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 ******* ******

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.

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.

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

“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.

Kiss me.
I dare you.

I almost know
it wouldn't be smart,
yet I can't help
but be drawn
to your
smile.

Let me drown.
I dare you.

Let me drown
in the warmth
of your arms,
weighted down only
by knowing
what's to come.

Hold me close.
I dare you.

Make me want
nothing more
than the weight
of your body
against mine.

Don't let me go.
I beg of you.

When all I have left
is the memory of

trembling lips,

starry eyes,

beating hearts,
and
heavy breaths,

I'll wish
I dared
not to love you.

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

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 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.

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

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.

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.

You fell from my mind
burning,
the way smoke burns your lungs
and caresses them yet.

I don't know what happened,
it's strange
that at once I wanted to be with you
and then I wanted to be you
but now I want nothing more
than to be rid
of all of this.

It's not you,
at least, I don't think so.
It's me,
and all the attitude I carry
and the fact that your fingers
don't feel right
on me
anymore.

And I don't know how to
tell you this, but
I don't feel like
I'm comfortable
or you're comfortable
enough,
like we used to be.

I don't know why I need
to say this, but
despite our lives,
and despite the fact
I don't seem to ever care
about anyone but myself-
at least, at the moment,
I do care, some.

But I wouldn't blame you
if you
didn't.

I'm awfully clingy, it seems.

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

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

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.

That was it.
He simply leaned in and asked
"Are we going to kiss or not?"
So you did
And that kiss became more.
It became
"Don't tell your friends about me"
"Don't make a sound yet-
my dad doesn't know you're here."
Hidden away as a friend
Yet you begin to wonder if he loves you.
Then you see her.
She's everything he wants
And nothing you are
Yet his fingers still recognize your curves
His lips still fit with yours
His eyes still see into your belly
Where the butterflies try to break loose
And he smiles at you.
But that smile is unfamiliar now.
It's not meant for you.
Your lips speak otherwise
Opening only for a
"Your turn"
But as he feels his way down
You can't help but remember
He'd much rather feel
Her instead.

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

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.

why is the thought "i want to go home"
the only thing in my head
when i'm in my bed?

when i'm sick
or feel like dying
all i want is to go home

it's been the same cry since i was young
begging for the comfort of home

but where is home?

i feel it's somewhere in the galaxies
where i cannot quite reach,
a heaven, perhaps,
a warm, inviting place
that i can only imagine
being full of love.

*i just want to go home

Honestly,
when I say that I love you
I mean it.
I don't throw those words around
like how a hurricane throws the trees.
I keep those words sacred.

When I say I love you
I mean it
from here
to looping around the stars and back
even if it seems like
I'm saying it just to say it
I really do
love you.

It doesn't matter how
or why, or when it happened-
all you need to know
is that you mean the world to me.

Yes, it's true you're not the only one
I love in this way,
but each and every person
is loved differently, too.

Some need to be held
and others just listened to.
Maybe they need me to smile
even if smiling feels impossible
but I do it because I love them.

I love many people
in many different ways
and I mean it with everything I have
when I smile and say
"Honestly,
I love you"

what is
one bite less?
what is two
in the grand scheme of things

i can't seem to stop,
yet i'm finding solace in it

he tells me
aim for 1200,
but what does he know?

i'm getting where i need to be
and nobody, living or dead
will stop me.

it's not that i don't want to

i just can't stop

not yet.

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.

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

Sometimes I wonder if
this is truly worth the time.

Is it necessary
to constantly be breathing?
It's horrible I have to ask
yet I do wonder sometimes

how many hearts would break
how many tears would actually fall
who would want to hold me
like they never did while I was here?

It's horrible, I know
but it's reasonable to wonder
yet the sad part is
sometimes I feel like
nobody would.

it gnaws on my brain rabidly,
with its razor-like teeth

what is it?
i don't know

all i know is that it makes my breath catch in my throat
as if it's being held there by taloned claws,
my heart beating as though it's being used as a drum

and this...this thing
haunts my dreams

it causes nightmares
of losing everyone i love

it also takes my will to live
and smashes it between its palms,
so that my mind is whirling

but is void of the ability or motivation to take action

what is this creature?
how can i defeat it?
surely this is not a part of me

but it seems like
no matter how much ice i press to my skin
no matter how much control i have
no matter what medication i'm on,

it returns

and in returning,

steals my mind

I saw the way you smiled at me
last Saturday.
At least, I think it was Saturday,
it may have been Friday
or Monday
or any day I saw you-
my thoughts are a bit jumbled.

Your mouth was full of words
that I have heard many a time,
but for some reason,
those words had a different meaning
than they had before.

I decided to stay quiet
about everything that bugs me
about you
and instead focus
on the bits
that make me smile,

because trust me

there are a lot of things
about you
that
I
love.

But that's not what I'm trying
to talk about here.
I want to talk about how
my words fit perfectly in my mouth
until I decide to say them,
at which point
they can never fit back.

I want to talk about how you
fit perfectly in my arms
until I let you go
and then you never seem to fit
the same way you did before
because something about you
is constantly changing.

It seems as though
everything about you
and everything about me
is jumbled.

It sort of reminds me of how
grains of sand on a beach
are all different shapes
and materials
but they form as one cohesive
"sand."

So how does that sound?
We're like grains of sand
on a beach,
or like a mismatched Rubik's cube,
all different bits and colors
and feelings
and memories,
but we're still
one being
each.

And maybe together,
we can be almost like one,
intertwining stories
and
growing into each other
instead of just growing
side-by-side.

And that
would give me yet another thing
to love about you.

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?)

am i insane that i want a label for this
thing living in my mind

i can't enjoy food
without making it a numbers game
carbs and calories, carbs and calories
not too much meat but keep protein up
fats are okay as long as it's not oil
and you know the exact caloric value
measure every bite
weigh everything
round up
add it up twice just in case
you were wrong the first time

i'm not even close to underweight

but i can't stand without getting faint


they tell me it's my bipolar acting up

but do you know how many times
someone has looked at me and said
"you're not my usual type,
i usually go for the really tiny ones"

god, i'm making it sound like it's worse
than it is, i'm teenage girl
trying to be dramatic, right?

but why can't i look at a photo of myself
without wanting to cry

Hymns upon the lips
of the teenagers living
their lives
in secret-
that's all you can hear
ringing
in the distance.

Prayers from the parents
hoping that perhaps
their little angel
isn't caught up in
all that teenagers do.

Too bad we know
the truth.

The straight A student
sneaking out at 3 am
or turning on his webcam
just for the satisfaction
of what he's able to do,

the perky girl
with the
"stable"
group of friends
going out,
getting high,
forgetting about tomorrow,

those that don't pick up every girl
still have a secret life
somewhere
deep inside

and all that is okay

to a certain point

because that's what we do.

I love how
despite how illogical it is,
somebody not speaking feels like
the end of the world.

Okay, maybe not the end.
But I get panicky,
I get worried that perhaps this is the end
despite what they've said
before.

You think you're being cute
and quirky and fun
but really they're worn out
by your smile,
they're dreading the next
time they have to pretend to
hug you
and tell you
everything's just fine.

Everything isn't fine.

I can see it.

You've been saying that
everything is fine
for far too long now
when before you'd take me
swimming in your mind,
skinny dipping where few
dare to go.

Where did that
closeness go?

Please,

speak?

Maybe if I don't finish
all the food on my plate,
maybe if I can bring back
the desire to do anything
it takes to be the way I want to look,
maybe if I can just hold out
one day longer

Maybe then I will be somebody
that everybody wants to,
needs to know.
Maybe then my mind will feel at peace
resting inside this body
that doesn't need any more
of that crap.

Maybe then they'll think I'm beautiful.

Or maybe I should just shut up
because the more I talk about how I feel,
the more it seems like people shouldn't care.
"We love you" they say
but I can see in their eyes
I can hear it in their voices
that they're lying.

And maybe I need to learn to love myself
before they can love me,
but that's a lot to ask
when the person who should love themselves
can't even stand
to look in the mirror.

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)

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.

"Just this once"
okay,
that's fine.

I don't really know
what to say
though...

sorry I guess.

I didn't realize,
and things won't change
but sometimes
I need to think about
what I do

before

I do it.

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.

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.

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

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

I'm not sure what stops me
from emptying out
the pill bottles
I keep by my bed
and just letting everything go dark.

I'm not sure why
I want to see that darkness
either.

All I know is right now
in this moment
I'm trying as hard as I can
to hold on

and I know I'll make it
because I have up until now
and I know I'd probably fail anyway
but hell,
that doesn't mean I can't taste it.

And you,
I'm not sure exactly where you come in
considering I don't want to bother you
but I need to hear someone's
voice
and nobody is willing
to let me talk.

Maybe I'll just hold my breath
until I can't stay upright
any longer
and perhaps then
I won't be so bored,
or sad,
or ******,
or frankly
just angry,
empty,
and lonely.

I'm almost convinced my mind
isn't the only thing
wrong
with
me.

It can't be.

Can someone please tell me
why everything
has to be so
complicated
all
the
time?

Why we overthink those
bumps
in the dark,
we hear our names whispered
from every corner?

Why we think that something
can not,
should not be,
when it really wouldn't
be that bad
just to try
this once?

If you could just tell me
what would be so difficult
about giving it a try
just this once...

Let me hold you.

Let me kiss you
on the nose
and giggle softly
at your dumb jokes.

I'll hold your hands in mine
while we contemplate
the universe,
or anything you desire
because I just like talking with you.

Or we can just sit in silence,
staring at the sky
thinking to ourselves
"This can't get any more perfect."

And that will mean everything to us.

For no matter how many times
I look into your eyes,
or how stupid I feel
writing these poems,
there's one thing that won't change.

You really matter to me.

That sense of shame,
the feeling of exposure,
as if someone had just cut off all of
your hair-
it can plague you.

There may not be a reason
as to why it pulls you,
why it drags you
in its direction
but you know it's there
and you know
you shouldn't have
said a word.

Because now he can see it
in you.
He can use it and twist it
and turn you into something
you don't want to be,

so you set up filters.

Block him from ever seeing it
again.
How can he use something
he doesn't even know about
against you?

He doesn't use it on purpose,
but his subconscious
and his
worried side
may.

You want him to know you,
you and all your qualities-
your brightness,
your darkness,
and everything in between,

but you can't.

You know that if you do,
everything might change
and you only have so long.

You don't want it to change.

So you keep it down,
turn it off,
make him smile,
forget your words.

But it doesn't get rid
of anything forever.

Trust me,

you've tried.

It gets difficult
late at night
when you can't decide
exactly who you want
to hold
in
your
arms.

It gets difficult when
although you know
nothing would change,
and it's not wrong,
you can't quite accept
yourself,
that maybe
you like girls
as much
as you like
boys.

It gets difficult
when you question
everything
about yourself,
when you just wish
you had one word
for how you feel
and who you are
and why your mind
does that
weird little thing
where you
never
seem to
stop
crying.

It gets frustrating when
you couldn't stop staring
at those girls
up on stage,
but when it comes
to cuddling one
or kissing one
or loving one
you want to
so badly
but you're scared.

You're not scared of them
or anyone else-
you're scared of yourself,
like you don't want to admit it
when you've felt differently
for so long
and everything
is now
beginning to
click.

Everything seems new again,
you know what it's like
to love a boy,
and you could do that again,
and you probably will.
But you've never loved a girl,
not truly, anyway
but you know you can
and you want to
because
that'd be
nice.

But everything feels new again,
you're shy
with girls
the way you no longer are
with boys,
you're used to boys at this point,
right now few give you
those same butterflies
even though you still
like them just as much,
if not more.

But girls?
It's scary
and new
and downright nerve wracking
and just
so difficult
and confusing,
though you know
you could love a girl
like you could love
anyone.

Because you know yourself.
You could love
anyone.

What do you do
when you meet somebody
who has lightning in their eyes
and fire on their lips
waiting to burn
it
all
down?

What do you do
when you can't stop thinking about somebody
whose heart is filled
with the idea
that your existence
is
wrong?

What do you do
when you feel stupid
because maybe if you were born
in another time
or another place
you wouldn't be having
these
problems?

What do you do
when you're nervous to be you
in your own home
or around those you hold dear
because what if
they're disappointed
in
you?

What do you do
when the person
you want to please most
admits things
that break
your
heart?

What do you do
when you can't stop dreaming
and your heart can't stop longing
and your head can't stop spinning
and all you want
is just
peace
and
quiet

from all the tragedy in the world

all of the noise in your head

all of the fear and worry

and you just want

to rest?

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 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.

I love pretending
like I can breathe in this
cloud of insecurity.

It's just wonderful watching
the people I'm talking to
walk off
without even saying goodbye.

Of course I enjoy
listening to my mother cry
and trying to offer up what I can
on a silver platter that
never seems
shiny enough.

No, I'm not anxious at all
sitting alone in the quiet
waiting for the phone to ring
or a text to pop up
saying "pack a bag."

My life is all sunshine,
rainbows,
puppies,
loud music,
sleepless nights
waiting by the phone
in case that emergency
I've been dreading
finally appears.