i.

they say that when you drown,
it's nothing like in the movies;
it's silent.
there's no splashing,
no screaming,
no kicking or crying for help.

just
silence.

and i guess it's true,
for i am drowning --
there is water in my lungs,
pouring into my heart,
filling my veins and escaping from my eyes --
yet i cannot speak.

i am rendered speechless
by you.

ii.

i'm not so sure if it's
the smooth white sand
ingrained in your skin,

or the intricate seashells
that are your daintily painted
fingernails.

maybe it's the pulsing red
of a moon during high tide
that shines through
your scarlet lips,

or maybe
it's the crashing waves
filling the ocean in your eyes.

maybe it's the way you sweep me up
and pull me under,
stealing my breath,
invading my thoughts.

or maybe it's how you
are unpredictable.
you are in alliance with the erratic skies
and fickle moon,
and yet,
no one can control you,
no one can predict your next move.

iii.

i find it fascinatingly beautiful
how easy it is
for you to destroy yourself,
how you hide within raging whirlpools
and tear yourself apart from the inside.

people are afraid of the ocean,
but the ocean is a part of you.
who knows, though?
maybe you're scared of the ocean too.

iv.*

beware the girl with the ocean eyes,
for a heart that is eaten away by the sea
can never be whole again.*

(a.m.)

i had a friend once,
and she taught me
not to say "i love you too,"
because it sounds false and inauthentic,
and little white lies are worse than the cold, hard
truth.

i had a friend once,
and she taught me
that you don't have to do anything;
it's simply a matter of whether you should
or shouldn't.

i had a friend once,
and she lived in a small, boring town
with small boring people.

i had a friend once,
and she was not a small, boring person.

i had a friend once,
and she hated herself,
every last inch of her,
but she still always knew
how to make me smile.

i had a friend once,
and she would always reference books
or music
or movies,
because to her,
the real world just wasn't as appealing.

i had a friend once,
and i left her.

she stayed.

she waited.

i'm sure her hope wavered at times,
but she waited still.

and i came back,
only to leave again.

she didn't stick around this time, though.

so, you see,
i had a friend once,
and she taught me
to think deeply,
to live freely,
and to love truly.

i had a friend once.

she's gone now.

(a.m.)

i hope you see this.

i don't know what i would want you to feel if you did see this.

anger?

sadness?

pain?

would you even know it was for you?

look,
i don't want to dwell
on the unimportant details,
like who's fault it was,
or who left first.

maybe it was you,
maybe it was me,
maybe it was both of us.

i don't care much.

the important part is that you're gone.

i am gone.

we are gone.

i am not the person i once was, and i doubt you are the person you once were.

whether that's a good or bad thing,
i don't know.

what i do know is that everything is falling.

but whether it's falling into or out of place?

well,
i don't know that either.

(a.m.)

I THOUGHT I WAS OVER YOU BUT IT'S SO OBVIOUS THAT I'M NOT BECAUSE EVERY TIME I SEE YOUR FACE AND YOUR LIPS AND YOUR BEAUTIFUL EYES MY CHEST STARTS TO HURT AND I IMAGINE THAT I AM DROWNING IN MY OWN BLOOD, AND I BEGIN TO GET BUTTERFLIES BUT NOT THE ONES FROM FIRST GRADE WHEN LOVE WAS JUST AN ILLUSION, BECAUSE THESE BUTTERFLIES ARE TEARING MY HEART APART STRING BY STRING, YET I AM COMPLETELY FINE WITH IT BECAUSE IT'S ALL FOR YOU.

but i will.
i will write it and it may take me
five minutes
or it may take me fifty.
and neither of the two is an absurdly long amount of time,
unless you really think about it.
because five measly minutes
is just the same
as three hundred seconds.
and three hundred seconds
is just the same
as three hundred thousand milliseconds.

we've only just covered one-tenth of an entire fifty minutes,
yet already we have before us
three hundred thousand intricate units of time,
each lasting for the blink of an eye -- no, less --
then vanishing,
like the evanescent remains of a flame
that has been reduced
to first sparks,
then dull embers,
then ashes.

the funny part about it is that you never know
what each tiny little bubble of time might hold,
what might happen when it forms,
or when it pops.

a millisecond is incredibly short,
almost unfairly so.

but three hundred thousand milliseconds?

it can't be said what could happen as those fleeting fractions
slip away.

we may try to grab hold of them,
to catch them in our palms.

but time stops for no one.

so you may find yourself
with empty, bleeding palms,
as a reminder that time is harsh, cruel,
tyrannical.

and as you wrap bandages around your wounds
(or maybe not),
those fleeting milliseconds
will laugh with sudden bursts of cynicism,
like fireworks,
deafeningly silent.

they will laugh
at what a fool you were,
thinking you could catch time
in the palms of your hands.

(a.m.)

i can never really organize my thoughts,
so much to the point that
at one moment
i might be thinking that nothing could be worse
than it already is,
but at the next,
i might be admiring the beauty of life,
and how everything is grand,
and how i can almost see the sparkles that emerge from the stardust in your veins.

i can never really stick to one thing,
so much to the point that,
at one moment
i might be writing lines of poetry about veins brimming with stardust,
but at the next,
i may be considering what an utter cliché
that line is.

i can never really make up my mind,
so much to the point that,
at one moment
i might be intent on the idea that stardust as a whole
is a cliché, cliché, cliché,
but at the next,
i may not care at all.

who gives a ****?

it's not about what's cliché and what's not.

it's simply about the thoughts,
the words,
the beauty.

all at once.

but the problem with me is,
i can never really organize my thoughts,
so much to the point that
at one moment
i might be pouring my thoughts into this poem,
but at the next,
my mind might be frozen.
e m p t y .
bare.

sometimes my mind
doesn't like to cooperate.
but as of now,
it is.

and i've decided
that stardust
is a total cliché.

i do not doubt, though,
that it is one hell of a beautiful cliché,
perhaps much like my mind.

(a.m.)

i can't help but laugh at the fact
that you're wasting your life away
on something so
very terribly evanescent.

(a.m.)

i don't know if you remember it. those times when i was in love with you. maybe they're shoved in the back of your brain, in a cabinet marked 'useless.' you might never meet me, anyway. why should you care?
i don't know if you know that you broke me. but you did. i don't blame you, though. why would you want me, anyway?
i don't know if you still bring a blade to your precious skin because you think you're worthless. but you aren't. you're so incredible. your mind still amazes me. and i love you. i may not be in love with you, but i love you. and i want to be in love with you.
i don't know if you still think of me. i know you probably don't.
but, god, i hope you do.

dearly,
a.m.

i.
hearing your name still fills me with a certain intoxicating sweetness.

ii.
i hate you. god, i hate you so much. but i love you. please come back.

iii.
i'm sorry that it had to end up like this. i don't think you care, though.

iv.
it's okay if you've lost your innocence. i've lost mine, too. life will do that to people.

v.
i was often happiest when you said my name like maybe i meant something to you.

vi.
i am stuck between wanting to forget you and wanting to crawl back to you.

vii.
most of my poems are still about you, even now.

viii.
i hope you're doing okay.

ix.
please don't forget me.

x.**
thank you.

how can i possibly tell you
*all i need to?

i will watch you fly,
like a migrating bird,
and i will pretend
that i didn't see a smile of relief
upon your face
or a new spark of freedom
in your eyes.

i will watch you soar,
like a roaring jet,
and i will pretend
that i didn't see the way you looked at him
or the downwards shift
in your disposition
when you realized that you were still mine.

i will watch you leap,
like a grown frog,
and i will pretend
that you are still a tadpole,
and always will be,
and will never leave.

i will watch you fly,
and i will pretend
that i have stopped loving you.

(a.m.)

i. before

everything about her was light,
soft,
inviting.
her voice was gentle,
her eyes calm.
she walked
as if she was floating,
and her lips
were always curved
into a sweet smile.
she often wondered
how anything could go wrong.

ii. after**

everything about her was dark,
broken,
toxic.
her voice was venomous,
her eyes piercing.
she walked
as if she'd had a bit too much to drink
and her lips
were always curved
into a sour scowl.
she often wondered
how she lost herself.

(a.m.)

perhaps i make
too many metaphors
about the ocean.

but i can't help
but compare you to a wave,

for each time i've almost got you,
you recede back to whence you came,

into the tide.

(a.m.)

hey
Delivered 10:36 p.m.

we haven’t talked in a while
Delivered 10:36 p.m.

weeks
Delivered 10:36 p.m.

maybe even months, actually
Delivered 10:37 p.m.

truth is, i can’t remember the last time we talked
Delivered 10:37 p.m.

and, wow this going to sound crazy, but
Delivered 10:38 p.m.

i saved our last conversation. i keep reading over it, trying to figure out where i went wrong
Delivered 10:38 p.m.

but i can never find it
Delivered 10:38 p.m.

i can never find that one place where i ******* up, where i said something wrong, where i did something to tear us apart, or make you hate me.
Delivered 10:39 p.m.

and it *****, it really does.
Delivered 10:39 p.m.

matter of fact, “*****” isn’t a strong enough word to describe how awful it is
Delivered 10:40 p.m.

or how awful i feel
Delivered 10:40 p.m.

hurt
Delivered 10:40 p.m.

betrayed
Delivered 10:40 p.m.

used
Delivered 10:40 p.m.

and do you want to know what the worst part is?
Delivered 10:41 p.m.

the worst part, aside from the fact that i can’t figure out where i went wrong, is that, even after all of this
Delivered 10:41 p.m.

i still love you
Delivered 10:42 p.m.

i have loved you, i love you now, and i’m pretty **** sure i will love you in the future.
Delivered 10:43 p.m.

and i guess that’s half of what i came here to say.
Delivered 10:43 p.m.

but it’s obvious that you don’t feel the same.
Delivered 10:44 p.m.

and so i suppose that the other half of what i came here to say
Delivered 10:44 p.m.

is goodbye.
Delivered 10:44 p.m.

and though i’m sure that all your love for me has faded
Delivered 10:44 p.m.

and that my name hasn’t slipped off your ******* long time
Delivered 10:45 p.m.

all i ask of you is one thing
Delivered 10:45 p.m.

just don’t forget me.
**Delivered 10:46 p.m.

she said,
"don't grow up,"
and i replied,
"my darling,
it's a bit too late for that.
the fun and games
have ended.
the curtains
are closing.
the adrenaline
is fading.
the smiles
are dying.
the hearts
are breaking.
and i feel
i have lived
a thousand lifetimes,
each one lacking
a childhood."

(a.m.)

no.
no.
no.

i want to tell myself
that it's not love,
that it's not happening
all over again.

but what other explanation is there?

when you're near,
my heart skips a beat,
jumping up
like a newly rigged boat,
riding on opal waves.

when you leave,
my heart sinks
like a defeated ship
in the middle of your hurricane.

when we talk,
i am a sailor,
and you,
you are a siren,
luring me in with your captivating songs.

dangerous,
yet beautiful.

but i'll never be the one for you.

no.

instead,
i will always be the hopeful ship
that you inevitably sink.

instead,
those opal waves
will always turn
to black tides
ripping through the sands
of my heart.

instead,
your words will be my addiction,
my high,
my rush,
and
my eventual downfall.

instead,
i will admire you from afar,
after having been hurt once
by your songs.

dangerous,
yet beautiful.

i guess, my dear,
that's why they say
to stay away from sirens.

(a.m.)

The light shines down
On your pale face
And outlines your vulnerable lips
With a heavenly glow,
And bathes your pleading eyes
With pure light.

You look away,
Afraid,
Because you know that the light
Has always revealed your scars,
Your flaws,
Your imperfections.

But I simply laugh
And think
How lucky the sun is
To be so close to someone like you.

(a.m.)

10:17 p.m.

And still,
I couldn't bring myself
To tell her I loved her,
Because of fear of what had happened
The last time I loved someone.

Because of fear
That the part of me
That was whispering,
Shouting,
Screaming,
To stay away,
To not fall in love
Might be right.

Because of fear
That I would break her heart
And she'd break mine,
And we'd both go back to being broken
Just as quickly as we had taped ourselves back together,
Piece by piece.

Because of fear
That she wouldn't
Feel the same way.

Because of fear
That my feelings
Wouldn't be genuine.

Because of fear
Of repeating the past.

(a.m.)

clocks
ticking,
minutes dripping away
like soft syrup.

and yet,
we all say
to live in the moment,
live in the moment,
consume it,
be consumed by it,
waste no time.

so why is it then,
that here we still are,
having done nothing?

nothing good,
nothing bad,
nothing worthwhile.

time stops for no one, darling.

the clocks
are still there,
ticking,
minutes dripping away
like soft syrup.

funny,
how you must think
you've got all the time in the world.

(a.m.)

All it took
Was one phrase,
Three words,
Seventeen letters
To realize
She was more broken
Than I thought.

(a.m.)

this
is my first poem
with no capital letters.

and i don't know
why it matters so much,
because the height
or shape
of a letter
has nothing at all to do
with what you are trying to say
or how you feel,
if, of course,
you are one of those lucky few
who feels anything at all.

(a.m.)

I asked,
Begged,
Pleaded
For you to stop.
But the truth of the matter was
You were a train without brakes;
You couldn't be stopped
Until you ran out of tracks to guide you.
And even then,
You would go on,
Soaring recklessly until you,
Inevitably,
Crashed and burned
And lost all the wonder you once had.

And the day I realized this
Was the same day
I stopped asking,
Stopped begging,
Stopped pleading
For you to stop.

Because this was the day
I realized
That a broken, unsteady,
Out of control train like you
Stops for no one.

(a.m.)

When it's raining
I can't decide
If it's the sky
Screaming out in agony,
With broken roars of thunder
And brilliant, crashing streaks of lightning
Or
If it's the sky
Releasing all it has to offer
In gentle tears of rain
Filled with all the sorrows
And regrets
Of its blue wonderland.

Maybe the sky
Is never sure how
To release all its anger,
All its sadness,
All its confusion.
And so on some days
It rains,
Crying softly.
And on others,
It screams
And shouts
With thunder.

Maybe we
Are like the sky.

(a.m.)