Six years ago,

We were hellbent on watching the show Dexter during almost every second of our free time.

So many late nights that transitioned in to early morning,

We rode waves of exhaustion, with chocolate cake and coffee as our vehicles, illuminated by the glow of a TV screen.

During such a chaotic, dark, and painful time in my life,

Those nights we moved between mouthfuls of cocoa-spongy-goodness at my kitchen table and laughing on my bedroom floor until dawn were my solace.

My best friend.

The innocent warmth that grew in my heart when you offered me genuine smiles and hugs in a time where I felt very little safety or happiness.

Even before you were anything more than my best friend.

We always wondered what a continuation of the original series would be like,

And we were so sure that if there ever was one, we would enjoy it together, similarly to those nights in my room all those years ago.

Well, the new series is out, and I’m five episodes in; all of which have been watched in complete solitude.

Our original binge was six years ago, but as of six days ago, it’s officially been six months since I’ve heard from you last. I’m sure you would at least smirk at the six-six-six coincidence of that.

Sometimes I close my eyes at night and try to pretend that I’m back in that bed, in that room, in that farmhouse, laying next to my best friend, both of us pretending to be asleep because we just got yelled at for laughing too loud.

That’s all.

Much like the girl in the red hood,
I would set off to my grandmother’s,
On a voyage for solace,


And didn’t realize how many wolves were after me in the process.

Over the span of a decade, we’ve gone everywhere and done almost everything that two people could do together.

We’ve traveled across twelve states-

Buying matching earrings in South Dakota,
Being educated by indigenous elders in Montana,
Balancing on risqué edges in Washington for beautiful views and photos.

In Florida, I watched you step in to the ocean for the first time, only two days after you had first utilized air travel.

And I could never forget the way that UV index and saltwater air made your spirit lighter than I had ever seen.

Snowy, winding roads in Idaho,
Unnerving stops for gas in so many middles of nowhere,
All of the places that caused you to say out loud “Now THIS is where I would be happy,”,
And all of the time we spent imaging our lives sprinkled across I-90 and I-94,
Laughing with our hands held high out of the windows,
Blasting music,
Or eating pizza in the trunk while parked at a random CVS.

For the longest time, you were my main and favorite travel buddy,
going all over and back,
And it’s crazy that I can’t even tell you about the adventures I’ve had of my own lately.



All the places we’ve gone together and now I don’t even know where in the world you are.

If your entire life


you’ve been enveloped by


chaos,


finally finding peace will feel


dull.

I wish people would more often discuss the period of mourning that comes along with missing someone who is still on this earth.

When you are practically inseparable from someone for ten years of your life,

only to have them disappear one day with no explanation,

It feels the same as them leaving this world forever.

Because when someone leaves this world permanently,

The waves of pain,
and sorrow,
and anger,
and tears,

and begging and pleading and negotiating and bargaining that you go through,

Are a result of knowing that you will NEVER be able to see or speak to,

or touch them

Again.

So why isn’t there the same level of understanding for the grief that comes with someone leaving your personal world,

when you know the sudden, permanent lack of communication and physicality,

are the same?

I just really hope that you’re okay.

That’s all.

I saw something recently,

that talked about how in your relationships, 80 percent is what you should strive for.

That 100 percent is nearly impossible,
so if 80 is fulfilled,
you should be thrilled.


This, I do agree with.


Instantly, and without a second thought, he gave me the 80 that I begged you for years to at least pretend to extend my way.

Never, ever will I have to beg for an “I love you so much,” or a thousand “you’re so beautiful” from him.

He wants to have a family and be an active, present participant in all things that entails.

He is so excited to do anything as long as I’m there, and isn’t upset at the sight of other peoples happiness.

He does not use anger or fear to intimidate me or others around him.

And he has never left me, broken on the floor, drowning in my own tears while I question my worth.

Sometimes I wake in the morning, with a heart so full of gratitude, filled by the man who feels like so many answered prayers, that the overflow can only come out in the form of joyous tears.

And it makes me feel so overcome with guilt that you and your stupid 20 percent,

though coming from a place of pain,

in the dead of night,


leave me sobbing all the same.

Most of your life, you have masqueraded your pain with anger.

Angry that your dad left,
Angry that your mom had to shift her focus to work,
Angry about your adoption,
Angry and bitter about past lovers and ones that never were.

Refusal for therapy, doors ripped clean off their hinges, the most venomous words, and even more terrifying actions.

You were so consumed by deep sadness that you could only translate in to rage,

so wounded by the ones that left,


you punished the ones who stayed.


For the last 10 years, I’ve known your hurt feelings to be so vast and expressed in so many different ways, that it was practically a limb to you,

a mess that others would constantly have to tiptoe around and clean up after.


Abandonment was a box you were given so early in life, a sort of “anti-gift” that cut you so deeply.

So tell me,

Why would you turn around,

and hand that box,




To our daughter?

I have yet to allow myself to REALLY cry about this entire thing,
But I have found that when tears do find their way out of me,
They’ve started to taste like blood when they run in to the mouth that you used to kissgood morning,
And on every departure,
And in between for no reason.


My chest hurts.

How easily, my love
Could I say the same
When it comes to words you spit out at me

Like venom.

5 days pre move-in,
I stand in this apartment, cleaning,

Scrubbing,

Turning a mid-grade apartment in to a cozy home, something you know I’ve done many times before.

I keep hearing a click at the front door, and every time I turn around, I expect you to be standing there,

But all I’m met with is a view of the park, completely unblocked with the body of somebody that I miss.

I got the patio furniture today. And I put it together myself.
It took me two hours, but I did it.

I can’t stop thinking about the fact that you would probably be proud of me.

Maybe not, though.

As I stood over the sink, being abrasive with the stove knobs and “Goo-Gone” I remembered I’m not supposed to wear my ring when I’m doing stuff like this.

It’s fine, I checked.

And I put it back on.

Having it off feels foreign,

Just like not being able to turn around and tell you about how much of a headache this **** is giving me.

I’m starting to wonder if I came here to clean, or if I just wanted to cry in peace.

It’s 8:45pm, and I wish that you would find your way to my front door.

When you write poems upon peoms,
And there is someone centered at each one,

They are rarely someone that you do not love

I just want you to know that as I sit in this living room, I think about the fact that we are in the same houses we were four years ago, in the same town, yearning to reconnect.

And this feels like the most excruciating deja-vu.

**** this.

Before moving to Washington,
I was forewarned of the long stretches of rain,
And I though about how relieved I would be,
To not suffer through yet again,
Another Wisconsin winter,
And it's unforgiving cold.

But it is now that I sit in this rain,
Thinking of that cold,
And of the warm heart that resides within it,

Missing me.

To the boy who's more fine than any truancy ticket I ever received back then~
(I know, my puns are great, I'll be here all night, thank you.)

I called you perfection,
And you said I am life,
You've always been my best friend,
Hardly a hint of strife,
Through heaven and hell we've traveled,
Along with Earth, space, and time,
I love hearing your two cents,
And you're such a dime ;),
One day our only distance,
Will be showering alone,
But for now your face lives,
In the screen of my phone,
The past five years has been crazy,
That I won't deny,
But I've always found home in a boy,
Who loves vanilla chai,
We were so bad when we were kids,
Skipping and smoking in your mom's garage,
But I've always loved being,
A two man entourage,
If there's anyone I was meant to do life with,
In this big, weird world full of fuss,
It was the boy who shouted "YOUR MOM!",
In my face, on the bus,
Sometimes I'm still shocked,
That we're both now adults,
But this whole time you've loved me,
Despite all my faults,

I called you perfection,
And you said I am life,
I'll be ****** if one day,
I'm not your wife.
❤️

Someone once asked me what type of flower I would be,
And I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a question that choked me.
I thought of my petals, and how they've spent so much time closed tight,
A result of everything that's served me fright.
I thought of the times they've been forcefully ripped open when never allowed access,
And for so long I carried around poison and blackness.
I thought of the roots that grow beneath my stem,
And the times they've so often been burrowed in mayhem.
I thought of the bulb that gave me life,
And how many times my back was where she buried a knife.
I thought of the soil that was meant to be home,
And how it was so often overcast in a dark, rainy dome.
I thought of all of the gardens I tried to belong in,
And how often I tried to wear an artificial skin.

Then I began to think of the sunshine and how it's something I wish to atone,
Even if it was something I had to do alone.

So often by the hand of others and myself,
I was trapped within an unrealistic *** on the shelf.

I've spent so much time being defiled and profiled,
It's now that I realize,

I was meant,


To be wild.

How long could you observe water being boiled? To the point of evaporation-disappearing into the air in which you breathe?

How much patience do you have, to watch crayons left on the sidewalk by children? Until they melt in to runny, colorful majesty that quickly fills the space of a concrete square?

For how long could you watch aluminum cans be crushed,
         and crushed,
                         and crushed,
                                         and crushed?

After a while these things become tedious, watching things constantly be destroyed. There was a time when it could have been sad making, but like any constant, it desensitizes.

But,
what if it hurt these things, left to amount to nothing at the hands of forgetful cooks, careless children, and someone eager to exchange a pound of aluminum for 85 cents.

What if they knew all along that even if they weren't necessarily meant to face destruction, that they were products that were expectedly more prone?



What about people?


What about,






me?

Please take me to the ball, where I can gaze upon masks of all colors,
Lay eyes on decorated representations of what every guest wishes to truly be on the outside,
View every gem and thread lined cover for things kept secret.

Please take me to the back room, where I can gaze upon what you conceal underneath,
Lay eyes upon the things you wish to hide-not always with deceptive intention,
View every psychological scar in which you fear exposure.

Please sit with me while I tell you why both of these are beautiful, even if occasionally (or frequently) painful.

Please listen while I account for the fact that what is so often times covered is not always something to be just that; for a lifetime of oppression against an unarmored face and a bare heart so often attract wounds.

Please continue to be attentive while I put into words the fact that though they hold the ability to be seen as insincere, these masks reflect the true desire of what one wishes to put out in to the world, though yet unachieved just below; for a lifetime of oppression against an unarmored face and a bare heart so often attract wounds.

Please grip silk ribbon now,
and lace up, or undo.
For if you wish to discuss the action of either, when exhausted of secretion or vulnerability,
I will be here,
in this back room.

What do yo do when the only place you've
felt safe,
been loved,
learned warmth,

belonged

is taken?

What do you do when it has been
torn apart,
burned down,
ripped away

through no action but your own?

How do you
heal,
move on,
forget,

let go?

How am I supposed to


forgive myself?


-It's not even noon and I am drowning in the pain of losing you.

When you touch me
it's like I

slide

out of my body
and back into

the universe.

-it's 12:28 a.m. and I miss you

I didn't think at our age
people still got those,
      
                                      butterflies.

At least not the way we all did in our school age.

Those 'I can't wait to see you' stomach gymnastics,
Those
                                       sweaty, shaking palms.


But if it weren't for the fact that I've lived more life and learned of more importance,

well, I'd think I was 15 again.