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.

I can give my affection to someone.
He hasn't arrived yet.
It's still the blonde hair
I dream of running my hand through.
As the year's changes stop spinning
out of control, I reflect and hope
the new 365 days
will get me over you and onto
someone new.

Do not give to those who only seem to take.
One day you will want something in exchange.
(They will be unable to provide.)
You'll be left stripped bare, to the bone
while they hoard what you want most,
whether it's the muscle in your chest
or your secrets that they kept.

I ruined you.
I touched your skin,
it burned right through.
Took from you
what you won't get back,
from the first moment
I kissed your lips in bed,
to the last fight at
the summer's end.
No one will take back
two years for you.
Dark greens sear straight through your blues
as you eye me once more
through a changed view.

We pretend to be adults making consensual decisions.
Yet there is the underlying question:
What will our friends think?
The truth is that
They won't think a thing if you
don't tell them anything.

we only see the black and blue
bruises that each of us made
on the other's skin.

we are both filled with shame
until the clothes come off.

was it a moment of weakness
or momentary bliss?

(Words taken and rearranged from an article off CNN.)


These neighborhoods in
St. Louis are on edge.
One bullet in the face.
Witnesses heard him say,
“Stop, stop. Don’t shoot.”
A police officer committed a crime.
The officer thought
One of them had a hand gun.
She had lost a son.
He was 18, just like Michael Brown.
He was a young black man
killed by a white police officer.

I keep dreaming of running my hand
along the nape of your neck
and into your hair.

I could be good for you
but you're too self-aware
of what could go wrong
when you let me back in

I want to feel in love again,
I want the comfort of it all.
I want to rest my head in the lap
of a new man
and smile, happy that the first
was not the last.

My surrender was a spicy-chicken sandwich. No lettuce.
I placed it on the kitchen island:
a white flag, asking for forgiveness.

There was no smile. Quiet acceptance.
My wallet would grow thin
with the make-up gifts.

If only we could have solved it
rather than masking the issues
with the scent of mediocre fast-food.

I see the vicious cycle.
A culprit of my own self loathing.
Yet I fall for it.

I'd never felt that way;
instead watched
the boy whose first
innocence I took
emotionally invest
in other girls.

Maybe you should focus less on my actions
and instead, reconsider yours.
It takes two people to **** everything up.

the final leaf
drifts off an oak tree
as the snowflakes
wait on the cloud's
starting line
far above,
hoping to be
the first one
to hit the ground
and win
against the Fall

I did it for once. I made my own decision. Of course, one can hope they make the right choice.

A pair of black Converse
on a tiled green floor
represent something more:
a different age
when I'd not yet discovered
who I would be

It was he who took advantage
and swung in,
like a knight I didn't need;
I was convinced that
the Stormy Sea
was the worst kind of me.

I was persuaded by
a dark-haired boy
who told me that
I would be nothing
but a wretched flea

I stand by the dark blue
skies as they change
to black, and I condemn
this terrible November man:
I switched to blue All-Stars
and kicked my way out of
the deep abyss.

I am a young adult.
I left behind the years of:
the same faces every day,
phone calls every night,
crawling through open windows
in the summertime.

As the years keep concluding,
each faster than the last,
I ask myself after a bottle of
cheap wine:
Would I ever go back to that time?

I wield my new heart
as if it is
my personal body guard

The only way to be truly whole
is if you fracture yourself
first, and learn to
pick up the pieces
to put the puzzle
back again

I miss familiarity;
soft skin pulled over
cheekbones,
red lips poised to speak.

What came out of the mouth
changed as do the seasons.
Summer got the worst
of me, it seems;
angry words at best.

I extend my wrist now
in this blustery fall
to a fresh face,
hoping it will lead me
to unweathered bliss.

Winter will come
as the beginning
of something new.

The King of the
Emotionless
strikes again,
too careless to notice
the war he began.

He retreats back
to the castle
to smoke a ****,
and sleep alone
in his empty bed.

I ask him:
Nothing to fix?

When I saw you last
you walked away
without a word to say.

But I never said
I wanted you to go.

I twiddled my thumbs
while you made the decision
that split me up in two.

I gave you my body parts
in the vain hope
that you would love me the same
as I did you.  

And so I say to me:
You don't need him
to hear from you
that you've found somebody new.

Am I ready to
throw the old towel in
and love somebody new?

allow me to note:
I cannot give anyone
one hundred percent
when I'm still learning
that I must give myself my all
before I hand it off
to anyone else.

Did I miss something?
Four years ago I'd beg
for you to come back to me,
and reconvene into the faithful
pet boyfriend on a leash

Now the chemistry is clear;
yet the feelings disappeared

A shame, I think;
we could have grown up
to have something stronger
than the whirlwind love
we had as teens.

To fall apart
and be exposed,
a skeleton of pure white bone,
skin of tarnished tan,
is not a way to live.

I came to the point
where no one but I
could inflate my body
with a rush of warm air
to fix a broken me

I have a new heart
that I made myself

If only finding someone
to be with the rest of your life
was simply about their taste in music
or their choice of television shows

we made the agreement:
the second you drop to your knee
and take her to the chapel,
I will be running in like the
beautiful heroine
in a classic romance novel

fall returns to the hills with gusto;
and as the wind sweeps in
I realize I am alone,
yet I am far from lonely
for the first autumn in years

how I can
feel my heartbeat
like it's in the
palm of my hand
while THC pours through
my blood stream is
a favorite thing.

But my ear
resting against your chest
listening to your heart rate
as if it were mine
that is what I miss
more when I am high.

It is not a competition;
but if this were the Olympic games
of wrecked relationships,
I would have the gold medal
while you sit in the stands

Never forget
there is always a person
who remembers who you
were when you drove a
Ford Taurus
and your ****** eyes
set sight on me

She knows you only as
a shiny new car;
a house with a table:
to line up
white powder,  
a bottle of Adderal
you are willing to give her;
nightly **** hits
and going inside her.

I am the one who
knows your heart.
Let me know when
you've re-found yourself.

You do this every time:
she is not any more special than I.
I have your words on loose-leaf paper;
"I love you, Sara" they read.
You always say
someday you'll make it to my
favorite place.
You make
empty promises with no gain.
And I, the liar, can see
straight through your ***** tricks
I can only hope one day
your true romantic fate
will wipe the smile off her face

You,
the topic of my vain poetry
Slip your way
into my ***** soaked bloodstream
With your
self-righteous arrogance

When I am moved on
I will laugh at your
selfish attitude

getting over yourself
is a breakup in which
you learn to love yourself again

For the past year
we have been apart
yet your long fingers
tugged my hair
reminding me that
you were still there

now to let go of your hands
and breathe in the fresh air

"To each her own"
I say to my friends
who are insisting
they need to lose weight,
As I choke on a
piece of pizza
I ate too quick

A relationship based on
lies and deceit
is no relationship at all

It was already long ruined
and I ****** on the pieces

What I say bounces
off of you and back onto me
I reabsorb my own words
into my bloodstream

shallow is the understatement
to express your intents
towards our pseudo friendship

you are far above,
wrapped in your nonchalant cloud
your only concerns:
"will the weather be nice enough
to golf tomorrow?

are the wheels on my new car
shined well enough?"

just because you do not try
to be any deeper in life
than a kiddie pool
does not mean I should stoop down to you

Feel the drunk room spinning
sloshed in *****
as I stumble up the stairs
attempting to make it
to the bathroom

instead my guts empty everywhere

now I, back for good,
notice
you still give me
the very same look
as you did
when we sat on
my dorm room bed
nervous freshmen
anticipating
each other's next
move
and in this current June heat
I find that
time continues with you

the fear of being content with life stems from
convincing yourself that as soon as things are
going well and you grin sheepishly at the people
you love,

that angry hand called depression pulls you back under
momentarily reminding you that
things falter and moods change

every time
I drive away from you
with your scent lingering on my
clothes and skin, a tease,

I feel the smile creep up involuntarily

instantly regretting that I could feel
any amount of happiness from you

I loathe your power for a moment
shaking your perfect kiss out of my mind
like a wet dog shakes dry

I cannot think that we might be
happy because in a matter of a split second
it will fall apart

the pedestal
on which he rests
remains across the lakes
atop the fruited plains
of the midwest

he is unwilling to share
with the East Coast brat;
the blonde who has made
a home in my chest

he complains, yet makes no push
to topple the boy over
and take over the nest

I ask myself now:
hundreds of miles over
four blurry years
what fight is left?

A late July heat
can drive two teenagers
crazy

In the summer of 2009
when there is nothing to do
but lie around and whine

What better thing to try
than to envelope the warmth
into each other?

To forget about the problems
that five years from then
won’t matter