You**
know that we only have these
fleeting hours to keep us going
until next we meet,

but I only want to drown in your embrace
and fall into a content sleep.
If it were up to me, I
would
never
leave. I will be your everything,
I will tell you anything
that you want to hear.

We will bury ourselves
underneath your comforter,
locked in your bedroom

and away from everything else.
You would sing me what I know,
you would hold me close to you,

and sing me what I don’t know.
I will tell every star in the sky
how desperately I
need
to be here. I will wish to
anchor myself here, to your bed,
to you. You would kiss
me
until the moon goes down. And
I ask you in the darkness, wrapped up
in your blankets, arms and heartbeat,

if we can stay forever this way.

I’ve been thinking about the first time I laid eyes on you,
I’ve been thinking about you way too much lately, if you ask me.
You don’t need someone like me,

You don’t need a weight to hold you down while you run from
The east coast to the west coast to north to south,
Waiting for you to return to me.

I am a step behind death,
Following slowly behind the blackness.
I am a step beyond love,
Leaps and bounds beyond what everyone talks about.

And I will die trying to stop that plane.
The plane that’ll carry you away,
Back over the rainbow, to your musical life
And sun kissed afternoons
I will die trying to hold you here.

I am a step behind death,
Heaven and Hell are leading me down.
I am a mile beyond love,
Feet and yards beyond what everyone else feels.

And I will die trying to keep you here.
The place you came to explore,
Foggy and rainy and lonely and empty,
With no sun or the sky to bid you welcome.
Just the girl that wants to trap you here.

I am right beside death.
The dark is helping me hold this airplane down.
I am mountains beyond love.
Treks and journeys beyond what everyone talks about.

All I ask for is

a second or two of your
time
just a moment so you can read these
lines

I sit around, alone in this room
longing to feel
something close to feelings
something close to remind me
I’m human
    …I think

well, I got a heartbeat
and this heart
beats
for you

and I got two eyes to see
and all these eyes
see
is you

it’s just two more seconds
hate to waste your time
I just wanted to show
here on these
lines
written by someone barely human
being read by your beautiful blue
eyes
even people that are barely human
need someone they can call
‘mine’

i am
a weeping willow
a weeping widow

Meet me in a Carolina, love, let the silk of your lips greet me,
And without words you can tell me how much you missed me
I’ve been tossing and turning; Crying out for you while I’m sleeping and
Momma’s awful worried, love.

So I’ll catch my bus while you hop your flight
So you can meet me somewhere far away where the sky’s bright

And after all those falls you’ve taken,
I think you could use someone to hold you…
Love, I will gladly, happily, eagerly volunteer.

I never wrote grocery lists or dates and things
I never wrote my songs on paper, or memories
I just didn’t need to
Until I met you

While in a coffee shop I would have a surprise conversation
With a homeless man from Peru, or a security guard from Miami
And after every encounter I would pull out my phone
And write about the humor of it, the pain in it, or the realization from it


I wrote down the details so at the end of the day I could tell you the stories

After you left I still wrote down the stories because I wanted to be ready for when you came back
But when it became clear that you weren't, I stopped taking notes
And so every story is tucked away in my mind, forgotten
And now the only story that lingers is the story of you and me and how we came to be

I know these winter days get you down,
and they make you feel cold.
Just remember that loving you,
and being loved by you,
will always be the warmest feeling I’ll ever have.

I’ve been conditioned
like freshly washed hair
for years
do not offend
unless the end of the sentence is “I’m sorry”
let the shoes and boots and heels of many make indents on you
like blueprints of demurity swaddled in insecurity
kept alive by the blurry ideas i once held about femininity
because i couldn't be a girl if the words that flew from my chords
were anything but rosy
ring around the rosie,
pockets full of suppose he was to compliment your ****
when walking down a thorough-fair
busy people back and forth and grandmas with wrinkled sweaters
thank you
muttered from chapped lips and an even more chapped psyche
why must i keep my wits about to not risk making him angry
that was not complimentary but i am fearful he might spit my words back onto me
in the form of fists and slurs and honestly
im tired
of being the sidewalk beneath the feet of creeps
i am the sky and the trees and the moon
but i do not speak with the wisdom of travelling seeds
i speak with the warmth and subtlty of freshly microwaved milk
like soft silk i wish i could tatter
i wish venom soaked words could be spit in response to your “compliments”
but i would rather let you diminish me for the few moments it takes to objectify me
than to risk angering your inner beast and suffering the consequences of meninism or masculinism
whatever the word is this week
i will not be another number
ink soaked paper red with the monthly bloodshed of the sisters
every second is another unspeakable act
i see women
with tongues as round and large as planets
and tonsils the size of solar systems
birthing new galaxies in the words they speak
and shooting comets like fiery ***** of comebacks
when that slack-jawed fool sat and wished and drooled
into his monthly issue of mens rights magazine
she tore down the even minuscule belief he could have had that he had the right to comment on her body
in three seconds his pride, and entitlement
shifted into shame
and embarrassment
and i envy these women
because the only time i can take back my power
is when i am standing in front of a room
speaking rhymes and metaphors preaching independence and strength
to a group of people who now think i am a hero
i am not a hero
i put my shoes on one foot at a time
and i still manage to forget a couple days of birth control here and there
and i cant stand up for myself
in the moments after an attack i retreat into my latte and pray today will not be the day the male dominated society takes my power away
because i am small
and though i am growing every day
i still can only pray
that one way or another
i will be able to be as strong a woman as my sisters
my mother
and take back my power
and speak not with the beauty of a flower
but with the sharpness of a bumblebees sting
and one more thing
your compliments
are not complimentary

I used to think that you were the right person at the wrong time. Now that I’ve had more time to think about, you were the wrong person and the right time.

Because in the fragile state I was in, you taught me that I wasn’t enough.

But after a while I realized that I had to learn that you could be in love with someone and they will still take you for granted.

I had to learn those lessons before I could learn to love myself.

"Whatever is supposed to happen, will happen."

But what about all the effort, pain, love--
will this all just be for nothing?

I’d move the mountains that stand between us
To see you again and call you names
Tell you I hate you
And that you’re so mean

Just to hear you laugh and see you grin
While kicking the sand beneath your feet
And hear you tell me that I’m wrong
Even though I already knew I was

When I’m around you
Nice things don’t come easy
I’m better at insults and mean-sounding things
It’s a secret that I’m falling hopelessly

I can wish death upon you with a snap of the fingers
But then, in my head, take it back
I don’t know what’s the matter with me
I’ve never been this tongue-tied

I’d run the rivers the separate us
To see you again and ignore you mercilessly
I thought it was the boys who make fun
When they have a crush, but I already knew I was wrong

I cross my fingers and look at that star way up in the sky
I hope someone talks me out of this
I’ve denied and rejected and resented change
And this is no exception

Not even the sweetest thing on the east coast

Blue was your favorite color
and I haven’t worn it since.
It reminds me of the sky that I thought you had painted for me,
how you always saw faces in the clouds
and you told me their stories.
The midday horizon matches the hue of your deep ocean eyes
but only my eyes have ever seemed to flood.
When you moved on I finally knew what green felt like
as loss and envy went fingerpainting across my bones until my bloodstream
was slow-flowing emerald,
the same shade of green danced alongside you
in the form of a dress.
I wonder if she ever felt the glowing yellow that illuminated my insides
every time that you called me beautiful and made me feel
like a gold ray of sunshine on a summer’s day.
But now,
I’m starting to favor winter.
I still inhale icy breaths as the shades of red you evoked within me
linger like migraines,
sharp pain that you left behind,
a scar that cannot be concealed because it’s so hard to hide
from the shades of scarlet that once painted your face.
I see your colors everywhere,
I remember feeling safe with you,
I never knew that I could become homesick from people too.
You were a rainbow and I was a shade.
You brought everything to life,
you made the stars dance and my face new tones of paint.
Then you decided that light tones just weren’t for you
and I missed
shades of perfect blue.
I’ve become a morning person so I can see the sky before it turns tones of you.
The orange-pink horizon has become my new favorite color
and I wear it every day in the highlights of my eyes and my skin,
it begins to feel warm again
and the long car rides and radio dials that sing melodies
no longer remind me of you.
We loved each other like change of the weather but can never make sense
of the storms within us.
If souls had colors
I remember I used to think ours were the same.
Same shade of sapphire storms that brewed within our lungs,
the words you screamed went heavy on our tongues.
All I hear are the winds through this hurricane.
I can’t see my way out
I only see you
I can only scream out
I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.
I poured everything into this but we were always empty,
empty minds, empty hands.
The ground we built has become unsteady to stand on.
I remember when you left I saw the red seeping through the cracks in my palms
of where yours used to fit so perfectly.
I don’t remember the sorrow,
I don’t recall the pain.
I remember the relief
and how every color was just beautiful.
I thought the world was going to be so dark
without you.

Paradise is
buried in your arms,
dancing on your lips,
shining in your eyes.

Serenity is
laced in your voice,
tangled in your hair,
lingering in your touch.

Sanity can’t be found
in the wires of my head,
the depths of my soul,
or the blood in my veins.

Safety is
the space between your fingers,
underneath your stare,
sparkling in your smile.

Unnoticed is⎯
Plainness is⎯
Helplessly in love is
in my reflection.

I'm absolutely terrified.
Petrified.
Mortified.
Of falling in love with you.

Flowers are characterized by their petals,
A rose, however, is more than just it’s red petals.
Once the petals are removed from a rose,
destroying it’s outer shell,
the inside is visible to world
The rose is vulnerable,
But it is still beautiful
A new array of green and yellow colors
Thee only way to see what lies beneath is to destroy the petals.
The rose is much like a person
People put on masks
A person can become vulnerable and shed their mask. This sometimes destroys a person
Roses can’t grow their petals back once they have all been plucked off
A person can always recover
A rose cannot do anything but perish.
People are like roses, and roses are what people become if they don’t want to be built back up.

i have polaroid’s on my wall

of all the boys i used to kiss.

there are ***** dishes in the sink 
and i think this will be the year that

i pretend to love people just because

there’s nothing else to do.

i spend my time reading poems about girls

who have broken hearts and smoke cigarettes.

i spend my time reading poems about girls 

who rip their ribcage open just to find out

that there is nothing left inside except 
empty beer bottles.

i get drunk and slip into silk 
and realize that i am a combination of

1/3 love and 2/3 champagne bubbles

and i think to myself,

"maybe this is what it’s like to be 
the hurricane instead of the rain."

I told myself,

I’d never let another 

make me feel again. 

Because it seems every beginning

seems to have an end. 

But then you came along–

my heart started to sing a song.

When in your presence,

I try to act nonchalant-

I try to play pretend,

because I promised myself–

I would never let another in.

But deep within,

you have my heart beating.

you’ve become my muse–

you have my pen heaving.

You give the word love, 

a new meaning-
a true meaning.

i’ve been conditioned
like freshly washed hair
for years
do not offend
unless the end of the sentence is “i’m sorry”
let the shoes and boots and heels of many make indents on you
like blueprints of demurity swaddled in insecurity
kept alive by the blurry ideas i once held about femininity
because I couldn't be a girl if the words that flew from my chords
were anything but rosy
ring around the rosie,
pockets full of suppose he was to compliment your ****
when walking down a thorough-fair
busy people back and forth and grandmas with wrinkled sweaters
thank you
muttered from chapped lips and an even more chapped psyche
why must i keep my wits about to not risk making him angry
that was not complimentary but i am fearful he might spit my words back onto me
in the form of fists and slurs and honestly
i'm tired
of being the sidewalk beneath the feet of creeps
i am the sky and the trees and the moon
but i do not speak with the wisdom of traveling seeds
i speak with the warmth and subtly of freshly microwaved milk
like soft silk i wish i could tatter
i wish venom soaked words could be spit in response to your “compliments”
but i would rather let you diminish me for the few moments it takes to objectify me
than to risk angering your inner beast and suffering the consequences of meninism or masculinism
whatever the word is this week
i will not be another number
ink soaked paper red with the monthly bloodshed of the sisters
every second is another unspeakable act
i see women
with tongues as round and large as planets
and tonsils the size of solar systems
birthing new galaxies in the words they speak
and shooting comets like fiery ***** of comebacks
when that slack-jawed fool sat and wished and drooled

Since the day I could speak, I would kneel by my bed, and pray to God
Give me something like that.
Someplace to lock my secrets in, a human vending machine
That kisses all your scrapes and scars
*Give me something like that.

I am a fraction;
a small shard of
something you adore. Even
after all the times you tore me
into bits, left me for dead,
I still come crawling, lovesick,
back to you. I silently beg for
your attention, love, touch, ever-
pure affections. Even after all
the times you broke me,
left me empty, I still come
crawling back to you. Come
to float in a dark sea of name-
less faces and become a shard
of the mirror that stares back
at you with adoration glowing
in its curious eyes. When I am
a piece of something, something
that means the world to you, it
suddenly doesn’t matter how
many times you’ve shattered me
or ripped me in two. Even after
every time you implied I’ll never
be exactly the girl of your big,
dizzy, starlet-laced dreams,
I come crawling back to you
so I can set myself up for falling
in love with the very person who
neglects me best and cares the
least for me. So I can set myself
up for falling back in love with
you.

"Adrianna, why do you always date *****?" questions my best friend in the way that implies an answer is not needed nor wanted in the warm light of his front porch in the car that belongs to me but he offers to drive when my stomach is sick and a new ****-up is laid like fresh paint on my mind.
The question itself spins like a coin in my head that will never lay flat, like a bad autotune job, like a Rube Goldberg that will never halt, like it has too much truth to it.
"Why do you always date *****?"
Because they don't seem like ***** when our eyes meet and the ***** of their smile makes my nose crinkle with an incessant desire to smell the warm scent of their chest as my head lays pillowed on it in the early morning calm before the loud realization of what events transpired the night before, before flashbacks of mixed bodies and sweaty whispers, before he decides he's seen enough of me, devoured his piece of meat, he's not hungry anymore.
When will I be his favorite food? The one he can have for breakfast lunch and dinner and still crave, the one he will always ask for seconds of, the one who is home to him. Every time I meet someone I call all of my friends and swear he's the ever so infamous "one," and every time I fall for the ******* lie that he "will not break me," YOU WILL NOT BREAK ME?! Then why am I shattered, laying in pieces on the cold tile floor, my mind a messy oozing disaster? But maybe my heart has always been just a taped up broken mess since Paula left, maybe when Aaron and Spain and Mitchell came along it was all too easy for them to pull at the poorly tied knotted strings I had sewn into my heart, maybe my soul was just a little too welcoming, maybe my mouth was a little too eager to feel theirs against it. But I can swear that when you "made love to me" it was really just *******, or else why would you take the one piece of me left only to complain after that I hadn't shaved. Well I've shaved every day since, cut bleeding patterns into my mortified anxiety, ripped tears from my eyes before I dare let them fall, and watched you kiss her over and over again. But if you asked me back I'd still say yes, rip the shredded heart from the box I've tended to keep it in and place it back in your hands to wear like a new notch in your belt, a new trophy for your collection.
"Why do you always date *****?"
Because some wretched inner part of my being believes I deserve it.