you have been tainted by the
poison of another woman's
touch

before was the
sweet taste of ****** on your
tongue

the way you felt was
innocent as you
extended trust.

all I sense when you are in me now is
another brown-haired girl
feeling you,


hazy marijuana smoke
spewing from her open
mouth.

I cannot deal with
excessive positivity
when I am the most
Negative Nancy
of the 21st Century

you telling me you love me
through our glass phone screens
is only temporary relief
from the distance between.

the truth is you will always be
Ivy League;
I merely dream
of getting to you.

the scent of summer,wafting in
(consisting of freshly mowed
grass and warmth)
tempts me to think of you:
ridiculous how we met
where we've been

but my hopes are High
(mostly)that the coming season will provide
better opportunities:for people who won't
ruin my life
(try to ruin my;life) again

it's entirely.your fault;
you put my heart away
(for no good reason)
you're one of every who
hates getting hurt
(yet never those who get hurt,
hurt others)
and the man,you,(who performed the hurt)
doesn't deserve
to have another woman's taste:
on the tip of his tongue

do you not understand
how to crack my spine
and read me like a book?

do you not know
what words to say
to keep my emotions at bay?

are you unable to find
the time to learn my language,
and speak fluently to me?

or are you simply
an empty shell of a
human male?

numb from
years of antidepressants
and being told what to do.

I will no longer wait
for the phase to pass.

I take my pinky promises back.

I never noticed
That history repeats itself
Yet you remain the same

Said the same about my past
As I say to him now

He was different;
Or I thought he would be,
But I turned out wrong

Made false assumptions
And woke to the blonde in my bed.
Loved him plenty for two whole years.

He is turning out to not be the one,
instead he is a repeat of thoughts in my head

You are the constant
You can walk in, but
At some point

You must quit walking out.

ink fades; paper grows yellow
around the edges of the letters you wrote.
I reread them and think of you;
and suddenly you reappear

It is the sun in February
that reminds me to not regret
coming to this coastal city.

It is looking at a blue sky
and studying on an
old brick patio.

It is feeling warmth on my shoulders
while knowing you are in
upstate New York, covered in ice.

It is a great feeling to know
I made the right choice,
when it comes to weather;

but the wrong one
when leaving you behind.

everyone writes about lying
from a different perspective than me.
I have mastered this art:
keep eye contact, and grit your teeth
stack lies up like books under your bed
make promises you cannot keep
turn around and go to sleep,
wait for the regret to seep
through the covers and
into your dreams.

being done means being

done.

being done:

it is
easier said
than

done.

being done means being

done.

being done:

it is
easier said
than

done.

Our cold hands are grasped
as I rest my hungover head
on your shoulder.

I watch you drive
the salt-covered streets
of my hometown.

I smile gently at myself,
as I coat you with lies,
daydreams about our future.

Reminding myself that in a few days
I must leave again,
and it cannot be like this:

Normal.

There are more important things than the way I was at fifteen.

That was when I cried over sweatshirts and said obnoxious things.

The days I let you take my insecurities and throw them back at me.

Back then I'd beg and plead with you to keep me in your dreams.

Now there is nothing left but for me to understand you crushed me

And I have long since sewn up the seams.

heave into
my structure
with the force
of a calamity
the clashing of
bare skin the
shaking of
metal bed,
low breathing
breaks the
silence and
meshes with
the clanking,
one last
shove before
we collapse
as if each
other is the
floor after
a long
hard day's
work

I have more than pieces of you.

I own chunks
and hoard them among
my own demons.

You have yourself under control,
masked by a smoky layer
of ****

Yet I am a puppet of my own

Peddling backwards
up a steep hill
gets me nowhere

Instead it ends up
with me in a
heap at the bottom
gasping for air.

Shame, I think;
the weather could be nice up there.

I wear my feelings proud
on emotion-stained sleeves
the clarity of mascara
trailed down my cheeks.

I am a contradiction
of serious and carefree,
and what isn't on you
is always on me.

I will continue to
kiss stars goodnight
remembering we share
the same dark sky.

While you hide in your head
forgetting to see
the beauty in things,
and in you, and in me.

A straightlaced blonde is on my bed
Instead of a wild curly brunette,
   rolling a joint on a dorm room desk
Aryan-raced pale hair
  on an attention-deficit head
Cold feet covering mind in the pink sheet
   under which we rest.
I would enjoy the plain
   light skin on mine
If the past's dark eyes ceased to shine.

Singlehandedly turn dreams into
        nightmares
I see aqua eyes in the back of
      your head
I feel a gnawing, a longing,
     if only for a few moments
as I shake myself awake.
All dreams end up the same.

Fall 2011

I am not a dog,
do not shorten my leash.

I am not a calm blue sea,  
do not sail over me.

I am not a sidewalk,
do not step with your feet.

I am a girl
waiting for no one,
hoping for someone
to understand I am free.

Tick

I yawn to the alarm
I drag my feet to shower
I tug on matching clothes.

Tick.

I scarf down plain cereal
Find socks, then put them on;
Cover with scuffed shoes, and I am done.

Tick.

Ihear the whirring of my engine; Soon
I park, I walk in,
I pretend to learn, I wanderlessly walk out.

Tick.

I stop at the red hexagons
Iwork five hours straight,
I go home to rest on my pillow

Tomorrow's the same day.

you have forgotten me.
I bent over backwards
I sat on broken limbs
I crawled on hands and knees
for what?
I went in knowing about
the uneven playing fields.
Hurting those I cared for
who jumped through fiery hoops for me
I am not the kind of person I want to be.

poor decisions I’ve made
have disgraced the way we work.
I want your soft shoulder to be
the first thing that I see
when we get up.
instead I find
a greying old stuffed animal
with broken beady eyes.

August comes too close for comfort
Like a bee about to sting
So I tense up and wait
to set everybody free.

A trail of pity they will
leave behind for me

fighting against something

that may or may not be meant

to happen is a pointless endeavor.

I have always enjoyed putting

myself up for something that very,

very easily could have me totally

shot the ****

down.

find me here.

against a car door.

a tilt of the chin.

but nothing more.

strawberry blonde.

a dark brunette.

blue and green eyes.

meshed and matched.

eight-hundred miles,

here it’s nineteen.

a train-wreck

i am waiting to see.

so we meet again.

you’re the long stretch

between insomniacs

and their view of the

sun rising east.

even the birds are asleep.

and so my life rushes by.

no more razor scooter afternoons,

Barbie jeep and a kickball marathon,

walking home from school in spring, swinging a Powerpuff Girls backpack.

jumping on hot black trampolines, burning our small feet,

running to the park to see if we were able to hold on to monkey bars.

no more alligator tag evenings, falling down in wood chips but brushing it off-

I have always been a tough cookie.

and I become an adult soon enough, a victim of my own past and a

culprit of my future, but nothing in between.

Honda Civic and a movie marathon,

liquored-up nights,

high as the midnight sky, staring up at stars as far as the atlantic.

what did I ever do to you?

Guess you’re just a past,

from high school and the boys,

forget me and the rest.

Every new one says

“How could he do that to you?

You’re amazing, you’re great, you’re the best”

but they do the same as the last.

Someone out there who will handle my neuroses?

My jealousy, my protective, my

distrust and inability of sleeping?

For now I’ll slip into a sun-soaked summer coma

I’ll forget you and remember alcoholic nights

puffing sweet-scented smoke into clear air;

Fine with me if you don’t want to see

pink cheeks and light brown hair.

i don’t miss you, but i miss simplicity.
i miss being held, i miss being cared about.
nobody does that anymore,
nobody cares to make sure i’m okay.
my friends do, but it isn’t the same;
they can be there for me, but not in the same way.
for the first time i have no one but myself,
and if i want you in my life again eventually,
i’ve got to learn to take my own advice;
“sometimes, in order for someone to be in your life
later on, you have to let them go right now.”
italic i’ve never been good at listening to myself. *italic