Does she sit on our bench?
Steal ketchup from your tray as you take her fries?
Does she make your eyes as ***** and moronically wide as they were when they met mine?
Do you play her our song?
Does she lay on your lap and hum along as you strum?
Does she laugh like I do, in the middle of a kiss for no apparent reason, except because she's having fun?
Does she taste like I do?
Like our packs of mints and spearmint gum?
Do you talk to her like you talked to me?
Recite lines from cheesy romantic comedy?
Do you roll around with her behind velvet curtains?
Does she look at you as if she's certain that...

She loves you?

Does she love you?
Do you love her too?
Do you love her like the way I loved you?
Did you love me too?

Did I sit on her bench?
Steal looks from your eyes as you took my fries?
Did you play me her song?
Did I steal her kisses, her laughter, her fun?
Did I taste like her gum?
Steal her cheesy lines?
Roll around with her man behind those curtains?
Did you ever feel as certain that...

You loved me?

Did you love me?

I loved you.

Does she sit on our bench?

I still miss you.
I miss the kisses, the cuddles, the ***.
I miss your cheeky little grin and your wispy beard against my skin.
I miss how your eyes would glisten and your voice went higher,
As I listened to you tell me about dragon ball, or how work had been prior.
Without you, there are highs and lows, and
Every day is too fast, yet too slow.
If you had asked me early March why I’m here,
There would be nothing else to hear, except gushing over your curly hair
Or, how you walked me home from school every day when I was 15.
****.
Why did you have to be so mean?
It went and ****** up everything.
Why’d you do that **** to me?
I couldn’t even just be and exist as me,
And everything is just the worst
Because I had to put me first.
I still miss you.
And, honestly I don’t know what to do
Or even who the **** I am.
I’m a phantom of myself.
I’m a ******* basketcase,
I’m a useless waste of space.
I can’t stop messing up everything.
And ever since we broke up,
I’ve worn your jacket to work.
And, I’m the **** that dumped you, but
My heart ******* hurts.
I still miss you.
I see you in every spring flower rising from the dirt.
And, I think they wrote every song about you, too.
Why does every beautiful piece of art look a lot like you?
I hate that I love rom coms.
I hate that you wouldn’t dance with me at prom.
I hate that I’m not Sally, and you’ll never be my Harry.
I hate that I wanted to marry you.
I’d rather die than be your spouse.
You’re still trying to say who I should talk to and what I should do.
I hate that I’m stuck 2 minutes from you and your stupid ******* house.
Because of you I can’t breathe and I shake.
Every time someone yells at me, I ******* break.
I hate that you’re so ******* bad to the core
I hate that you called me slurs and said I looked like a *****
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
I still miss you.
Remember when you smacked my face?
That’s something you can undo or erase.
Remember when I tried to exit a moving vehicle because you were keeping me against my will?
Rather you like it or not, that was meaningful.
Remember when you took my keys so that I couldn’t leave?
I genuinely can’t believe I let someone do those things to me.
Remember when you didn’t get me anything for graduating, turning 18, Valentine’s Day, anything.
You owe me so many ******* dates that you cancelled because it was getting late.
Remember when you berated me in front of all of my friends over and over again?
You called all my interests stupid and you never gave a **** about my art.
You wrote your name across my heart, but you never would dance with me
Because you thought I was cringey.
I still miss you.
And boy, you haven’t a single clue how to treat a woman, or even any person.
I hate you. I love you. I hate you. I hate that I still love you.
I hate that my identity is so entangled in you.
I don’t know what the **** to do.
Why am I here?
Why am I stuck in this perpetual state of fear that I can’t live without you?
You should get out of my head.
****, these intrusive thoughts want me dead.
I hate my stupid ******* brain for filling myself with disdain towards who I am alone.
I want to text you, but I’ll refrain.
Now, you’re nothing more than a name in my phone.
You’re not the boy that makes me swoon, giggle and moan anymore.
You’re not my baby, my qt, mi amor; you aren’t someone I want to adore.
I still miss you.
Why am I here?
What am I doing?
Deep inside me something’s brewing.
Every day I’ve sat here stewing.
I need to be someone new,
I need to figure out what to do.
Why can’t I ******* stop thinking about you?
But I’m still breathing; I’m not dead.
I keep forcing myself out of bed.
And I even dyed my hair red.
I’m here.
I’m where I’m supposed to be
And until my heart mends
I’m surrounded by lovely friends.
I’ll run away to be an artist.
Even though I’m not the smartest, I’ll figure this **** out.
I’ll learn to live without you.
I quit that job I hated.
My heart throbs for something different.
And **** love; it’s overated.
I still miss you.
My whole life was infiltrated by cupid’s stupid arrow.
My trust in life is so near narrow, and
I’ll never let a boy treat me like a barbie doll.
I am my own;  I won't be toyed with and I won’t fall
for some self obsessed, egotistical, adorable, little *******.
I wake up in my own bed and I own my own legs.
You can cry and you can beg, but I will never be your girl again.
And ****.
I’m here now, and I’ll allow what I’ll allow.
I’m going to just live for me
I’m here to just simply be.
I’m lost and I’m unknowing,
But ****** ****** boy, I’m ******* growing.
AND I’m here now.
I’m figuring out how to say no,
And I’m trying to go when and where I want to go.
I’m going to run away from you,
And you can stay in this **** town.
I know I won't let me down.
Why am I here?
One day I woke up on this blue-green sphere, and it didn’t mean a single thing.
I was a lump of flesh and blood; my mind was fresh and not corrupt.
I learned pain and I learned love. They both came and went abrupt.
I’m here now scorned and torn, and my heart and mind are worn.
I’ll live without you.
I’ll do what I have to.
What does it even matter why or how?
I’m here now because I’m here now.
I still miss you.
But, one day I won’t.
I’m here to see that day I don’t.
I’m here to hold my own heart.
I’m here now to make my art.
I still miss you.

Kids are blowing bubbles in their lawn,
Sleepy hair—all messy— with pajamas on.
Yellow dandelions turn to grey.
They make wishes out of childs’ play.
As their seeds and pollen float away,
The sun is kissing freckles, tans, and burns.
Leaves are dressing trees, and flowers turn.
But suddenly it’s super, super hot.
Plants are drying out; their roots rot.
Firm plastic is so mushy that it’s bending.
Global warming is no longer impending.
Politicians and corporations act estranged
They pretend the climate hasn’t changed.
After all, why would they even care?
They won’t even live through the big scare.
Everyone and everything is melting.
The heat is excruciating and sweltering.

What is a poet if not a victim?
For he seems to be the only exception to a world of goodness.
Oh, what better way to depict him, than his own victimization?
What is a poet if not a child?
Granted, some are aged, but they all whine.
What is a poet if not broken?
He does mention his glass shards on the frequent.
Do keep in mind that he will never be doing fine.
What is a poet if not psychotic?
For him and all his kind appear to be mad.
What is a poet if not sad?
Spoiled minds of the depressed kind truly are poetic.
What is a poet if not contradictive?
For him, it's quite addictive.
What is a poet if not guilty?
For he may not always have the ability to plea innocent and play the victim.
What is a poet if not old?
Granted, some are young, but they're all wise.
What is a poet if not whole?
He is full of courage, he is bold.
So tell me, how is he not whole?
What is a poet if not sane?
Sure, he may be vain and a little odd, but he does write with utter sanity.
What is a poet if not glad?
He writes of love and purple lips.
Though his happiness may dip, he truly is a joyous soul.
What is a poet if not a fool?
He does accuse and misconstrue.
What is a poet if not a man, just like me and you?

the fuzz to your hair
is too soft for its share
your bags, the creases of your eyes
are pink like rising skies
the freckles about your arm dance about my heart
they look like stars
your eyes are bright; they're fireflies
too beautiful to contain to jars
and
your lips are purple
taste of spearmint and maple
the crease of your brow smiles with your face
not a single trace of a laugh line
but
you laugh like the ocean
first, your laugh is calm
but as it approaches the shore
it is sure to swallow me whole
your smirk, though half
makes me whole
and
your lips are purple
taste of spearmint and maple

I am the pendulum that swings
left.                                                           ­                                 
                                                                ­                                          right.   left.                                                
           ­                         right.
left.              
         right.
I find myself in equilibrium, now, nothing is afflicting me.
the slightest nudge-- a gentle push
and
now I'm swinging violently.
left.                                                           ­                                 
                                                                ­                                          right.   left.                                                
           ­                         right.
left.              
         right.
  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Why can't I think?
I'm left.                                                            ­                                
                                                                ­                                     I'm right.  
I'm left.                                                
           ­                            I'm right.
I'm left.              
            I'm right.
I can't breathe.
I've lost my sight--
blinded by the salted tears I breathe, and choking on my tongue,
I can't think.
I can't speak.
Why are you screaming at me?
I am the pendulum that swings
left.                                                           ­                                 
                                                                ­                                          right.   left.                                                
           ­                         right.
left.              
         right.
Breathe. Stop Crying. It's fine. I'm fine.
I'm alright,
I'll just brace myself for another ******* night of swinging
left.                                                   ­                                         
                                                                ­                                          right.   left.                                                
           ­                         right.
left.              
         right.

Everywhere I go, I’m surrounded by blue–
A feeling I’ve never lost, but it’s often renewed.
The sky is blue with streaks of gray;
I sat still and held out until May.
Everything I touch is turning blue.
Everything I thought I knew was wrong;
I’ve been trying hard to make the days go along.
The car I drove past to get away was a baby blue,
And, I wondered how it would feel to lay beneath its spinning blue rimmed tires.
I’ve lit fires inside myself with a blue flame.
They caught wind, and became hard to tame.
Deep down, I’m blue and not the same.
Living blue is a dangerous game.
That house by the school is an electric blue–
The same shade as my innards and brain stew.
The screen of my phone has a blue light,
And I stare deeply at it every night.
I have mixed feelings about that blue sight.
I can’t distinguish wrong from right.

I guess you found me in my darkest blue.
I tried hard not to share that shade with you.
I really don’t know what to do,
But you told me your favorite color might be blue.
That long sleeved shirt you like to wear is a blue-green: aquamarine.
You’re too kind; you don’t know how to be mean.
I’m so rotten; I’m an ugly blue.
I hope you don’t get caught in it too.
I hate myself, but I like you.
It scares me that I might turn you blue.
But the blue I am when I’m with you is soft, pretty and pale.
Tunnel vision makes me frail.
I easily forget how this could fail and end up bad.
I’d hate me more if I’m what makes you sad.



You know I struggle on my own two feet,
And I can sometimes never eat;
It’s so dependent on my mood.
You asked me over to make me food.
You made me blueberry pancakes.
My heart quakes at those berries bleeding blue.
And I didn’t find that berry blue even slightly scary.
You gave me a flower of the same color;
It made me giddy, and I felt airy.
I’ve always wanted my blue to be duller,
But when you make me happy blue,
I really don’t mind the vibrant hue.

The last thing that I want to do is infect you
With my blue saturation for a selfish infatuation.
I’m terrified of my frustration over our peculiar situation.
I’m starting to see my blue on you.
Is this healthy?
I haven’t a clue.
You should know you really do look so cute when you wear blue.
I can’t stop positioning myself in your every move.
I’ve become too comfy with this blue groove.
Blue butterflies swarm my stomach.
I’m overwhelmed; I feel so sick
I’d hate to make your green eyes blue.
When I am with you I forget that ick.
If I ever turn you blue too,
It will be the worst thing I ever do.
Even though I’m stained blue,
I can’t help but fall for you.

That day I woke up sour.
I had lost every ounce I ever had of power.
Helpless, I searched, wondered and I did scour.
All these thoughts, I shoved down to devour.
I grew more weary with every passing hour.
I thought of leaping from my tower.
And, into myself I did cower.
I sat there letting the water envelop me into a shower.
I decided to pluck the **** I thought was a flower.
That day I fell asleep sour.

Perhaps
You were infatuated
Perhaps
You were well-situated
Perhaps
It was the ease and comfort that allowed you situational hurt
Perhaps
It took precedence over your sanity
Perhaps
Relational humanity is nothing but addiction

Is said love an affliction to the heart-- or merely some anomaly?
If the heart is meat of veins and chambers with purpose of pumping blood,
How has it grown a monopoly over the presence we call "love"?

Perhaps
The heart is just an *****, and love is just a term
Perhaps
It describes the judgment lapses of the synapses that fire in your brain--
Those associated with the dopamine ejected from *******
Perhaps
The enamored, that are happiest, are with some conviction
For, love may be the prettiest addiction.

I am living as static
amongst a chaotic mess
I am living as shy
amongst a world of socialites

my sister,
she is living as charisma
she is living as the current

I am living as a shadow,
not to her, but something else
I am living in fiction,
as she makes them laugh with brilliant, life-time diction

she is living as she goes,
doing all things she knows she knows

I am living half; she's whole
I am living as a fool

she is living half; I'm whole
she is living as a fool

I am living as I go
doing all things I know I know

she is living as a shadow,
not to me, but something else
she is living in fiction,
as I make them laugh with brilliant, life-time diction

I, her sister,
am living as charisma
I am living as the current

she is living as static
amongst a chaotic mess.
she is living as shy
amongst a world of socialites

To hip and hop and never stop,
The bouncy frog jumps to flop.
Grassland dead ends to cement junction.
On sunny days these roads don’t function.
The pavement gets so stupid hot;
The frog is sure to dry and rot.
Surely there is something to do!
Panic rises; he sees a shrew.
Is it friend, or is it foe?
Mr.Frog just wants to go!
The sunlit sidewalk makes searing pain.
Though, suddenly it starts to rain!
The shrew dislikes his wet feet.
Into the grasslands, he retreats.
From here the frog can hop along.
In the downpour, he belongs.
His froggy feet now feel relief.
Though this calm is quite brief.
Slithering by is a garter snake.
Mr.Frog has started to shake.
He fears he’ll be a froggy steak.
He is frozen, except for his quake.
Miss Snake is suffering a stomach ache.
This tasty frog she just can’t take.
Even though he’s nice and yummy–
He’ll cause a rupture in her tummy.
It makes her sad and pretty dull;
But, she is just much too full.
She squiggles quickly right on through.
Into the grassland, she went too.
Despite dysfunction, he defeats obstruction.
He ventures through cement junction.
He’s made it past the treacherous path.
The frog now leaps into a bath.
The rain creates warm mud puddles.
A sweet reward to end his troubles.

I want to say it.
It’s raging in my throat like a wildfire.
I am terrified of the implications.
The words recede in a deep, dark pit.
I’m not quite sure yet what I desire.
This feels different than the previous situations.
it’s just a word.
I wish it would come out of hiding.
Maybe I’m being overly cautious.
The thought is feeling less and less absurd.
I want to coax it from where it’s residing.
When I try to let it out, I grow nauseous.
Maybe you should say it first?
I don’t know exactly how I’d react.
I hope I will just say it back.
I fear I may just be the worst.
My thoughts and heart are too abstract.
I think I should tell you this.
I really like your soft green eyes.
I like when we laugh and kiss.
I know it’s something I had to realize.
I hope that you do think it too.
The stewing word that’s left to brew.
Everything we do is new.
And that **** word will soon erupt.
Piercing my lips with a violent shove,
Against everything it will disrupt.
That **** word rhymes with dove.

I needed
naked crayons to color
scrunchies for my 3-inch pigtails
loose teeth for one soggy dollar.

I would
strip the paper skin from wax
pull my short brown strands
just about break my jaw

I was a child.

We stretch my blanket over your center console;
I squish a pillow between the gap between our headrests.

The seats are laying as flat as can be;
I’m gripping your velvety upholstery.

My feet dance;
my legs twitch in the air as you twirl your fingers between them.

My shirt and shorts are loosely hanging from my wrists and ankles.

I don’t look at the stars peeking from your windshield through the trees.

I’m focused on you.

I see your silhouette perfectly.

Your lips are curling into a grin.

I feel your hands exploring me;
I feel your kisses on my skin.

I’ve lost control of my own vocal cords; I can’t seem to swallow the sounds escaping from my teeth.

Your windows are steamy from my moans and sighs.

Now I’m sitting atop your lap.

I let my hands get busy between your thighs.

Wispy beard hairs are tickling my neck.

We collide, I ****** and I ride.

We melt into the seats of your Toyota Camry.

When it’s all done, I’m wrapped into a hug

and spoiled with your words of love.

I had a crab so snippy, it snipped at my ankles and kept me from doing anything but crab walk.
I walked like a crab for so long; I forgot anything other than crab talk.
I longed for a crustacean that held love I could foster.
When I left the mean crab, I fell in love with a lobster.
I spoke like a crab, and I felt like an imposter.
Perhaps deep down, I was always a wimp.
Maybe I should have found a sweet shrimp!
I love my lobster, but he’s always sad.
He’s scared he’ll become just like his crawdad.
My hands are intertwined with his claws.
In sickness and in health is the clause.
He’s sour like he was boiled and drizzled with lemon zest.
You can’t just stop being depressed.
My lobster wasn’t always sick.
His brother was turned into a fishstick.
I want him to be happy, am I being selfish?
I’m on a beach surrounded by shellfish.
There are many clams that are much moister.
I just couldn’t fall in love with another oyster!
If I can’t help him, I’m surely a monster.
There isn’t a scallop that could compare to my lobster.
These days he never leaves his rockbed.
Nasty thoughts fill his hard head.
Life keeps coming and going; it negs.
He can’t catch up with his ten little legs.
He never interacts with the other shellfish.
I want him to be happy, am I being selfish?
I think of how I ran away from the crab.
Did I leave him in his sickness and make out with a scab?
He was abandoned and his trust was left cinched.
Surely I shouldn’t endure being pinched.
Fish act like love is only advantageous.
Let’s not forget that sickness is contagious.
I guess you can say I’m somewhat seasick.
Lobster loving isn’t always a picnic.
My lobster feels like he can’t function as a shellfish.
I just want him to be happy, and I’m being selfish.

I want to shovel the sadness out of you with an ice cream scoop.
Let’s share it like a banana split.
Can my company be a cherry on top without the pit?
We’ll draw whipped cream smiles in a loop de loop.
Pour it all out like chocolate sauce.
I know that rainbow sprinkles won’t change your loss.
Maybe we can cover it in caramel.
Make this sundae the new normal.
We can melt together like gelatinous goop
I know you feel like ice cream soup.

It was
The big blue bear,
The pipe cleaners,
Mrs. Sorenson's hair.
A bright goofy demeanor.
Saturday morning cartoons.
The painted eyes on my dolls.
The red butts of  baboons
Glass marble *****.
Fruit-flavored lip gloss
My water doodle mat
Happy Trees from Bob Ross
The Cheshire Cat
My love for books
Mom’s crafts
When Yaya would cook.
My sister’s laughs.
Wet spaghetti noodles
My Brother being a ****
Incoherent  doodles
It all became art

You’re a rat.
You’re a rat with a contagious disease.
I am the one that plays with you.
I try to be a gentle cat.
I always blame your fleas.
I feel like I’ve been lied to.
You got me sick.
You bit me.
I’m starting to not like you.
Today you played a nasty trick.
I can’t just let you be.
You choose to do what you do.
We can blame those who trick and deceive.
Eventually, we must take responsibility.
I really ought to stop hanging around you.
Regardless of what I say, will you believe me?
I think you lack the ability.
I know they hurt you, but you hurt me too.
I would never do what you did.
You don’t care about me, you just want to eat.
You know I protect you.
You make me feel like a stupid kid.
But I fall in love every time we meet.
And I always want us to pull through.
I’m the silly cat that wants to play with their food.
You’ve never looked particularly tasty.
Why would I eat a friend when I have kibble to attend to?
What you’ve done is just plain rude.
I should leave and be hasty.
Why do I still want to be around you?
If I can’t eat you, maybe I should leave.
I feel stuck beside you.
I’m not equipped to be a cat.
It’s the friendship that I grieve.
What shall become of us, I have no clue.
You’re a rat.