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.

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

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.

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.

and the Adulteress wins again.
the girl gets the bed
and the Adulteress has the rest.
A hellish romance,
formed from a devilish grin,
the Adulteress holds his soul
in her heartless hands.
Cruel intentions on an adventure
to take them all,
and the Adulteress
leads the quest
never getting hurt
in her bulletproof vest.
It won't end until
the Adulteress finds her best fit

Was I in love with you when I shoved my tongue down another person’s throat?

This question I’m asked, on the spot, left with my thoughts, sift through and find the truth. Four months in, there I was, grinding on a stranger, staring at your jealous texts while someone else’s junk was rubbing up against me. Guilt so tough I wanted to puke. Promising and failing to never hurt you again. Some secrets are better left unsaid.

Officer, please, I was in love. Why wouldn’t I be?

I failed the sobriety test?
Of course: No choice but to feel the worst. A liar gets in too deep.

I’ll take the plea bargain;
One lie for you. One lie for me.

and in the year of the Dragon
I kissed a forehead with lips of nothing but love
the kind that hurt, shoved heat
through my mouth and down his throat,
burned our souls from the inside out

and in the year of the Horse
the flame died out

a text with
"you probably don't care, but
happy birthday"
with three minutes to spare

the next day consumed
by thoughts of him and
what we could have been

Overwhelmed by how
understated you are

My thoughts aren't
over-thought and instead

I am simply, for once,
content

Would it have been different if I'd changed myself for those around me?
Would I have been popular, well-liked, would I have managed
to replace my old friends with new?

Would I have wanted to?

I cannot cook. I do not clean.
I can talk politics and
I don't read women's magazines.
I know exactly what I want,
and I go for it, too;
I never think, I only do.
I know how to make you tick,
run my hand down your thigh;
I can blink thick with big green eyes,
lead you in and make you mine, but:
I'm not the girl you want to date,
I'm the one you wanna ****.

I am in limbo
searching for
what I need or
what I want
convinced they are
mutually exclusive

I will sit and
consider while remaining
stuck somewhere
in the middle

never once asking if
what I need and what
I want are
not separate at all
but instead,
they are one

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

To think again as a child would be bliss.
The grey spring skies mean nothing but that
I have to play inside.

I may whine, but with the distraction
of character macaroni and my favorite show,
I'll survive.

I'll see with my big green eyes
puddles to jump in and
spring coming alive.

A wonderful life with no stress,
nothing but my head to rest
on my father's shoulder as I go to bed.

chunks of my life
gone

like they were
never there
to begin with

sunk into quicksand
not to be
seen again

buried deep,
an alternate
version of me

The rain feeds the trees drop by drop until they're green
Spring has come
I can smell it in the sun

being done means being

done.

being done:

it is
easier said
than

done.

Yes,
project onto me like I'm a movie screen
trapped emotions for your last lover
with a quiet "I love you" in a beer-drenched stupor
as eyes gloss over and you forgot who
you're speaking to;
blind to the dark hair, the
subtle differences and I know:
those words aren't meant for me
and they won't ever be

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

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.

my fear of romantic relationships encircles me and I question:

Do you like me?
Am I annoying you?
Did I say something wrong?

And I push away the good ones as easily by my insecurities as I drew them in by with my air of confidence.

I want to know you.
to your core.
the gentle chest.
I want to insert myself there and
breathe your breaths

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

being done means being

done.

being done:

it is
easier said
than

done.

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

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.

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

there are times I want to use him
dig my nails under his skin and tear him limb to limb

the moment passes and the truth is this:
after all this time I still want
the chest I lie on to go to sleep to be his

weeks can pass and we reunite
in a grassy patch under summer moonlight
and I breathe his scent and wonder
if he's figured it out yet

I have been wrong
about many things
and wronged by
many men

I hope this time
I might be right
for once in
my quarter
of a life

and my world
will change

throw thoughts aside
and take a hit
meaning disguised
as soulless ***
frictionless fire
skin to skin
if it's what I think
I must stop my sins.

Despite all,
loneliness is a downfall.
when leaves start to gather
at the tree’s trunks
and creamy clouds roll in

the pit begins to widen and
autumn will take
its course:
******* me dry once more
every year this time
like clockwork

Can't establish the texture of his hair in words.
Detached from envisioning the exact shade of blue
in his eyes.
Unable to recollect the precise placement of the freckles
on his shoulders.
At one point I could sense each individual thing
as if it was my own.
What does it mean?

There has been enough distance between
that these things
can fade away
without a
trace

I used to get pleasure from so many tiny little things

Wrapping a boy’s sweatshirt around me, a zip up, or a pullover, sleeves slightly over the length of my own arms.

Inhaling the scent like a drug, the days before the marijuana and the reek of *** soaked sheets and

this was it.

A hoodie, doused in cheap body spray, Axe maybe?

I thought I was floating on a ******* cloud
Cheers from a homecoming football game and
The scent and warmth of cotton fibers and
it filled me.

Joy out of everything minute

“I’m sorry.” The words were mumbled under minty breath, barely a plea in their delivery.

Eyes diverted to the ground, avoiding contact with his. He stood his ground while her left foot pushed out and tapped the toe of his shoe gently.

For a moment she appeared to be a puppy with her tail between her legs, getting a scolding for ******* on the living room rug again. Her dark hair hung around her shoulders, limp, like sad dog ears sagging against her head.

Allowing her voice to sink in, he tilted her chin up with one hand, forcing their gaze to meet.

One moment was all that was needed to know she didn’t mean it.  She would do it again.

The choice was his.
Torture himself, or abandon ship.

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.

I think if I think anymore, I will spontaneously combust

Is it too much to ask
for your friendship
and your ***, too?

what are you scared of?

is it really me, or is it you?

The scent of a summer long ago
Wafts through my open window

Pretzel-legged on the blacktop driveway
A bit past midnight on my eighteenth birthday

The sour taste of a grape Black and Mild
Sits on my tongue

White stars in a black sky
Engulfed by the feel of it all

Warning label says:
"Do not leave alone for
too long" because she will
climb into her own brain,
shutting the door behind her

you must go in and
wiggle the latch
pull her out and
remind her who she is
if her thoughts consume her
you may never get her back

my heart stays still to remember this is about use
emotionless nothing, yet our foreheads touch in that moment of sweet sweat and heavy breaths
I try to hold it in laying next to you in the bed but
running my fingers through the blonde hair on your head
makes me want to tell you everything again

every touch for lust,
none for the need of love

but this is the life I've chosen,
to feel something outside

of my hollow shell,
no matter what it takes

two months in and
my heart remains
more than in tact
but full

and I realize with
a twinge of
fear

this may be
the real ******* deal

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

it happened again:
Earth went around the Sun once more and
brought us all along for the ride,
leaving me unable to digest
the last drive we had and I must
conclude that I'm not sure I'm ready
to see what lies ahead

you gotta know
I won't sit forever,
waiting for your voice
to greet my ears
in the morning,
or for your lips
to grace my cheek

I fill the void
with carnal desire,
in its animal form

I want nothing but
hot flesh, pulsing places,  
*** for pleasure's sake

No emotions, piercing stares,
the heat of the **** is what I want,
until something better comes along

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