today is the twenty-third birthday
of the first boy I fell for.
I can remember his seventeenth
like it was yesterday.
A sweet goodnight kiss
in a bitter winter's cold,
on the porch of my parent's house
after a high school formal dance.
In my gut then I knew
he would be the one to wreck me,
ruin my future's self-esteem,
but in my fifteen year's naivety
I ignored my brain
until he was gone and through.

I begun painting my nails
so that when I am hanging onto the real world
with nothing but my fingertips,
at least my hands will look pretty
before I fall

I see your sign.
The Gods of Strawberry-blondes have spoken.

You knew I'd know
when you clicked the button.

I see your sign, and I ask you, once more
to show me you miss me in a way
I'll know it's yours.

I think if I think anymore, I will spontaneously combust

I made a
Mind bending (time altering) attempt at telepathy.
I tried reaching out so that you think of me-
your New Yorker with a midwestern heart.
On my sleeve, an open wound for everyone to see.

Did my subconscious at least interrupt your sleep?

I recall staying out
until the sun broke
over the foothills of
my upstate town,
at the end of a warm night
in the starlit summer.

I remember sneaking back into
the house on tip-toes,
sinking into my bed at
the time my dad
begun to wake for work.

Sometimes, I pine for that time
in teenage life.

I am only twenty-one, and
I breathe my own life
into my lungs
as I wonder where the past has gone.

In a burst of new me,
I will cut my losses, like I'll cut my hair.
Watch pieces fall off
and be brushed away.
After all, my hair
reaches to my waist.
The past three years have
been filled with upkeep
I can no longer bear.
So, in 2015,
I will cut my losses and my hair.