The air of brotherhood once flowed so freely between us.
Midnight hours coming with no notice and little care.
Silences that stretched through the night,
A conversation which spoke the most profound sentiments of fellowship.
Though you may quickly wish away those days,
Or rather read them with regret.
I am not so quick to vilify the part you’ve played in this story.
Though the blood between us has froze,
and though the pain you have caused is insurmountable,
I will not make you a villain, like you have made me.

I have been a hero to some
A villain to others.
I am woven throughout many stories.
I am sometimes the voice of reason,
Other times the voice of regret.
I have played a part in victories
As well as quite a few defeats.
Sometimes I lose myself in the unintentional damage I have done,
And try to dig myself out with the damage done to me, but it always falters.
I think the problem is
I am quick to forgive those who harm me
But can't forgive myself for what I've done to them.

It was in the way she looked at me.
A tenderness I hadn’t seen,
That made me wish that we
were the only ones to see these stars
and dream these dreams.
I watched her walk down the aisle
with a bouquet of rain, dandelions, and beautiful things.
We were kids, yet we held our dreams in our hands
hoping to grasp tightly to them as long as we could,
yet loosely enough for them to take flight
carrying us by their kite-strings.
Dreams made of cotton and twine.
Trying to put together a masterpiece
one piece at a time.
It was in the way she looked at me
that made me see,
I would do anything to build a life
and tie together dreams
to make something beautiful
for her to see.

you came into
my life
as an
exclamation point
wandered it
as a
question mark
i thought you’d
leave with
three dots
behind
but you left
with only
one

And then you realize
that no amount
of milky coffee and doughnuts
can cut the bitterness of loss,
but you have to learn
to eat breakfast alone
eventually.

I always felt like I was on the verge
of losing you,
that I would forget the curve of your teeth
when you smile,
or the strength of your hands
propped up against my shoulders,
but that strength was never your own.
You just used it to see over my horizons.
You even said it yourself.

I was the one with broken fingers and spirits
that carried you through the shadows
of your valleys.

I was the one you stared at through salty eyes,
clutching your ribcage,
looking for your sister's heartbeat,
even though you could only find your own.

I was the one who laid next to you on the concrete,
starry-eyed and promise-drunk
looking up at the shooting souls
that tried to pass through
our atmosphere,
using the tails of their lives to better our own.

But I was the one who needed you
to make me better.  

I was the one who wanted
your January weddings.

I was the one who was your orchard,
your baby girl, your butterfly,
little wanderer,
the fragile thing you were so afraid of losing,
of letting go,
but crushed in between anxious palms
and phone calls.

I wanted to be a poet,
so I creased myself into
a bright blue envelope,
addressed to the moon,
and asked the Old Man
His thoughts about how vast
mountain ranges are contained only
by the bones of his ribs.

And He sat quiet, opening His crusted,
ancient mouth only to ask
"Do you love him?"

I stared, doe-eyed and small,
as the stars dimmed their chatter.
My cheeks lit up like comet tails,
but He nodded His head,
shutting the half moons of His eyes,
not asking questions, or rhymes,
or reasons.

"Then why do you stare up
at the stars at night
when the brightest one
lies fast asleep in your bed?"

i called Jesus today to ask where He put my sweater
that was laying on the edge
of the brown armchair in the living room
but He hasn't called me back yet.

i'd like to think that maybe His phone died,
but i know He's ignoring me
because the phone rings twice
and then goes straight to voicemail.

i wonder if it's because i came home late last night
smelling like ash and whiskey.
He says He can taste how mixed up I am,
and calls me bitter
because i won't let Him kiss me on the mouth.

But i don't want him to know
that Sazerac tastes sweeter than His sermons,
even though it burns like hell.

He says i need to stop drinking, but He doesn't understand.
i need that fire in my throat. i need to be warm.
And He took my only sweater.

If we run
If we run
Then we might make it in time
If we're late we'll be forgiven
But if we miss it that's all right
Because tomorrow is another day
And at least today we tried
So won't you run
Won't you run
Won't you run with me tonight