I wake up every morning feeling numb.

My head is full of TV static,
but before I can even get my feet on the ground the soul crushing reality hits my chest heavier than an anvil…

...You're gone.
...And you aren't coming back.

It feels wrong.

Like I was getting to the best part of my favorite book and it got taken from me.

I knew the next chapter continued our story,
could see our names bleeding through the pages together…

But here in the aftermath of losing everything,
all that's left bleeding is me over you.

A kiss sealed and stolen.
I've been falling since "hello".
I was lost and I was found
In an afternoon glow.

She spins in the Spring air,
the sun shining in her hair
and it's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

A smile across her lips
you can watch the sadness melt in the sunlight.
Tragically beautiful.
Eyes full of tears never shed.

A heart empty and longing for someone to understand it's beat.
A soul on fire,
when you fan the flame
a passion burns in her.

Her mouth begs to be kissed,
but she keeps her lips locked
between nervous nibbling teeth until they are raw.

Curiosity and innocence are tangible on the surface,
but when you look behind the curtain
the shallows turn to drop offs and the depth could swallow you whole.

But she'll never let you that close,
she won't let someone risk drowning for her.

I woke up with a hole in my chest again.
In my dream I was screaming
"I miss my best friend"
On the pillow a single tear from the silent cries.
I look for you in everything.
Like I'm trying to find missing puzzle pieces the size of individual particles.
Pieces of me that shattered when I lost you.
Sometimes I find you and like a warm blanket you cover me,
Making me feel safe like only you always could.
Other times, I can't find you
And I'm left feeling broken and like maybe I wasn't as tough as you believed.
There's a scar with your name branded across my heart.
Some days I wake up and it's bleeding
Some days I wake up screaming
Most days I wake up lonely
I miss you...

More often than not
the White Knight's armor
is spray painted
and he couldn't even spring for the glossy coat.
His trusty steed
is a bicycle with training wheels
because he doesn't know the first thing
about saving himself
let alone a Queen
whose crown has threatened to topple.
He is a boy,
masquerading as a man.
Don't buy his lies,
candy coated sweet temptation.
He's lacing them with arsenic,
and hoping you'll slowly die
reaching for him to save you.

Burning together at a distance
like brightly lit stars.

Close enough to be in orbit,
safe from consumption when we're this far.

But what if just once,
we crossed the vast distance?

Making almost a reality,
I'd let nervous fingertips trace along fantasy.

You'd let me discover
all the secrets to your universe.

I'll remain your dance partner,
as we circle from afar.

I'll be the night sky you howl at
always wanting more.

you're stealing the air I surrender
while we're twisted in tantric sheets
I'm falling back into myself
on fire
melting with you
I forget how to breathe.

I knew when you thought of me
I felt it like a whisper

I didn't forget your presence
But I locked the feeling of butterflies away

Like book marked love poems
And songs that make me think of you

Buried in a cardboard box
With all the loves I ever lost.

Things have been kind of heavy lately.
Nothing in particular,
just everything at once.
And I'm doing the best I can, I swear.
Some days with hope and drive,
sometimes just out of spite.
But I was wondering
if it would be a bother or a burden to you
that maybe things just aren't okay right now? Maybe I'm not okay right now.
And if it's too much to take, I fully understand.
If it makes you uncomfortable,
I'm good at playing pretend.
But I'm just sort of stuck,
and maybe not right now,
but eventually I'll get myself back up.

When I tell my therapist 
I'm writing eulogies in my sleep,
trying to piece together 
the perfect slideshow of pictures. 
Ones that show all the best parts, 
the parts everyone loves and admires. 
The things I love and admire.
She tells me they call that 
"Anticipatory grief".

I tell her,
I'm praying to a God I've never really believed in but have always been too much of a coward 
to claim doesn't exist at all. 
Maybe I'm praying to someone else's God 
when I beg "angel numbers" to heal 
with unspoken pleas to the universe. 

I tell her,
I'm signing papers to make decisions
I don't want to make,
should that become necessary.
I'm looking up environmentally friendly ways 
to bury someone 
because we always preferred the idea of 
returning to the Earth again. 

I tell her,
I'm horrified I'm thinking of any of this, 
terrified that dwelling will speed up some 
unseen clock I'm powerless to slow down. 
Like a final ******* from the universe, 
like one big cosmic karmic joke. 

I tell her,
I'm begging for a miracle, 
hoping if I'm attentive enough, 
if I am there enough, 
if I'm willing to sacrifice myself enough 
somehow I will be able to change things. Somehow I will be able to fix it. 


She tells me, 
that's normal.

He admires the landscape.

The fringes of lace rolling gently along curves.
black satin across soft white.

Smooth and supple.
Each dangerous curve,
he takes with caution.

Over miles of legs
hips that crest at rolling peaks
Slipping down into the valley between her thighs

Delicate petals
Part like a blooming flower.

He admires the landscape.

Enchantment is a fools game,
one we’ll play with raw abandon.

Tastes of bitter honey,
of wishes we can’t count on.

Consider your challenge called,
before the end you will be mine.

I hope you know what you’re asking for,
to the risks I remain blind.

Summer always makes me restless.
It brings out the truth in my bones,
the ache, the dream, the internal screams,
that sit dormant
waiting to be heard
all year long.

The taste of heat soaked rebellion
mixed with too sweet air that clings to my lungs, leaving me gasping.
Sweat glistens at the base of my throat,
and I dare the sun to burn its image into my eyelids.

Summer makes me gaze at every plane overhead
wondering where they are going,
and if I can come too.
It would be so easy to board a flight,
destination unknown.
Following the horizon
and sunsets fading glow.

Clear sky nights,
flickering insect stars piercing the darkness,
a symphony of crickets and cicadas.
Warm air resting on my skin that still holds heat from the day.

I could spend forever chasing Summer.

I'm dancing at 1am and it's the freest I have felt all day.

I don't have rhythm,
I am all limbs and two left feet.
I wish I could move expertly or even well, but I can't.
And that's okay.

If anyone were to spot me,
I would look ridiculous.
Headphones blaring in an otherwise silent room.
But, that's okay too.

I am tense,
with too many thoughts,
and all day long it's hard to breathe.

1am is freedom with bad dancing and music that moves me.

I want to travel the Earth
following cotton candy sunsets
I want to drown my sadness
in cerulean blue waves
I want to live
like I dream
in vivid fantasy.

With a rabid snarling maw 
frothing with bloodlust, 
and long skeletal claws 
digging into the wooden floor, 
pulling up gashes of fiber.
Eyes pierced through her own 
like daggers trying to chill her to the bone. 

But she could not be bothered 
with this dramatic fanfare of threats. 
She was too exhausted, 
her skin felt as if it was wilting off her bones. 
Her muscles throbbed with each heart beat 
as blood pulsed through her veins. 

But the physical pain was nothing
compared to the war of her mind 
and the storm of her heart. 
Her sigh exposed every unspoken feeling 
raging inside her.

His lust for violence faltered. 
In the stretched silence 
only her heart break could be heard
and he realized 
he was not the only monster threatening her. 

The ones she was fighting inside 
were much deadlier.

You cannot understand how I feel 
until you are swallowing the scream 
of just wanting to give up 
while telling everyone it's fine 
and to have a great day. 

I'm exhausted. 
To the core of who I am. 
I am not just drained, I am weary in my bones. 
I am depleted in my soul. 
I do not know how I keep rolling into tomorrow 
but it's all I know how to do. 

Every day I gaze upon the tangled web that is my life. 
The map of half charred lives I planned for myself, routes I abandoned half way. 
And every day I try to sort the pieces 
and create something new
sitting in the rubble of lives half lived, 
half dreamt to reality. 
But getting nowhere.

But please don't worry about me. 
I've survived a hundred battles 
and they tell me my resilience is part of what makes me special. 
I would give anything 
to not have to be strong just once. 
But some people are born to fight. 

So please do not pretend you understand 
until the smile of being okay starts to crack 
and all they can say is 
"You look tired".

I wanted to believe he was good,
but the devil in his eyes
told me otherwise.

In my dreams
I'm finding you
beneath the stars,
on a sunny day,
in the rain,
on a clear night,
between the sheets,
in the middle of the afternoon,
before the sun comes up
...it will always be you.

Touch me with eyes closed
to memorize
every line.

Kiss me with eyes open
to watch
as I melt with you.

If you tell me you kiss like you speak
I'll drink these words
as they fall from your lips.

Have you erased me?
As easily as the flame was lit
Did it burn out?

Have you erased me?
You loved my blush, my smile
Have you washed the sight away?

Have you erased me?
I was your good morning, you my goodnight
Does time still feel the same to you?

Have you erased me?
I was your muse and you mine
Did the words drain from you?

Have you erased me?
My soul sighed when it met you,
Is yours broken now too?

Have you erased me?
It was likely never permanent
but it was a moment I lived for.
Have you erased me?

I find myself here again
head in heads
starring at the emptiness behind closed eyes.
The world around me falls silent to the storm thundering inside.

Why am I here again?
Feeling so helpless, drained
with 24 hours in the day I devote 23 to everyone else.
To anyone who needs me
to everyone who needs me.
Everyone does not include myself,

I seek solace in between heartbeats and sighs.
I gather myself in dark corners,
moments alone as someone looks away.
I force my voice up to a chipper tone,
and cement a smile on my face.
I remind myself that this is not the end,
an ironic thought that should be comforting,
but makes my soul weary,

Here I am again
head in hands
stapling my will back into place
like a worn pack of papers, thumbed through too often, too harshly.
A whisper of a sigh
hold it together again
the day marches on,
and so to must I.

She was consumed in fire
As long as it was his flame
She was willing to burn forever.

Start by wearing your heart on your sleeve.
You don't know any better yet,
up to this point the world has been good to you.
When your heart starts catching
on door knobs
and being battered against the black top,
you carefully tuck the gently scratched ***** in your pocket.

In your pocket,
out of sight
it's a little harder for the bruises to land.
Over time
the blood stain of time spent hidden
seeps through.
When the first blow lands
it knocks the wind from you.
You still don't lock your heart up.
You just move it back into your chest.

You don't sew yourself shut,
cracked ribs spread wide,
a tourniquet wrapped around one chamber,
the abused ***** still trying to beat
it's an erratic rhythm,
but it's a pulse.
It's not even shocking,
when daggers come from the front
or behind
and twist into the gnarled flesh.

Arterial spray,
broken pieces you've given away,
cover the walls.
Bones curl around
to try to protect you,
but you've never been able
to close yourself off completely.
The worst part is,
you sort of enjoy the pain.
For a moment,
the heart remembers
before the first bruises marred the skin,
before you built a cage to exist within.

In a world
with never ending possibilities
we were inevitable.

I am an open book,
but I do not lay splayed wide
with ink spilling off my pages.  
I wait for careful hands
to read between the lines
and dive into my story.

1am
when my eyes are tired,
not yet ready to close.
My body has melted into the couch.
And my mind still races through a haze.  

2am
at the frosted window.
When the lights are out
in sleepy neighborhoods.
The bars emptying onto the street.  

3am
and I should be snuggled in bed.
But the glow of the monitor reflects in my lenses.
Time slows
and so do I.

4am
and words spill into my brain
and onto the page.
Will they make sense tomorrow?
Do they make sense now?

5am
hits me like a brick.
It's not poetic.
It's not romantic.

6am
is for the work worn
and the insomniacs
trying to pass the time unscathed.

Marijuana kisses stolen in the front seat
Lips curved into smiles
Fingers curled against your chest
Butterflies in a frenzy
Fogged windows
Gasping breaths
High off the moment
And lingering in it with you.

I talk to my cats,
to the shadows on the wall,

I talk to myself,
or I don't talk at all.

I'm swirling in thoughts
that won't stay away.

I spend far too much time
wasted this way.

Stuck somewhere between
depressed and numb,

My only reprieve,
sitting in the sun.

Moments while the rays
illuminate my skin

I don't feel so trapped,
I dont feel shut in.

like the sunlight
when days turn dark and cold.

like the comfort of home
when I've been traveling.

like a breath
when my lungs scream for air.

I miss you.

Memories leave a trail down my cheeks 
Sometimes they make me smile
Sometimes they make me sad 
But they remind me that 
You lived.

And if all I get is just one kiss
let me color it with truth.
The anticipation on my breath,
the moments that I've dared to dream.
My tongue laced with flavors of desire,
for the times you've left me wanting more.
I'll nibble your lips,
and then a little harder,
the ache I feel when you're gone.
My lips on yours a whisper,
screaming the truth between held breaths
and words I choke on.

I have written so much poetry about you 
that you will forever be living, 
among the pages of my notebooks,
with the greatest loves 
and sorrows of my life. 

And it's funny, 
in the way that it isn't funny at all, 
that you are both. 

I'll never regret the time I spent 
falling in love with you, 
loving you, 
being loved by you.

Knowing how it ends, 
I'd do it all over again.

For one more minute 
trapped in your gaze,
for a flash of your knowing smile, 
I would do it all again.

So now I fill my pages 
with future plans we made, 
ones I've had to let go of. 
I fill my pages 
with memories that I tightly hold on to. 
I fill my pages 
with our story so that it will never die. 

My pages overflow 
with love 
whose name gets read as loss. 
And among them you will live forever.

I know you are not in the burgundy SUV that's sat unmoving in the parking lot of my apartment building for half the year. But it feels like the only place I can go to be close to you. 

What I mean to say is, I don't know what happens when we die but in case you're still hanging around I make sure to keep the interior clean. 

And by that I mean, I know people do not remain in the material things they owned but those are the only pieces I have left of you.

And I guess this is just my way of admitting I haven't washed the shirt you were wearing before they rushed you to the hospital. It's hidden in the back of my drawer. 

This is just my way of grieving or maybe it's my way of refusing to move on…

Why does the sun have to go away?

Why does junk food taste so much better late at night?

Why do car rides bring out conversations we'd normally never have?

Why do girls with more hope than they should reasonably have, fall for boys that are angry at the world?

Why do boys with beautiful blue eyes and dimpled smiles, like making curly haired girls with mischievous smirks blush crimson and stumble over their words?

Why do sensible girls fall for reckless hell raising boys?

Why do hell raising boys treat some girls like delicate flowers?

Why do girls that are afraid to trust anyone, fall into the arms, beneath the covers, stupidly in love with boys who taste like bourbon and cigarettes?

Why do boys trust girls full of softness with their demons?

Why do girls who feel like a burden, feel safe with boys who let them be human?

Why do boys who drive too fast also not wear their seat belt …
Why do girls wait by the phone…
Why do boys drive too fast…
Why do girls wait for a text…
Why do boys drive too fast…

Why do girls…
Why do boys…
Why…

Why did you have to die?

I’m lying in bed burying myself under pillows and blankets, 

hoping if I tunnel far enough I’ll find Narnia or Wonderland; Hell, Middle Earth would do. 

I didn’t always want to run away but it seems that’s all I can think of these days.

This place has never felt like home, I’ve never felt like I belong.

I’ve always felt more like a flower growing where flowers shouldn’t be able to bloom.

Too delicate for my surroundings but resilient enough to keep sprouting each year.

I dream of the day I don’t have to be resilient anymore,

but they tell me my beauty comes from my strength.

I hope I’m radiant because some days my petals feel awfully thin.

I'm 16 and the sound of being seen is a new melody I can't get enough of.
Lies tasted like cinnamon and sugar off his tongue,
and I let him tell me them as we crashed onto the bed.

I'm 17 and the taste of rebellion, summer sun, and bad decisions is intoxicating.

I'm 18 and I think I have life figured out.

I'm 19 and I am screaming
"*******" from the hill tops.
I'm looking for answers in the arms of strangers.

I'm 20 and I find gentleness in the arms of a boy with steel blue eyes and cigarettes on his breath.

I'm 21 and alcohol doesn't solve anything,
but I watch my friends drown in it anyways.

I'm 22 and I think the world is against me.
I don't understand it's not for or against anyone.

I'm 23 and as the song goes,
"No one likes you when you're 23."
I find this to be true.

I'm 24 and I have been thrown onto rock bottom.
I can't see the top anymore,
and I don't have strength to even search for it.

I'm 25 and I have no purpose to my life.
No goals.
No drive.
I have an abundance of heartache
and I want to know why living
has to hurt so ******* bad.

I'm 26 and I want to die,
but I want to live too.
I have school,
that's something to work towards...i guess?

I'm 27 and honestly, life isn't bad.
I don't know what I want,
I don't know who I am but I'm learning.
I don't know what happens tomorrow, but I have today.

I'm 28 and...

Sometimes, I think I'm strong enough.
Sometimes, I believe I can do this alone.
Sometimes, I think the worst of it is over.
And then I have a bad day,
a bad week,
a bad month…
Then I'm reading back through all our texts
hoping there is something you said before
something that will help ease the hurt
something that will remind me I've got this.
Usually what ends up happening is,
I cry.
Or at least I feel like crying.
Tears will burn my eyes,
and I'll remember the most important thing you said to me was,
"I'm always here for you."
Load of good that does me now.
Is it rude to shame the dead?
The second most important thing was
"you don't have to be tough all the time."
I wish that were true.

Sometimes
the best thing about being young
is things can still seem incredibly romantic.

Sentiments wrapped in sweetness
that have me gazing at stars,
checking the clock for 11:11 to send up a wish.

Some part of me,
only a fraction by now,
still believes that there's magic in the world
and maybe two people
can be made for each other in some capacity.
maybe happy endings do happen.

I was pretty sure
that the world was just going to keep spinning
the same way it always had
and that I was wrong
for wanting to throw it off its natural course
but then you called me yours
and I found myself slipping.

Maybe,
my 11:11 wish for happiness,
my sentiments of sweetness,
my dreams of what could be,
would throw off someone else's orbit
but they fit perfectly in line with yours.
and so I cling to the moments
we gaze at the same sky

Because the best part about being older
is you know not everything is romantic
but sometimes they are
and that makes me believe in something.

When she needs me I know. 
It's a frantic action, 
a silent plea. 
What we have is private, 
it's more intimate than it has right to be. 
We used to hide under the covers 
with all the lights out 
and I'd give her what she needed. 
Sweet nothings 
have never really been her style.
She's more of a hard and fast girl, 
she wants to feel not think. 
I get her heart pumping 
and let her move with me. 
Fluid motion 
quickly will have us all over the room.
She rarely opens her eyes 
but she doesn't need to see, 
her fingers will deftly navigate me. 
The tension will roll off her 
and she'll crash backwards with a smile. 
When she needs me again 
I'll be where she left me, 
wrapped in silicone *******, 
and we'll pick up where we left off, 
the next time she hits play.

take my hand
when I reach out
and to the tempo of a slow burn
with pirouettes around your heart
I will spin for you.