“a maybe isn’t a yes”
as you ran your thumb
across my bottom lip

my hesitation was
palpable as my breath
hitched in my trachea

you could see i was
unsure, so you stopped.
“an ‘i don’t know’ isn’t a yes”

without a hint of disappointment
you rolled over and pulled
your shorts back up

over your thighs.
i feared the press towards
“come on, we don’t have all night”

but the press never came.
your roaming hands held me
elsewhere, bewildered and confused

like a creature rescued
from a life of torment
i whispered softly

“yeah, maybe not tonight.”

later you mentioned it took
me so much longer to
give myself to you

than the few girls
you’ve touched before.
if you had held me a few years

ago, we would’ve touched
on the first date, tasted
my anxiety sooner

because my “yes”
has always been one
of wanting to please.

i never wanted those boys
the way i hold you now
all five-foot-ten and blushing

when you pull my hips
to yours, it is without
a hint of deceit, without

the need to feel something
from nothing, without the
intent of simply feeling inside.

my head cradled in your palms-
“is everything okay?”
there is no reluctance

in being honest, no
parsed words- simply tears
and a hug. whether words

or lips, there is safety
with you, a safety that
would be sad to ignore.

why is there a line
between living wholly
and holding on to scraps
of grieving our futures

why am i grieving a life
i haven't lived yet?
or why aren't i filling it
with the kindness of years

well lived? when you realize
your own mortality, does it bite
you as hard as it bites me?
you won't talk about it though.

none of us will.

it's a cycle of awareness
i've barely spoken to you because you
are being reminded day in, day out
that breathing is optional to your body

i am sickeningly aware that
my dosage is wrong
and my blood is pounding in my kidneys
and behind my eyes

you're having a series of bad days
i wonder if your body screams like mine
or if the pain ties you in knots
but i know you don't talk about it.

none of us do.

we pretend we're not sick
and that the ringing in our ears
or the bubbling behind our teeth
doesn't mean anything

"it's fine, i'm used to it"

it's not fine.
it is the ultimate self-denial,
the breakdown of our bodies
things we choose to forget

when you chose me,
you chose somebody who knows pain
somebody who is also afraid
and would sometimes rather give up

but you now know someone else
who is grieving.

are you grieving?

i heard that grief
is just love with
no place to go

and life is one of the greatest loves

through life i can love

no matter how my body
wants to take it from me.

keeping it light
drums towards 4am
playful and whole

how you see me, i couldn't say
but your fingers trace my back
like words you cannot speak

the words i spoke felt
right in my shaking hands
and you paused to consider them

next to 4am lies overnight
which is where hands wander
and the silence drips in urgency

you wanted to consume what you could
tasting without a mouth but your spirit
handfuls of raspberries cupped in your palms

i woke up to your arm resting
on my waist, i turned from you
in the night (i don't know why)

and while i wrote these words
you called me down, crying prophecies,
lips shaking and eyes swollen red

dark magic, you called it
or the presence of knowing far too much.
naming your spirit guide, i twisted my tongue

i will speak for you tonight
and remind whoever hears
to shake you of your walls

if that is something you might do

without force

i hold you to my lips

it terrifies me
that i can see a future in your eyes

a future
our future

i can't look at you
when others sit around us
your pull is too strong
and your soul too bright

do i want to see you?
and the way you laugh
and the sparkle in your eye-
what a reflection upon me!

i will not abandon you here
no matter how it overwhelms me

i am watching you fall in love
and i am not used to it-
knowing you want to hold me,
always running on an exhale

tomorrow and the next day
and forever are vivid
nobody annoys me more
or brings question marks to my eyes

quite like you.

i am at odds with a mirror!

this is not a love
that i know anything about
your hands on my face, in
my back pockets, tight on my waist

nobody has ever been gentle before
you hold me like a treasure
(i am not)

i have always been consumed.

i have always insisted
until now

i
did not ask
i
didn't have to
you
melted onto me
you
caught me by surprise

but it is your name (and name alone)
that fits so well
between my lips

and i end up spitting pearls
chewing marble
cradling ivory

(you are not your name,
you are tomorrow)

i always expected your hands
to be colder than they are
and your pulse to be steady

but sleepy smiles breathe blue light
and you almost kiss my forehead
nearly interlock fingers

before you catch yourself
and lie there against me
it's my fear through you, i know

i've stopped thinking tomorrow
will be the same as always
there is no longer any "same"

this afternoon i saw the words
"you deserve someone who isn't confused
about how they feel about you"

it made me sick to think
that i'm supposed to be sure
about an uncertain sensibility

you're stronger than i expected
a sea foam green breath of air
youthful but so sure

a shape shifting creature, it seems
to them a staccato exhale
towards me, legato and full

an armful of existence.

i recognize it but do not feel
it besides an ache in my core
reminding me that it is unfinished

the end of which

i do not know

but i can taste in the emptiness
of the evening

exhaling the faith i had
in myself is nightly

neither of us allow
conversation to linger
and it's sickening

we're blindly pulling at
bedsheets for answers
neither of us want to acknowledge

i don't know what's happening

each day is different,
i can't tell if my unease
is with the assumptions
or with myself

i think i know what you want
(at least partway)
but my mind wants to resist
losing interest in fingertips and
the mismatched cues

your body tells me you
need the closeness

mine is afraid
of taking this further

i don't want this to become
another bad joke, laughing
in hindsight but doubting
my intentions, i just don't
know myself well enough

and every time i mention
i am unsure, you explain
that you can't tell nights apart

texts at midnight
with questionable wording -
we have to be alone for this
to work out like you'd expect

but at this point all i feel
is a little bit sick and somewhat
concerned for your sake

because i can't be a rock for you

i am overwhelmingly sorry

there's something different
about this time for me

something goes through me
that i cannot interpret

you told me that you try
to live life to the fullest
because you might not have
the fullness that others get from living

i almost wish you hadn't told me

because my eyes start to fill
when i think about you and
i wish i knew what to say

i know what it's like to hurt
so fully and deeply, to doubt
your days and know your clock
to be shorter than some

and to have to pull it together regardless

i want to tell you so badly
that i'm scared too,
that there's so much more
than what i've told you

i think i'm afraid that
we're too much alike

i realized i missed the wind
the moment the cold hit my lips

i've been fantasizing nightly
about head against chest
heartbeats keeping time with
the chirping of cicadas outside

i'm not used to missing hipbones
and legs intertwined
and a hand behind my knee

but as far as you're concerned

my weight in your lap,
one hand in my hair
and the other on my hip

very close
(i miss being very close)
your exhale and my inhale
and vice versa
i crave close

i don't know who i am anymore

the hollow of night is fuller than i remember.

your careening towards space
glowing like lighting bugs

if there was a name for stars' tears
it'd be yours, pirouetting on
the tongues of clouds

and folded into the seams
of your jeans (the ones that hug
you like an apathetic lover)

i almost lost the steady pulse
of moonlight you whispered
about into the carpet

i love that **** carpet.

luckily i regained her rhythm!

you and your rhythm - you know
her more closely than my breath
knows the caress of hollow

i am
not part of it, you know,
i don't feel it anymore

no matter what you say.

the curl of your wing drew
me in with the muddy tips
and gilded shafts, no contrast
against a parchment yellow sky

your skin a creamy sand that shone
with the heat of the sun and oceans below
oceans filled with galaxies, for the sky is
ever day and the sea is ever night

you visited me barefoot on paver stone
white clouds of dust between my toes
i could feel you with me always and yet
nary a word was spoken to soothe me

you cradled my head in your hands and
held me close as i sobbed over all i missed
and you pointed to the sky and assured
that the galaxies there were kinder than the sea

as you pulled the copper from your neck
and placed it around mine, i felt the sting of
stardust on my collarbone. it left a scar the size
of my future and you frowned.

the earth below shook.
i felt it in my teeth.

i learned it before the subtlety of time meant me to

i don’t know who it was
who planted the seed
but i was a baby
acting like i was grown

in a world of forced skin
you were the catalyst
the cure for the summer heat
much to the chagrin of the other counselors

if you google “how to spot
grooming behavior” it was
you to a tee but i don’t think
you knew how bad it was

and neither did i, till i
applied your tactics a hundred
times. it made me the devil
the charred tongue of death

and i broke so many people
to dust before i knew what
dust was- i am only now
realizing that i thought love

was the tightening of grip
forced respect from older
boys who thought God was
a scam (you were the scam

who followed me home
weeknights and tagged
along on dates, you
disgusting ****, you should

have known better) at age
thirteen sometimes respect is
ignored when you get it from
high school boys (sometimes

he pops up again asking me
how i‘ve been and i don’t talk
because how do you tell them that
you had to start again from where

they ****** you over?)

Y O U

will consume me
from the inside and
swear it's for the best when i
start feeling the attack

Y O
U

want me dead.
i'm sure of it, i know my cells (and or)
you and your patterns and
the funny way you fill my face with

w
a
t
e
r

Y
OU

make me want to not die
just to spite the hell out of you
even if you leave me wheezing
and shaking in my bed (low low low)

Y      O       U

are doctors appointments without
the lollipop, the fear and longing for
sleep, the way i cannot breathe
when you are active (lack of empathy)

yOU
YoU
yOu
YOu

make me suffer
suffer make me
me suffer make
make suffer me
suffer me make
me make suffer

beep boop
i'm tired of tubes and needles
and pills

i look like a ******* ******

the envy of water is truer than i
ever imagined it being. i can look
through you, i can see the charade
you are playing every moment

i reminded you i existed under
you, that i needed air and room
to breathe in the starlight of his
voice and the thickness of the sky

and i see you push me away, repress
me further into oblivion until i cannot
see the light for which i yearn, the
dampness of a tomb is all which reaches

this far down. and i know that to you-
and for you- at least this time, i am small
and insignificant. you are afraid of me and
the voice i possess and the cracks in your shield.

you can't put me away for much longer.
not unless you want to wonder why i
am around every corner shaking you until
you are afraid to move, why i cannot stop

thumping on your chest until the hurricane
on your tongue hushes itself and dissolves
into a perpetual calm, or why the mildness
of winter can't invoke a reaction anymore.

you colored me a funny shade
of aquamarine

but you faded me out until
i was more infinity than ivory.

there is so much i'm afraid to ask you.

i want to know what it means
when it feels like a knife's blade
is trailing down your back whenever
anyone says ma'am or miss
but it doesn't carve into your flesh
the way you'd assume it might

i want to understand why i want
to carve and shape my chest
but don't mind if my curves stay
if it means i could wear a corset
and compress the rest of my body

i want to know why i am afraid to tell you
even though you're my best friend
and i know that you understand
and i know that you're here for me
but i'm afraid you will think
i am making it up as i go, like this
hasn't been long enough

but i have known something was wrong
for over a year

i didn't talk to you much then
even though i knew you for years

but i couldn't figure out why i was scared
why i am scared
why i have been scared of myself
and my body
and my mind
and i don't know where i am or what i'm doing
but i'm scared if i tell you now

it will be too late.

i know you know.

i don't have to tell you anything

but at the same time i know
that if i don't, you won't mold your words
around my mind, you won't plant
the flowers of change in your collar

and it's not because you wouldn't,

it's because i haven't given you a name for it.

one is a name you said reminded you of carnations

two is a name you told me existed

three is a name that even i am afraid to utter
because i don't feel right taking it from you
even if i tick all of the boxes perfectly.

it is a name i am not familiar with yet.

it is a name that would steal my parents' daughter
away from them

and it would not grant them a son either.

i want to talk about it so badly
but my lips won't form the words
and everyone around me has already
begun assimilating their language
without my telling them

i wish you would ask me what is wrong.

and i wish you would choose
'them'
for me.

i told him i could drive him home
after his safety was threatened
by the enter key.

he graciously thanked me
and curled into himself
the whole way home.

that evening, i asked him
if i had made the wrong choice
by smiling at him before school

all he said was no,
and that he appreciated my help
but that he was numb

today he asked me if i could
drive him home from school
next week

the quiver of his spacebar
was apparent to me even
without the barrier of speech,

his hesitance before
he touched the enter key
solidified the situation.

the enter key has hurt him
more than it has saved him
and i'll be honest with you

he is afraid to touch more
than just a key on the keyboard
he told me on the drive home

that he doesn't know affection
from inflection, that he recoils
at a handshake or hug

and honestly i don't blame him.
there are so many kinds of neglect
that even i can't name them all

but for someone who has been
left hanging in the dirt while the others
dance around them in circles

to simply accept how the world works
is absurd and unlikely. all of us
have our damages and we have all

been hurt by a touch.

so at the touch of an enter key
i tell him she lied to him
and he is, in fact, wonderful.

please, my love.
i can see the tension from behind
the screen and it's not towards
me but it's coming from you
because of the way her words
freeze into daggers

please, don't let her touch you.
she will only drive you further
into the depths of your mind where
the sun cannot find you and
i'm not sure if you'll ever come back

please, let me help you.
there isn't much i can do but when
i see the letters change from small to
large i can tell that's what your thoughts
are doing too and it scares me

please, force her to see you.
you are your own person with your own
thoughts and dreams and she is trying
to take that away from you so she can
keep it to herself as if you were a doll
or the answer to her problems

please, we are all concerned about you
i know it's getting worse and i know
your pride is too strong but when
the sky falls even superman would need
some help from his friends

she does not own you.
she wants to use you for herself
and even if you tell her no she
will cry and beg and blame
because she doesn't care that you
are stronger than she thinks

she thinks you are hers.

you do not belong to anyone.

please,

remember i am here beside you.
i cannot fix you or anyone or her
ego but really all of us are here

please,

be careful my love.

you are a breath
of fresh exuberance,
but also of nihilism
and the way cold air tastes

how do i make you
begin to fall for me
in the way that i might
want you to

without seeming like i'm
pushing you to the edge
of what is safe versus
what is good?

is it wrong that i miss
the innocence of new love,
that i'm dreaming of the moments
i haven't felt in years,

or that the nausea
of my bones shaking through
my knees is a feeling which
i would worship to receive?

the idea of your presence is
more overwhelming than that
of your physicality, for when
time stops at least i can visualize

the idea of you.

it is more than the idea of you.
it is that dreamy trance of youth
near midnight, when the lights
overtake your reality and the music

drums in your ears and all
which is visible becomes all which
is love, it is love in its truest
and purest form. or even the late

night conversations dripping
with the beating of hearts and
the urgency of dramatics,
and although we know of its

purposelessness, we still try
to fix it for our own sakes.
it is the feeling of staying up
and out way too late, of road

trips, of the rips in the knees
of your favorite jeans, and the
way you readjust your hair when
you think nobody is looking.

you will never fall for me
in the way i might want you to,
but as long as i have your hand
to hold in this tempest of sorts

the metaphor will become reality

and it'll all be okay.

i have known you for years
and when i say years
i mean it feels
like eternities

i mean the sketches i have
tucked away in an old journal
feel like they were formed
in mountain ridges

i think the edges
of our friendship
are tucked away in the corners
of your favorite jacket

and are protected

from the harsh winds

of chance

i like looking through old
yearbooks
and of all the students throughout
history
never have i found one
like you

you are unique to those
who know you
and to those who don't

and yet those that don't
can't see how

your eyes
lower when you smile
but even
nightfall
couldn't dull their shine

your hands
grip
a sketchbook-
your child, i presume

your face
lights up
and becomes an autumn
sunset
when you remember
that thing you meant to say

but wait-

never mind

you calculated our reactions
and though i insist
you do not budge

but the
mischievous glint
remains

and i must ask

am i allowed...

is it okay if...

would you mind if i...

but i cannot
say

how being near you
overwhelms me
with this energy

perhaps

the warmth
will burn me
from the inside

and

perhaps

you will flash me
that smirk

and i will melt?

am melting?

have been melting?

i cannot explain except
that you are the reddish-gold
of crisp
air

you are
the
bubble
of
chills
in the crook
of my neck

i see you
in dreams

you don't act
like you would

but i know
it's you

i do not stand
a chance with you

i cannot
breathe
my heart
to you

i am afraid

you are

too

perfect

~

although

you

cannot

see

it

he told the boy
that he loved him

and the boy smiled
and sadly shook his head
and with an
"i'm sorry"
the boy wiped his
hopes away

but he persisted
and followed the boy
in most everything he did

he burnt rosemary
as an offering
and decorated the candles
with candied ginger
and cloves

it wasn't until
they found him
alone on his couch
asleep
forever

that anyone knew
what had happened
or that anything seemed amiss

he loved the boy
too hard

and when the boy
didn't love him back

he was too
disappointed
to cry

so he became
a bottle of coke
and the more he was shaken
the faster he went

i left the remnants
of my disappointment
in the collar
of my favorite
shirt

there for the universe
to find

the tie
became a noose
choking out any last hope
i had
for redemption

and i shredded
the jeans which
illuminated
my hips and thighs

my stomach
will not play nice
for as i taunt it
it screams vindictively

i hid the anguish
under my fingernails
until they had to be clipped
and then there was
nowhere

and so i curled
into a ball
in the coldest of oceans
waiting for the heat
of a volcano
to swallow
me up

but the volcano
won't come

i've been waiting
for a long time

and the warmth
just isn't there

my chest aches
still

you would think the cold
would have numbed it
by now

the transparency of
running water
over stone
is too much
for me to bear

i dropped my identity
into the water
and let it become
a stone

and as the mud
and ash and dirt
washed away

i saw far too clearly
what i had neglected
and the cracks
in sincerity

and i bound
my heart
and ribs
and tongue
in a tight pair of pantyhose

but it stopped my breath
and made me ache
in a way
i never knew
was possible

when i
got my breath back
i cried
with the realization
that
i should have never
started again
if i wanted
to be perfect

so i stepped
on the wildflowers
of renewal,
buttoned up my collar,
and slept in the rain

he colored his fingernails
with his mother's nail polish
and grew his hair long
for appeasement

but when he left
he cut it short
like it was meant
to be

one day
he came to lunch
in distress

once he explained
they were confused
but supportive

and so things began
to change

and that is how
it should be

but it isn't always
this simple

because just like
lipstick
and ***** nails
aren't mutually exclusive

masculinity and femininity
aren't mutually exclusive either

and when a boy
in his own community,
the last one he'd expect,
told him he wasn't real
like he was a figment
of their imaginations

he came back with a rage
the others had never seen

and they were proud

and when others
started coming out around them

they were proud

and as the community grew

they were proud

we were proud

i was proud

then i just *was

the earth
***** him inwards
with the weight
of his assumed sins
on his back

everyone around him
radiates rainbow rays
from every pore
shining blue
and lilac
and the reddish-orange shade
of fire

but he is scared

he refuses to speak
the sugary affections
which flake
from his mouth
like
coconut

he hides behind
the mask of disease
of which they think
he is afflicted

and his lips
burn like fire
every time he mentions
the tragedy
of perception

so he slinks away
to the back of the room

he took
a knife
to his long curls

he painted his skin
with watercolors
to change it
just enough
to smile a little

but his family
is none the wiser

she loves me
she loves me not

she is the color of sunbeams
and minty toothpaste

i am the color of nighttime forests
and sawdust from a two-by-four

i cannot afford to keep her
any more than i can myself

even the dirt beneath my fingernails
is too much for me

my hands pass through sunbeams
without any questions

forests are cut down
and there is no place
for the sunlight to sink

she painted my arms
with The Starry Night
and now my palms
are coated in cracking acrylic skies

i haven't tasted gum drops in years
yet one balances on my tongue
teetering instead of sticking

i survive on coffee
and pine needled trees

she consumes
southern honeysuckle
and polished crystals

i am a melted candle

she is a bundle of rosemary

picking painted prom dresses
even though a suit
would suit me better

she is perfection

she loves me
she loves me not

dear you,

she's not sure why
she even still brings it up
in her own head
because you are long gone by now

but she stopped falling for your tricks
a very long time ago.

she doesn't understand why
you were so demanding
of her time
and attention.

you were the knife against her throat,
and because she was afraid,
she went with you.

you were the only one on the other end
of the electric wire.
and because she felt powerless,
she let herself get electrocuted.

all she knew you for
was a photograph,
a username,
a mutual friend.

but you seemed to be a ghost
in her head,

unseen but persistent.

you hijacked your way
into the skin behind her ears,
and laughed when she heard
but couldn't see
you.

and when she finally had the courage
to shut you down,

you made her question
her own sanity and existence.
because of your
insecurities.

she can never forgive you
for that.

so dear you,

if she ever sees you walking
down the street
with a smile
painted in yellow
and green
and purple,

she will not approach you.

she will simply clasp her friend's hand tighter,
smile sweetly,
and add
a little
blue.

the palms of her hands
are calloused
from the constant
digging.

she is
digging a hole,
running on empty.

as she falls to her knees,

her fingertips
are enveloped in
the cool earth,
cooling the blisters
and bruises.

carefully,
she climbs inside.

and as the cavern fills up
with rainwater,

she feels her swollen tongue
and the rug burn on her skin
and the acid in her throat,

and she reaches for the comfort
of her shirtsleeves.

the grit
of cough syrup
and mud
between her teeth
makes her gag

over the patter
of rain,
she can hear a shovel
against rock.

another person
digging a hole,
but into the rocky portion
usually reserved for those
with nothing
left.

and so out she climbs,
cradles the digger
in her arms
and fills her hole
with flower petals,
dropping the lost soul
inside

and she wraps her fingers
around the soaked piece of wood
and metal

and groans with that familiar sound
of metal on rock

as she resumes
what they left behind.

you smell
of old cigarettes,
****,
*****,
and sadness.

you haven't been
sober
in at least
two
weeks.

yet
all
you
are
is
talk.

rolling eyes
meet your
sense of
complacency
with the power of
a small child
versus
a
large
animal.

going double the speed limit
isn't cute,
it'll **** you
and you don't care.

you live in
a chocolate cave
with lemon rind
edging,
but it's littered with
tobacco ash
and
wasted youth.

when the only contact i have
with you
is at 3 am
when the world is
dead
quiet,

and i appear to be online,

i become curious as to
what is really going on.

what is troubling
your mind
to make you
feel
so alone?

what
can
i
do?

you smell
of old cigarettes,
****,
*****,
and sadness.

especially the
sadness.

we've already explored
every last inch
of the mall in town.

the one that isn't ******,
at least.

we've driven to every last store
and into the city
and into the middle of nowhere,
windows down,
radio blaring,
daylight escaping.

the grey stones,
the angels on columns
marking the presence of a child
or the presence of
a
scream
grow in size before me

you brought me here
to explore
the grounds

but really all i want
is a cigarette
and a glass bottle
of pepsi

but i don't smoke

so what is the point?

unease suffocates me
like a wire
about my neck

i don't even think
my blood
is blood
anymore.

scraped palms
and ****** knees
seep venom
and
lemon juice
and
peppermint

ice cubes
and
candy striped
lipstick
do
not
compel
me.

if i curl up
next to this
slab of marble,
and just sleep,
will
i
feel
like
i
am
home?

but i do not.

it is almost
the time
the gates
close.

so
we
leave,

flower
petals
and
oranges
trailing
be­hind
us.

so at what point
is this war?

the decisions
he makes

have very real
consequences.

we're setting
ourselves up

for failure.

i don't know
what i'm supposed to
think.

everything
is
a
mess.

should
i
be
scared
for
the
futu­re?

i mean
i already am
but like
what
do
i
do
next?

it's
solemn
out
here.

i cannot continue
to empty out
an already empty water jug

curled in the frosted grass
my skin is sliced
by a tiny sword
leaving this rash
of dots
all over my hands

hot air
and extreme defiance
has been coursing through my veins

i wish i looked as sick
as i feel inside
because then i could subsist on
giggles and green tea
and perhaps
blood transfusions
and
saline
and
exhaustion

peculiar creature
digs in the rocky earth
with a twig
meant as kindling

peculiar creature
is content
dwelling alone

like Pluto
once recognized
soon dismissed

i wish this
tea was spiked
with more honey
or more hope
or more self worth

i never understood the appeal
of flowers

or why
they needed to be given
in bouquets

peculiar creature
lights a candle
and prays
to nobody

peculiar creature
feels nothing
but
peculiar

oh dear
who
will
stop
him
now?

your walls of
salt and blood
beckon me back,
the fish carved into the ceiling
seem to say none
but
"welcome home, friend"

the bruises covering my arms
where the veins should be
tell your story,
my freezing blood
drums in my teeth,
i am unsure.

the white band around my wrist
is my only defining factor.

i am no different from the other kids
sick with exhaustion
and
sick with anxiety
and
sick.

cartoons from my childhood
are running on the tv
and the icy saline
creeps up my spine,
keeping my mind silent.

but really i am cold
and it is late
and i am tired,
but if i sleep
what if i never awaken?

it has happened before.

every time i nearly faint
the thought of going back
hammers my temples,
and i need the break.

but they are annoying
and the most dangerous places to be
alone with your thoughts.

am i insane for enjoying
being sick for a while?

but soon the loneliness
creeps back into my bed
and i cannot wait to leave

until i get back
and i wish i was alone
once again

your hands are made of rain.

they are made of
ice
and
clouds
and
sunshine.

your spine is
the bend of a
meandering river.

i can trace the mountains
of your shoulders.

your hair,
the leaves on the trees.

your soul
lies in the dirt beneath my feet
and in the blueness of the sky.

but your eyes
are coal
supplying the
brightest
fire.

they could burn the whole place down.

they wouldn't even have to try.

you could burn it all down.

you want to burn it all down.

don't burn it down.

there's so much of you left to explore,
so much magic
that even you haven't seen.

don't burn it down.

i can see the magic
in the river stones
of your smile.

don't burn it down.
we have enough lies
and travesties of promises.

be the one beauty left
in this vile world.

i don't like watching you
exaggerate my condition.

sorry,
i should say,
our
condition.

you call it a disease
and that is not a lie.

you call it an illness
and that is also true.

but where you cross the line
is when you call it
a
"disability."

legally we are broken.

it is a tragedy
that our lives have a monetary value
and we pay it every time
we walk to the pharmacy counter.

but do not call yourself
disabled
with the tone
implying "disabled"
equals
"weak"
or
"helpless"

not when you
haven't even seen a quarter
of what others have seen.

not when you
haven't learned how
to grow up.

you are not special.
i am not special.
we are not special.

keeping our physical bodies alive
is one thing.

your perception of "strength"
is our perception of "insecure"

i don't understand why diabetes
needs to be a personality trait.

our lives are different

we're broken
we're "sick"

but we could deal with it
with grace

why can't you deal with it
with grace?

awareness is important
but if it only benefits you,
is it awareness
for anyone
else?

i'm worried my rights
will be questioned
by your actions.

our lives are already for profit,
the government calls us
whatever they like

i'm not asking you to hide

i'm asking you to stop
pretending

you are perfectly capable.
i keep telling you
to get help

you don't listen.

don't exaggerate
my friends' lives

don't imply our weakness

we might be sick
but we have control

don't take the power away
from the rest
of us

his suit was made of
wax flower petals.

he was the rain,
his blood rushing
to fill the lake of ice
beneath his feet,
making him delirious.

he was made of magic-

scratch that-

he has been made of magic

of ancient chants,
of hidden forests,
of improvised songs
balanced on the tip of his finger

but he cannot control
his sore muscles,
or the funny thing
his hands do when he's nervous.

he wishes he could be back
in his treehouse
like when he was a kid

but the ocean spray beckons him
away
from the magic
he used to call home.

it's been a year

in other words,
i'm cold

in other words,
it's really quiet in this room

in other words,
nobody smiles at me anymore

in other words,
i've forgotten how sweet life can taste

in other words,
i'm lonely

in other words,
i'm scared of commitment and of communication but i haven't tried in such a long time that it might be worth it to try again

in other words,
i've reached out

in other words,
nobody has reached back

in other words,
all i see are
empty smiles,
polite gestures,
and shattered souls

i can see everyone else.
i can tell you which ones
are terrified,
which ones are broken,
and which ones are lost.

there are so few of them
that i can see it.

how are they genuinely okay
as their average sense of being?

am i the only one
that puts up this facade?

am i invisible?

can you see me?

it's been a year
since i've been kissed
or looked at
like i matter.

all i see is the emptiness,
but that may be my cloud diluting
the innocence of the many
and soaking up
the blood of the slaughtered-

can you see me?

i feel like i'm invisible.

i have to **** into conversations
because nobody would include me anyway,

i am a lost cause.

don't make me save you,
i ripped apart the last one.

don't make me feel you,
because i will just be torn away.

don't make me breathe you,
i will suffocate against your weight.

i'm an ice cube up against
a blowtorch,
but i'm not quite sure if
the blowtorch means it.

i'm wet sand
in a mold.
shape me however you like,
smooth me down to fit your ideals
but i will crumble,
and when that wave comes to find me
i will melt in its palms
and get sprinkled back onto
the bottom of the ocean
waiting to be found again.

call me a name
and i will become that name,
the letters will flow out of your lips,
falling like a river,
cool and untouched.

i will let myself drown.

it's been a year.
don't touch me
unless you mean it.

i have a hard time remembering
much of our time together.

we were so young,
so foolish.

i only remember the feelings.

i was a hot night,
right before nightfall when the fireflies
did flips in the trees and between blades of grass.
i was the bubbling tar of the street
beneath my skateboard,
the air suffocating everything
but my ability to see what was in front of me,
i was the Fourth of July.
i was the last sparkler in a box,
just waiting to be used,
left behind and forgotten.

but you-
oh, you were the sun
setting behind the trees.
you were the one
that made the fireflies decide to play,
the one
that convinced everyone you were on top,
the one
that could make the Earth explode,
if you really wanted to.
you were an honor,
not a right.
you were
my match to
make me sparkle
my introduction,
my sunrise.

i had to beg the sun to rise
every morning.
i shouldn't have had to do that.
the sun is supposed to rise,
but my sun would not.

i cannot even remember that year.
i remember having fun,
i remember smiling,
but i also remember the tears
and the depression
and the pain
and the scars
that may never heal.

i remember how you looked at me
then down,
then back up,
with this disappointment i had never seen,
and i knew i had blown it.
you couldn't handle me,
i couldn't handle you.

you told me you'd never love me
"like that"
and you were right.

now i see you daily.

i haven't made eye contact with you in almost four years.

there's not much i remember,
but i remember the pain,
and
i
remember
the
tears.

the sun hasn't shone for me
in such a long time,
but you were never the only sun,
and you were never the last.

you were just the one
that never rose
to the challenge.

why do you look at me
like that?

like i am something
you are about to consume?

i can see you,
you winked at me,
didn't you?

i'm scared of touch,
i curl away with fear
at the slightest brush
of the skin.

please don't make me explain
to you
how scared i am
to go near your house.

it's not you,
it's my fear of what come next,
it's my fear of letting you down.

i'm scared to let people down.

i don't want
you
to
be
disappointed
in
me.

i don't exist for your approval,
yet i am empty.

i'm so lonely,
i have been for ages,
but i'm tired of confusing my
loneliness
for dark nights,
empty promises,
hollow "yes"s
and cold fingers.

do
not
touch
me
do
not
kiss
me
do
not
hold
me

i
am
too
fragile
for
you

i
will
break

it's cold and nobody
cares.

the ice has grown through my skin
into my stomach,
its sharp knives chopping
and slicing what love i had left.

i'm cold and nobody
cares.

if my skin turns to stone
under the weight of all my sins,
so be it.
it is better than melting into the palms
of someone i don't need.

it's cold and nobody
cares.

i wear a heavy coat to heat up
my insecurities,
a hat to hide beneath
the stitching of the fabric.

i'm cold and nobody
cares.

i read your poems and wonder
who exactly you're talking about
when you say
"i love you."
could it be me?
yeah,
right.

it's cold and nobody
cares.

except for
me.

i don't get
why everybody is
yelling
at me today.

i didn't sleep
and so i cried.
okay?
no need to tell me things
that will further my tears.

i have a lot
to do
today.

don't do this
to
me

they tell me that self care
is one of the most important things
you can do for yourself.

okay,
but like,
how exactly do i do that?

i tried lighting scented candles.
they were nice
but the scent began to fade away
just like my friends.

oops,
did i say that?

i tried taking a warm shower,
but the moment i stepped out,
it was cold.
i regretted getting in
to begin with,
just like my experience with boys.

i tried sleeping,
but eventually i had to wake up,
and sometimes there were nightmares.
it's nice to just go unconscious for hours
but not so much when drifting
gets you nowhere,
just like in life.

the internet just stresses me out,
no matter how many
candy pulling videos
i watch
(don't ask,
they're relaxing)

i'm pretty sure my stress is
unchanged
by all this.

i'm tired.
can i just go back to bed?

i feel so much better without you
in my life.

i'm glad i threw you in the trash
where you belong.

i can't say i
will never want you back,

but for the time being,
i'm glad i look more like a boy.

so *******
hair,
i hope you make somebody happy
at least,
the bit i donated,
but other than that
have fun
in
hell.

i really need to get some sleep
but here i am, over analyzing everything.

i can't even open up to anyone
without it being a joke.
you think all those jokes about wishing i was dead
are jokes?

i understand that you don't know me well enough
to understand what i'm trying to say
and why there is a half second of silence before the laughter
when they try to figure out if i mean it or not.

just because i don't look upset
or look unsettled
or look insane
or look
i don't know,
doesn't mean a thing.

just because i have no intent
doesn't mean my mind is silent.

maybe i'm just really smart,
keeping quiet,
too quiet.

i laugh about my problems
because it's the only way i can pretend they're not serious,
the only way i can control my emotions,
and then when i'm honest
for half a second,
it scares you.

you run away.

i thought we were going to be great friends,
but honestly,
who cares?

my body used to be sealed,
it was like i was my own chastity belt,
mouth kept shut,
never talking back,
narrowly slipping through the fingers of consumption.

the day i turned thirteen,
it was like a switch had been flicked,
like a dial had been turned
from zero to at least... thirteen.

i wasn't supposed to be a baby anymore,
i was supposed to be a teenager.
you know, the kind on disney channel,
the one that all the boys loved
and all the girls wanted to be.

i thought that growing up meant
i was no longer just my own.
i could give pieces away without breaking them off.

turns out, breaking off pieces of yourself
is inevitable,
and it
is not safe.
you become an apple,
or a piece of toffee
for somebody to tear between their teeth.

i was thirteen when one of my best friends
thought it was okay to grab me in public.

it was like i had turned to stone,
but not the tough kind of stone that would bruise you
if you hit it too hard.
no, i was like a snowman,
cold and immobile,
built of ice.

i was thirteen
when i realized it felt okay
to take what love you could get
when all he wanted
was my vulnerability through the phone
and all i wanted was a kiss
but i couldn't have it because
"he didn't love me like that"
despite the fact our hands could hold each other
for miles in any direction.

i was fourteen
when i stopped caring about what i did to my body
and instead cared about
what it did for other people.
my soul wasn't my own,
instead it was a foreign beast which suffocated my brain
with its tendrils.

i still can't decide which parts i'm okay with,
and which parts i'm not.

i was fifteen
when a boy insisted he had to have me.
when i told him i wouldn't send him pictures,
he said that i was a *****
who knew i was attractive,
and that everyone i knew hated me.
i later discovered
that apparently my being sick
was karma
for not letting him sink his claws into my flesh,
for not letting him smoke me,
or hold me between his teeth like a cigarette.

i was fifteen
when i discovered that two boys who i considered friends
were texting back and forth about how they could crucify me
in the most beautiful way
if only i was their God.
one of them was the same boy
that grabbed me.

i was fifteen
when all i ate
was rice cakes and boys' spirits.
i fed them however much they needed
while letting myself go hungry
so i could be perfect.

i was fifteen
when they realized i was just a toy,
a funny looking doll
for them to play pretend.
one of those walking, talking dolls,
the kind that mistook loneliness for love,
the kind that thought her body was the only thing about her
that could be used as a welcome mat,
the kind that heard a lot of
"you're not my usual type, but you'll do,"
balanced on top of half-hearted effort
and a hell of a lot of
"error: try again later"

last night i dreamt i kissed a boy

i don't remember who he was,
or his eyes or his hair

but i remember his lips,
i learned the pattern of his stubble
and the warmth of his kiss

i remember his body.
he was thin, lanky even.
i could feel his ribs under my fingertips.

i remember his breath.
feeling his lips curl into a smile,
the feeling of sticky, sleepy kisses
when all you hear is the other one breathing.

and i remember his hands.
long, rough fingers in my hair,
the way sunlight wraps around you
and cannot let you go long after it escapes,
and our noses pressing together.

i don't know if i was myself.
i don't remember being a boy or a girl.
my lips felt his stubble, not my own,
i learned the beat of his heart
but i couldn't hear my own,
i know he was there
but i don't see myself.

i only see him.

i was so close to saying i only wanted a girl,
that her softness and strength
would be all i need.

and that is still true.

but i cannot forget the roughness of a boy,
the tenderness that leaks through
in his smile,
pushing his dreams into my body through my lips.

both are their own kind of unique.
i cannot say i love one, but not the other,
or that there isn't a huge spectrum of in-betweens,
all i can say is that i dreamt of a boy,

and that
the dreams he planted there
need to escape.