“We get it, you write.”
What a laugh
You get it that I write
But you don’t understand
That this is the only way
I can say how I feel,
Say what I think,
And I can say it masked
By metaphors or
Similes
That would leave the
Reader guessing what
I mean.

“We get it, you write.”
But you don’t understand
That the words flow through
My head every waking moment
And I’m constantly thinking
Of the next line to be typed,
The next word.
I can’t go a day without
Thinking in poetry,
Without wanting to express
Myself with these paragraphs,
Without needing to release these
Feelings.

“We get it, you write.”
You get that it’s frustrating
That I take a random sentence
You may say that intrigues me
And turn it into something
That you never noticed when
You were saying it.
You don’t see the world of
Possibilities
That are unleashed with
Each word you mutter
Under your breath
But I do

“We get it, you write.”*
And I get it that you will
Never understand that
It isn’t just writing to me
Because, after all,
I am the
Poetry
And the poetry
Is me.

I should stop calling these thoughts
Dumb
I just really like you is all
And I'm afraid I'll **** things up
Like I always do
By telling you how I really feel
Or showing you every single thing
I've written about you
Cause that's how it's always been
Every romance ends with a poem
Instead of me
In their head
Or in their bed

And we sat on your couch
Making out
While La Dispute sang in
The background

Spoken poetry
and
Tied tongues
Blended together

And became hands
On bodies
And heavy breathing
Touching in all

Of the right places
And I was consumed
By fire in my belly
And you stared

At me with the same
Fire in your eyes
And your fingers
Were greedy

As they discovered
All of my secrets
And my creases
And you kissed me

"You set on me, but you are not the sun."* - Brand New, Not the Sun

I wish I could turn everything into a poetic statement.  I wish, instead of saying, “You touched my hair,” I could replace it with how it felt as though the world would crumble if you ever stopped touching me, how every single letter in your vocabulary always had me on the edge of my seat, hoping that they could form into words that said something along the lines of you need me like the sun needs the moon in the sky and the elephant never forgets those types of things.  

I wish I was articulate enough to explain in a way that wasn’t too emotional how I held my breath waiting for your calls until my lips turned blue and I grew a little fuzzy around the edges.  How each time my phone rang with you on the other line, I could finally take in that fresh air and smell you even though you weren’t there.  How many lonely nights I sat with that bright light in my eyes, looking at every incoming message with malice as not one of them had your name on it.

Even if I could form all of this into a lovely form of poetry, free flowing and wild, I would never be able to tell you how much I thought of you before you disappeared like the sun right after it set and how now I sometimes feel like my life is filled with unbearable nights with no hope for the morning rise.

I still miss you sometimes.

I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.

it was the first time I'd
realized
that.

tiny hand slips from my finger
“me do!” he boldly declares

pit-pat first step
he beams, I smile
pit-pat second step
“me do?” “you do”

Pit-pat third step
thump- I reach…
“no! me do!”
up again pit-pat

pit-pat, pit-pat, “me do! me do!”
Singing - chanting - laughing - marching

pit-pat goes my heart
learning to let go