about me

that draws you closer into my gravity...

"you can't have one without the other"

we don't know what it is yet,

but when we do,

we'll let each other know.

he's got a thing for gay girls
& more cream than coffee.

there's something about him in a suit & tie
& the way he opens greeting cards.

he's over it
but he still thinks about it.

he never reaches out
but sometimes he does.

i love the way he loves films
& how he sighs loudly when he's sad.

he likes things simple
& him and his dad share the same dimple.

he's never been more afraid
but i have never been more proud of him.

he sits in plastic lawn chairs during the summer
but one day he'll be sitting among the stars on red velvet seats.

a quiet burning love for the north,
from one revelation to the next...

how long until you taste me & realize that you've been starving?

i'd rather hear your silence than anyone else's voice.

the night was their day.

& i've had to tell some lies about some strange things just to get here.

undercover farm boy posing as a city man.

making music just to say something but everyone likes it.

close your ears to the snakesong, or don't, the truth about me is only hearsay among these fruits.

it must mean something if they've got to try so hard to disengage (?)

we're off the deep end & we both don't know how to swim.

the fox never strays too far away.

if i ever get out of this town, would you follow? would you follow?...

i'd stay here forever & go mad if it meant staying in the same city as you.

set in our collective future;

there he is with his hair slicked back tight, sharp in colors they chose, supported by thunderous onomatopoeias as he walks towards the red hanging velvet;

there, to speak in front of the pretentious sea of (not) well-known greek gods & goddesses.

we embrace in the cold & we leave in the cold.

are we just running from something we know is atomic?

or are we just chasing after something overnight & ironic?

the vineyard is closing in. beads of sweat still glisten in the winter morning sun.

there, when i closed my eyes, you co-starred for the very first time (you must be on my mind that much).

i pace alone while you're wining & dining.

i shiver & stammer as i remember him saying "i feel like i have to with you..." when i told him he doesn't have to be on for me all the time...

is this why you leave? is this why you leave?...

my breath left my lungs & my roots embedded themselves into the earth. a certain kind of realized sadness glazed over the windows.

all i ever want is for mutual reconstruction,

but all that remains is all that remains.