A poem is born
and suddenly
I am grateful
for my misfortunes

I spent my teenage years as an umbrella.
you wouldn’t open me up inside,
you only needed me for protection.
when it wasn’t raining, you set me aside:
at the bottom of messy school lockers
and the back seat of your car
with the promises you would never keep.

It’s the color of her dress the day that you first met her
“I’m not bold enough to wear purple,” she said.

It’s the color of the smoke that comes out of your ears when her touch sets you on fire.

It’s the color of the sweatshirt she stole from you freshman year of college and never gave back.

It’s the faded color of the asphalt beneath your feet on 7th street where you proposed.

It’s the color of the dog that you share. You wanted to name him Ash, but she said that would be taking the easy way out.

It's the color of her matching bra and underwear set. Every woman deserves to have one in her favorite color.

It’s the color of the blanket that you wrapped around her when it was too cold in your bedroom.

It’s the color of her eyes if you look closely enough. Although they got this way because of old age, you still think that they are just rare enough to make her beautiful.

It’s the color of her hair as she is lowered into the ground: breathless and leaving you behind.

It’s the color of the cloud over your head when you wake up to an empty bed every morning and remember that she’s never coming home.

It’s the color of the sky when it spits at you, reminding you that life without her is as pointless as an umbrella when it’s too windy outside.

It’s not the color of your breath when you exhale for the last time. In that moment, you were yellow.

sometimes, girls with monogrammed
backpacks will hold the boy with
the tattooed arms a little closer
than you want them to.
remember that there has to be a girl
who gets movie nights with her mother
instead of a date with the boy
with the candescent eyes. and sometimes,
that girl is going to be you. but not always.
oh darling, not always.

she puts on a little more makeup before class,
even though she knows that he won’t notice
anyway. she’s sure to put on that shade
of lipstick that her thirteen year old cousin
Sarah says is a work of art, even though it’s not
going to make him want to kiss her any more than
he did the day before.  she’s not too sure if she’s
doing it for him or if she’s doing it for her.

her warm eyes of
wonder and kind skin
kindle
a crackling aortic inferno
further fed
by a voice that feels
like water going down
but like a fireman
from Fahrenheit 451
sets my words aflame
with kerosine kisses
I can't and
I won't try
to ever tell you
what this is exactly
because we never really know
where we're growing
but this is different
this is painless
and it tastes like
nothing my tongue
has ever known
and it takes me to places
I've never been

I hadn't realized
just how parched I was
until she filled up my cup
as she poured out her heart
and I drank it down

I didn't mean to hurt you.
I was just trying to make myself whole again.
truthfully, I don't think I've been whole since I met you.
I'm sorry, I didn't think I'd hurt you.
But if I don't look out for myself, who will?

I just want to get you alone
because you're the closest
thing to home I've ever known.

we are the dreamers. we are the pranksters,
the pillow fort makers, and the lightning rod keepers.
we are the runners, running away from
everything we’ve ever known, but we always come right back.
we don’t know black and white, we never did.
we make each other’s lives a little more colorful.
the rest of my life, I will never have anything quite as beautiful.

In just one moment
We exchanged a glance
My words stolen, by her
striking beauty, I was struck
left stuttering with a mind
put-puttering and a heart
flut-fluttering

There is magic in her eyes
filled with love,
effervescing skies
of scintillating stars

There is mystery in the heart
of her, like an infinitely
blossoming flower