A woman who wears
many hats; still
does her hair

I had a dream about you.
I was at a party and I hate parties.
There were people so many people
All dancing and drinking flat cheap beer
From flimsy, disposable paper cups.
The boys were jackals hungry for the
Women with their painted clown smiles
And thickly lined black pearl eyes.
The room and the people were spinning.
Everything shifted and you and I
Were outside in the grass the house
Behind us standing sentinel
The air feels cool in my lungs and each
Blade of grass was a sweet nothing.
We lay there in the backyard without talking
For an eternity. Your hand on the ground to
My left was close enough to hold, but I didn’t.
We just looked up at the sky, the clouds hid
Our stars, but I’m sure that they were crossed.
We rolled over and fell down
A steep hill like
        Children do, faster
                and faster until all that
                        existed was green  and
                               I had no thoughts for once.
I slowed to a stop, opened my eyes, and
There were carnival lights everywhere.
Sights and smells like I’d never know and
I wanted to experience all of it, but I
Looked to my left and you were gone.
The lights meant nothing without you.

Sometimes I wake up and forget
Where I am. I have to remind myself
That I am here and you are there and
That all of the romantic scenarios in
My dreams are not real because in spite of my
Tendency to let my unconscious mind wander
To a place where we could be together. And
In spite of the fact that I could never remember
My dreams before I met you, this is not a love poem
Because you don’t know me and I don’t know you
And I don’t know how to get to know you
From three hundred miles away.
You kept up a barrier between us, always
Kept an empty chair between us, now I know why.
I wish you would have told me you were leaving
Still I hope that we can meet somewhere in
Between here and there before I forget the
Kindness in your eyes and before you forget
That you once found me beautiful.
Yes this is not a love poem, but this is a thank you note
For if we can't clear the clouds from our stars
I'm still grateful for having met you
Because when I remember the peace I felt
When I was near you, when
We spoke without words
I dream.

I am a hopeless romantic
And you are my hopeless romance
Away from you I feel homesick
I’ve no grounds for this stance
But ever since New Year’s Eve
When you said a little too much
But not enough, I believe
That if only we could touch
And exist together in space
You could be my shelter
In my heart you’d have a place
And I could be your answer
I can only hope that someway
We can meet again someday

When you say: you are Sooo
skinny, *****. I think you’re
trying to complement me
but just don’t, please just stop.
I’ll let the use of ‘*****’ as a term
of endearment, go for now.
But Skinny is not a complement.
It’s a buzz word that evokes images
of too thin runway models, and
******* thigh gaps. Please don’t
associate me with #thinsperation.
Social media is as divided on
the issue as my thighs.
Pitting skinny ******* against
fat ****** all in the name of likes
and follows and shares.  
They pray on our own need
to validate our bodies and they
know the fastest way to do
so is to hate hers.
But taking the media’s
imposable beauty standards
and turning it on its head than
passing it on to me is just a game
of tag that none of us can win.
We are warring against our fellow woman
in pursuit of the ideal female form.
We are warriors behind the message
boards fighting the good fight for say
‘health’ or ‘feminism’.
Feminism does not mean do whatever
you want say whatever you want.
Feminism is not fat or thin.
She is not lipstick or armpit hair.
****** or…not a ******.
She is simply women, plural,
because there are a lot of us.
I won’t fight anymore with
surface level insults,
but I will debate you on
how social media
is the assemblage of all
human depravities
So the next time you call me a *****,
leave my skinny *** out of it.

To the boy with the blue-green shoes,
Because that is how I know you
For I can’t look in your eyes.
Thank god you always wear that pair.

To the boy with the curly hair
Because I don’t know your name
I am much too shy to ask
And afraid you will not want mine.

To the boy with the smile so sad,
Because I wish that you could know
That I will miss you when I
Let you leave, but can’t let you go

Last night at a party I had five shots
And five revelations along with them
Thank you, tiny sweet shot glass for
Burning away inhibitions.
Burning hot,  liquescent cinnamon
Goes straight to my knees and my phone
As I sat on the kitchen counter, texting,
And I had some things to say that
         I never dared to before.
One: Like how when I thought that
you wanted me, I was an apparition
that had been trying to break the veil
between two worlds, to no avail
and you with your kind eyes
          resurrected me.  
Two: That I’ve never been noticed by a
good man. Nor have I noticed any.
You were sugar and spice, but
telling someone that you miss
them and then never fulfilling
the sweet promise of someday,
         isn’t very nice at all.
Three: The first time you told me I was beautiful
I couldn’t believe you. Because I always believed
that complements were gifts men gave
to women to remind us that we are only our
bodies. And as a girl who is most comfortable
when she retreats deep within the recesses
of her imagination I find this troubling.
Besides what good is beauty when it only
          serves to make sweeter my fire.
Four: the second and third and fourth time you
called me beautiful I believe you meant it .
Because you offered up those treats without
demanding payment and I thought that’s what
respect was, what longing was. And it felt good to
be wanted for more than my body but still...
I felt the heavier meaning your words
And your eyes spoke in sonnets
And the more you said it the more I needed
to hear it.I had never needed to hear it before you.
But your insistence that I am beautiful
made me want you and for the first time
               I let myself want.
Five: I hate that if you called me right now
I would go to you, in a heartbeat.
I hate that you inspire poetry so cliche.
That everything I  feel about you
is as the Sun rises each day:
Spectacular yet under appreciated.
I hate that I make excuses for you.
That I understand how you could
forget about me, change your mind
about me. I hate that I don’t think
you did anything wrong. I hate that I
should hate you but I can’t press send
because I’m still hoping that you will
come back to me, like how
the Sun longs to share the sky
                      with the Moon
I took your words like a shot of whiskey,
nervous at first and then all at once.
They tasted like heaven, and burned like hell,
a confusion of syrupy sweet nothings (nothing
because that's all we ever were) and the sting
of your silence when you left town. When I
first saw you I wrote a poem about how
I didn't know your name and I  was not brave
enough to ask. I knew you were going to be
important but I didn’t know then that
       the afterthought of you would
                                burn so much.

I am a penguin, a stupid bird,
That trained her wings to swim
In circles through dark cold waters.
Contrary to popular belief not
All penguins mate for life,
Warm water penguins do,
But emperor penguins only stay
Together for winter and most
Of that time it’s a long distance
Relationship. They use the idea
Of each other to keep warm.
I wonder if emperor penguins
Break up when spring comes,
Or do they simply go their
Separate ways without explanation.
I am a warm water penguin who’s
Found herself in foreign waters.  
Do not fall for emperor penguins
Yes they are tall and beautiful,
But they only need you for winter.
He will call you pretty and say
He misses you, he will see you in
The spring. These words are not for you.
When the sun breaks through
He will not answer your calls.
He will not say goodbye, and you
Will not be able to enjoy the warmth
Because you long for the delusion of winter
Because you worry that you wasted your
One shot at love or rather he did.
Stupid bird, now you know:
You can believe in love at first sight
But there is no guarantee that
Your penguin will love you back.