it's about learning that love doesn't come with an address
rather, a skeleton you hung in the subconscious element of your closet
i'm learning the grey area that resulted in the clash of our existences is something i don't fundamentally need
three days ago i realized its something i don't want
hey i'm still writing to you as if it were my career and i'm learning that
with you, i never had to taste the metallic tone of closure
i just, left. you didn't know
my last "i love you" would be the last and
instead of writing you novels and sobbing in between
every page, i stomped my feelings into bottles and lately i've been busy imagining the emotion that comes along with splitting a fine wine thats festered in my gut for quite some time
maybe i'll share it with my mirror,
sleeping on the floor is becoming much too frequent as is getting drunk off of emotion, only to
wish you were here

You know you’ll never finish a marathon
just by running your mouth

Today we have ambitions like birthday candles
once a year, a glimmer of hope,
a spark of life when we shout to the stars
our resolutions that will save us from this pollution
of lies until—
the wax melts and morphs into the frosting
we eat it all the same,
we are none the wiser,
but I’m tired of eating cake that tastes like ****

*******
is becoming our best man
and maid of honor
the only thing
tying the rings
around the fingers of our college lovers
and praying that this promise, for once,
won’t be broken
like our hearts in high school
like our bones in middle school
like our crayons in pre-school

Sticks and stones may break my bones
but words taught me a new kind of pain
words were the threads that I weaved into my childhood quilts—
every “goodnight,” every “sleep tight,” every “I love you”

so when those threads were unraveled
by the claws of divorce
and I was tangled in a tattered quilt of promises
I forgot how to sleep at night

I tried stealing words from sweet boys with gold eyes
just to patch up my quilt
yet every thread of their tongue
disintegrated to dust

But real strength cannot be found words
"goodnight" means nothing until I begin to dream
"sleep tight" is empty until I am enveloped in silky seams
"I love you" is a check that has not been cashed until your lips
meet my forehead
and you close the door gently behind you
because you don’t want to wake me

We’ll never win marathons just by running our mouths
we have to pick up our feet
stretch out our toes
and move.

scraping salsa off a festive snowman infested paper plate
I asked myself about the meaning of life

my last tortilla chip cracked under the pressure of my thoughts
and I was left with salty finger tips and a half empty stomach

I guess when you’re living in personalized, small-sized pizza
of a school the food is never filling and questions are never answered

No matter how many times I tell myself I know what I’m doing,
I wake up every morning just as lost at the day before

cracking my dreams like chips, bitter as the salt on my finger tips,
I’ve become a half empty stomach impossible to fill

one of these days I’ll be a home-cooked meal—
mashed potatoes salted just right,

sweet biscuits that crumble, never crack—
iced tea with the taste of sugar, just enough to savor,

I swear I could go on forever about my idealized platter
that one day I will feast on in my confident contentment.

Today I am a cracked canoe floating atop a restless ocean

My map was caught in the furry of a wave and melted away
into papery sea foam that oozed
through my hopeful fingertips

I taste nothing but salt
every time the wind whimpers your name
but still, I paddle on
with quaking palms and knotted shoulders
I paddle on
until the wind sleeps soundly
in the embrace of yesterday,
I paddle on.

I want to look in the mirror and get butterflies
I want to become my own lover’s eyes

its so strange that I am the person who knows me best
and we still haven’t fallen in love yet

Looking at myself at arms length I can honestly say
I know your November birthday
and the way the Beatles make you twist and shout
I know your favorite books from cover to cover,
the magical mysteries you couldn’t live without
You hate monkeys, oranges and lies
you love horses, strawberries and quirks
you paint your eyelids a light silver every morning
just to hide the places that have so often hurt
I feel your every tear graze my eternally rosy cheeks
I know that Sunday mornings are the best parts of your weeks
I know what you love and I know what you need,
why won’t you take a chance on loving me?

I love the way
you grab my hand,
lovingly, tracing it like a palm reader
who wants a better future for me
than the one you see,
you gently caress my face
and let me rest
next to you
now.

On my morning walk home
I laughed at the scared squirrel
who ran out of habit
and not because I was going to hurt it
On my morning walk home
I laughed at my self
who ran out of fear
even though you will not hurt me.

"Be careful who you call a King"**

All the romantic girls want a 'knight in shining armour'
All princesses want some noble king to sweep them off their feet
All the bad girls want a rebel who's mean with lots of green
Well... I'm all three

I want the joker
Who can outwit the knight in a fight with only his words
Who can make the king laugh with accents and gestures so absurd
Who can cause the rebel to cry and fly away like a scared little bird
I want the joker

I'm a poet
I need the joker to take away the sadness in the words I write
I need the joker to willingly fight for me with his own life
I need the joker to stand tall and proud, yet admit when he's not right
I need the joker to love me fully, unbiasedly and with all his might
I'm a poet

Knights are overrated
Kings are old and outdated
Rebels are deathly fated

Jokers are an eternity
Cause laughter can surely never die
Jokers are everything
Cause my heart will surely never cry