lazy summer afternoons spent escaping the Georgia heat
pollution from the city intertwines itself with our damaged skin
i sit on his front porch as he and I torture our lungs
i never experienced him outside the four walls surrounding his bedroom
it was those walls he felt more secure;
a recluse out of insecurity, not desire
the sun and moon,
i rise in the morning just as he begins to set
only to be awoken by a sudden terror that if tomorrow is never guaranteed,
why should i waste a third of my life sleeping
when I'd rather be in the arms of a man who never shows his face?
i recall i fell in love with him many times,
once when i saw him hiding in the back row of the theater,
another when i heard his rasp in a voicemail,
after we made love in a room with no AC,
and once more when i followed you into a dimly lit room
i fell in love as you slipped your hand into mine
and the velvet underground played somberly,
and drowned out the white noise that came out of my mouth
as i whispered in your ear;
"If I Could Make The World As Pure"
please, make this easy on me
"And Strange As What I See"
i often have to wipe away tears as you turn your back
"I'd Put You In A Mirror"
and put on your clothes
"I Put In Front Of Me"
i'll mumble an I love you
"Linger On, Pale Blue Eyes"
and hope you mean it as you repeat it back
"Linger On, Pale Blue Eyes"
there is too much to lose, i am scaring both of us

you wrote a song bashing me
and I killed my fish just to feel something
we both have our ways of coping, friend.

Say my name until it sticks to your tongue like cotton
drying your mouth out into a drought,
making sure that every word you swallow down to keep you from speaking it
clings to the back of your throat, creating a lump

she misses you
but you come around for the selfish reason of making residence
in the vacated spots of her motel mind
the motel suite turning into a full time live in apartment
When will you get bored of this dumping ground town
much like you did of the other places you left behind?
Won't you miss us?

I manipulated my way into the contacts of your phone
just to prove to you how mature I've become
you took note,
you told my friend so.
But in your enlightened state,
your third eye can see the storm I've got planned for you
you unravel my plans of dragging you back into my drain storm
And here comes out the emotional part of me
that weighs the options;
would I manipulate you in order for you to become weak enough to run back into my arms?
Or do I instead let you go and follow your own accord,
knowing full well that isn't me.

I haven't changed, John, and I'm sorry that you'll never be able to know that.

there is no way to win in a world that is male dominated.

I have taken years to fully appreciate my body. It was not something that came naturally to me,
especially with an over critical mom
constantly concerned with my health and how I presented myself and my body.
now, in a period of rebirth,
I have found it upon myself to be able to look in the mirror
and appreciate how my *** is no longer flat,
or how my collarbones poke out underneath my neck

I snap a photo, and share it on social media.

the flood of insults and suggestions drown me until I am drowning in a sea of my own tears
"You should put on more clothes. No one wants to see that"
"you leave no mystery to a man. how disgusting"
"you are pretty in the photos where you are fully clothed. why do you feel the need to show off your ***?"

At 16, I have learned that what I wear is not up to me.
what I wear impacts other's lives,
the half of an inch of polyester cloth
that separates my beautiful and natural body from the eyes of the rest of the world
is so crucial to be fully covering the nape of my neck,
my shoulders,
my entire stomach,
all the way past my knees
and to my ankles
so that I am locked in a prison of cotton transformed into a shirt
because heaven forbid that .5 inches of thin yet protective cloth
hangs slightly lower than the nape of my neck,
revealing that I am in fact a girl.

the constant bombardment of men
telling me I should cover up my chest and ***
makes me feel as though I am property,
that by choosing my own clothes,
I am somehow offending and threatening their existence

why is it
that when men are gazing at the naked body of a woman
for their own personal pleasure
it's ok?
but as soon as I
want to celebrate my beautiful and curvy body
men instantly become repulsed with the idea that I am not
a ball of various fabrics and turtle necks
and instead a natural woman
who isn't afraid
to show a little skin.

caramel apple eyes
with no smile,
just a smirk
maybe you'll spare me
from my two year and counting sentence
but it seems unlikely
that i'll be able to get over you,
because if I haven't already
I never will.
Tell me why I can only formulate magnificent proses when they
come from a spot of mourning that you left in the pits of my rotting stomach
it's an ethereal feel that links me back to the sea
your scent draws me in close,
how I desperately want to jump off a cliff to save myself from your grasp.
I spend countless nights huddled in a corner of my room
and I've come to the conclusion that love is only good
when you're in it.
I return to the ocean cliff every day,
looking out to try to pinpoint the bottom of the raging blue rapids beneath where I stand 133 feet up.
Maybe if I can dance closer to the edge,
you'll take notice and save me before I fall
but who am I kidding?
I was the one to take things too far,

I don't want to finish this poem.

I imagined our last goodbye
would be something for the screens-
you would be about to board a train
(you were always the one to say goodbye)
I would make my way through the bustling crowd
and find you through the smoke
as you'd turn around,
the wind from a moving train would brush my hair ever so slightly
that at that exact moment,
you'd fancy me the prettiest girl to cross paths with
as a tear would escape from the corner of my eye,
i'd whisper from across the station;
"please don't leave me"

you are moving to Seattle-
out west to a city that never shows sun
it was meant for you.
you want to be a Bio major,
and you want to spend the rest of your days in the mountains.
Seattle is far away from the sub(urban) town you leave behind
and you never gave me the chance to see you through.
I will never forgive myself for the things I said,
but mistaking every stranger with long brown hair
and caramel-apple eyes
for you,
is punishment enough.

you are moving to Seattle,
and although I feel a bittersweet sensation
of being happy that you finally are getting your wish
(to, quote, "be away from you and this stupid ******* sleepy suburbia that offers me nothing but painful memories)
I can't help but torture myself
as I visualize you pursuing your dreams,
meeting beautiful, pale strangers that become your new friends
or finally gathering the courage to turn behind your chair and ask the
quiet redhead sitting behind you in your American Lit. class
if she'd like to grab coffee after lecture.
how can I sit back at home,
watching your through a blank, glass screen
seeing you move into the future
while i'm still stuck in the past,
heartbroken over losing the boy who left me in this do nothing town
as he moved on
to Seattle.