I wonder what it would be like to not leave a note
And have you piece me together
And if I could watch you do it I wonder what you would say
Would you paint me in warm colors, always happy, always caring, never selfish?
Or would you speak to me in hatred through the thin fabric of life and death that we so willfully hang upon
Would those selfish emotions absorb you like they did me
Would you hate me more than I hate myself
Because you loved me for you or because you loved me for me
I don't know if either is better

I'm not always happy, I don't always care, and I am selfish
You don't know me, I don’t think you ever will
And I don't want you to, I am evil
I am cynical, I am angry, I am the opposite of empathy
And I think under all that ******* you are too

Maybe it'd be a good lesson for you to see me drift into a quantum fluff
And become all the blips that crowd your radar with existential superstition
And I hope that it's quick, I don't want to see anything flash in front of my eyes
I do not want to see my life pass me by
I don't even want to say goodbye
I just want to be.. No thing.

Tell the girl with the name
like a bird that you don’t think she’s crazy.
Tell her a boy will write a song
just for her someday.
And if you know he won’t,
if you think she’s insane,
just don’t let her know you think that way.

She’s seen the dark side of the moon,
the pits of hell ablaze, stared darkness
in the face and still stands here today.
Give or take a few things,
she’s still the same as she was three years ago,
so tell her a boy will write a song for her.
Even if you know he won’t.

She needs a lie, an easily-believed
snow-white lie. Tell the girl with the
name like a bird that she looks
beautiful today. That you’re so glad
she’s doing okay. That a boy will write a song
just for her someday. I can almost promise
she’ll believe it.

She’s not easily fooled, but when you’re
empty a little bit of hope can do the job
of getting you filled. So tell her you don’t
think she’s crazy, that the boy she’s been wishing
for all winter will come her way, and he’ll
write a song about being in love with her
someday.

I want to be alone but at the same time I don’t.
I remember this feeling.
Seeing all my friends out and having fun,
wishing I could do that too.
Wishing I could be apart of it.
But my brain just panics and says
"No, you have to stay here."
I need to stay here.
I need to stay alone in my room.
I need to stay alone.

He moseyed on over to me,                                 I
stammered a shy
hello,

He smiled sweetly as my gaze                           fell
to his hands and wrists
where promises might show.

There was something about him,                      in
his eyes I saw something
broken, something dying inside.

I ached to fix him, repair him,                          love
him back to life, bring the fire back
into his eyes, make him mine.

We whispered a promise of forever,                with
his little finger wrapped around
my own.

I meant it, and I never did take                        him
for a liar, so I’m living three hundred
miles away thinking I’m not alone.

science tells us that energy cannot be created or destroyed
only transferred
is that why your feelings for me were so easily transferred to someone new?
were they just the next best model of bulb for your circuit?
am I no longer bright enough?
science tells us that materials cannot disappear
so what happened to our memories?
do they lay dormant at the bottom of the ocean
or floating up in the atmosphere?
I still have my share, but yours are no where to be seen
if I could create a chemical reaction to reignite us I would
but you don’t want that
science tells us that atoms can form bonds
you’d think they’d be unbreakable
I thought that too
clouds look so stable and solid
and as children we believe that
but growing up teaches us that clouds are as stable as well
as us
I don’t believe in fate
or anything I can’t see
but I guess if I did I’d say our souls were bonded and that there’s a string of moon dust pulling on my heart strings.
I guess I’d say I AM the moon and you’re the sun cause no one would notice me without you
I guess I’d say that in a past life our bodies were rocks that formed together
I guess I’d say that when I saw you for the first time the sun shone brighter on you than anyone else
because you are so beautiful
and I guess I’d say that fireworks explode in my chest around you
and that galaxies must have collided to form those eyes
and I’d say that time stops to hear your voice because nothing is ready to hear angels sing
and I guess I’d say that id like to kiss you in the rain of our happiness and yes I said rain because rain falls hard like I did for you
and I guess if I believed it I’d say that somewhere in the ******* stars it says I was meant to love you
but science tells us the stars we see are dead anyway
you can keep that metaphor

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

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 will fight to be yours until my very, very last exhale,
Don’t doubt my feelings, darling, because they are much too real.

I’ve been craving those butterflies that bounced off the knot in my stomach
That very day when you smiled at me from underneath a halo of blue,
That very day when your eyes fell upon me and I caught my breath,
When you waved, smiled, sang, smiled, smirked for us all to see.

They’ve been telling me to take a breath between words, between thoughts,
I can’t get ’em down on paper quick enough.

I want to remember every little jump my stomach made
At the touch of your skin, at the sound of your name.
Oh, but now I’m thinking I should take a breath, before I lose it all.

Now I’m thinking, clear as I possibly can
With all those thoughts of you in my head,
That I should give everyone a break
From all the blushing and babbling about

You.
Wonderful, glorious, divine, enchanting, entrancing
You.

Hey, I said I’d give it a break,
But if I stop completely I may
Go even more insane.

Love, you told me once that
Butterflies don’t lie
So I knew I was in love
The moment I met your eyes

Love, you told me once that
You can’t solve all my problems
But I knew you were fibbing because
Standing next to you, the hurt is forgotten

Love, you told me once that
You want my arms around you
But I knew you were just kidding because
You were gone before I could hold you

Love, you told me once that
You don’t always think when you talk
So I knew you didn’t want me,
Yet I still sold you my heart.

Love, I’ll tell you once that
I love you so **** much.
Love, I’ll tell you twice,
Three or four times if you want.

The last time that I saw you,
you were being pulled through the front door by police officers.
I was holding my baby sister in
my arms and shielding her face
so she couldn’t see you reach for the beer bottle
sitting on the table in between
the entryway and your rocking chair.
You were being arrested but all you could think about
was taking
One last drink.
Not looking at your wife,
not looking at your eight and three-year-old daughters,
but looking at a half-empty beer bottle.

Now, honestly, do you still think of yourself as my dad?
Because if you do, let me ask you this.
Wouldn’t a father be there and support his kids?
Wouldn’t he be there to make sure her boyfriend gets her home
before curfew?
Or help his 10 year old with math homework?
(Although if you were here you'd know she's outstanding at it)
I mean, maybe that’s just me wishing I had a positive father
figure in my life,
but really, wouldn’t a real man try and step up for his kids?

How often have you pulled out your wallet
to show your co-workers
my second grade school pictures,
and my sister’s pre-school portrait?
And when they say,
“Oh, what cute little girls you have,”
what is your reaction?
Do you say, “Actually, these pictures are eight years old.
I haven’t seen my kids since I was being arrested.”

You’d think a father—
someone who’s supposed to care about you—
would be there
to get to know the children
that he took the time to create.
But instead, you’re spending your nights
with a TV dinner and a bottle of Sam Adams.
Obviously my memories with you are jagged scars.
I remember sitting in your lap
and holding your Bud Light
while you changed the TV channel from cartoons to sports.
I remember you throwing over the coffee table
and watching glass shatter on the floor
while yelling at me
because I accidentally spilled apple juice.
I remember crying in pain
because a girl in my tap class
stepped on my fingers,
and when you covered my mouth with your
cigarette stained hand
so my cries were muffled.
I also remember getting my first bruise.
I watched small and medium sized bruises form
on my arms and ribcage.
I asked my mom what they were and
if I was going to be okay.
I remember you arguing and defending your actions,
screaming that
‘you had a reason to hit me and kick me down a flight of stairs,’
in her face with a bottle of Budweiser in one hand
and the other around her throat.

You didn’t think I’d remember all that, did you?
You thought I would only remember the good things
that are obviously outweighed by the bad.
You didn’t think I would remember things that happened eight years ago.

Fortunately,
Allison had the pleasure of only seeing the end of it.
Yes, she grew up without a father a majority of her life,
but at least I had her face covered
from physically seeing you choose alcohol
over your family.

You need to know
that I don’t consider you my dad at all anymore.
I shouldn’t have to be the one to tell you
that you’re the one who messed up.
You should already know that.
Although,
I do need to let you know
that I have a boyfriend who loves me more than you ever did,
and understands why I have a problem with alcohol,
and understands why I sometimes flinch when he raises his hand.
He,
is everything to me.
But you,
are nothing to me.
You need to stop telling me that if
you came back, that we would be a
“happy family again,”
as if we ever were.
If you came back,
I’d have police ready to drag you
through the front door,
but instead of reaching for a beer bottle,
you’d be reaching for your
seventeen and twelve-year daughters.

"Whatever is supposed to happen, will happen."

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

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

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

Picturing you with her is the hardest thing
because I know that she’s slowly helping you heal,
Helping you because I’m the one who broke your ******* heart.
And everything brings me to tears,
and I feel so helpless,
and I really need you here
But I don’t have anyone,
my only company are the demons.
Drowning me,
suffocating,
keeping me here,
with sleepless nights,
and wounds that won’t heal.
I know I broke you
but I want to be the one who heals you again.

you see him and think
god,
he is so beautiful
god,
everything about him is just
so
****
perfect.
nothing else matters,
his imperfections—
perfect.
his crooked teeth,
how sometimes he gets one or two
brown hairs on his chin
instead of blonde ones
how he ***** at opening up
how he ***** with giving compliments
none of it matters
because you see it all as perfect
just absolutely
perfect
you start seeing the waves of the ocean
in his diamond eyes
you start seeing flowers grow from
the hair on his chin
the brightness of the sun in his smile
you start to see him as the
most beautiful,
perfect,
human being.
then
you wonder if he was just an angel
and got his wings ripped out
maybe that’s why he’s so scared
of trusting people
of opening up
maybe that’s why he’s
got odd scars on his back
because his wings were
just
ripped right off

I don’t get to write sad poetry anymore
Not when you nested between my ribs like a second heart,
beating an orchestra,
a whole concerto against my skin.
There’s gentle fingers on my scraped knees,
they don’t feel so painful anymore.

"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.

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 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.

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 want to know how to be
everything you need.
Teach me how to be
the reflection of your dreams.
I will paint you oceans,
sail you across the world, buy islands
and name them after you.
I want to be everything
you’ve ever imagined.

You follow the world
from the safest distance.
You are completely odd
in all of the right ways
and I want to be
the mirror image
of your wildest dreams.

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.

i am
a weeping willow
a weeping widow