thrashing
writhing
twitching
your breaths are
silent screams of
hot air and spit
and then
broken throats
you're imploding
because exploding would
be too loud.

Written 03.27.16

I am the boy who sits next to you in class. I glance sideways at you more times than you catch me, and we share laughs. I criticize your taste in music; it’s too loud and angry. You just smile and turn it up louder.  I am just the boy who sits next to you in class.

I am the one who texted you first because I had seen a movie that reminded me of you, and I told you about it as I watched the fireworks from the top of a parking garage on Independence Day. I am a friend, but I am not someone to whom you would tell your stories. I am the one who texted first.

I am your friend, and we spend hours on end, texting or FaceTiming as I harass children on Club Penguin and you scold me for being so mean. I am your friend and we send each other BuzzFeed quizzes and YouTube videos. I can tell that you like me but I can’t tell why. You are so much more fun than I am. You are much louder, and better at everything. But I am your friend.

I am the voice on the other end of the line when you don’t think you’re going to make it through the night. Days are getting shorter and nights longer and I’ve become the person you tell your stories to. And you tell me all of them, through tears or laughs, or both. And through tears or laughs I listen. I share with you my stories too, but for some reason they don’t seem as interesting, or important, or funny. You are more than me and I feel like you want me to be bigger. But I am the one who makes it okay.

I am yours. Now we fall asleep on the phone every night, and tell each other “good morning” before we open our eyes. You are with me all day. You are my everything. I do not show it, because my father taught me not to. But you are mine. And I am yours.

I am the one who makes you happy, and I take these months for granted. I do not know that in less than 4 months you will be packing your bags, screaming that I never do anything to make you smile. I take you for granted, and it is the biggest mistake of my life. But for now, I am the one who makes you happy.

I am the shirt that you only wear because it’s comfortable. You don’t necessarily like the way it looks, and you don’t love that it’s a little faded and a little small, but it fits you well in the right places, and sometimes makes you feel thin. You tell yourself it’s your favorite shirt anyway.

I am the one you need. I am the one you love. But I am not the reason you get out of bed anymore. The reason you get out of bed is the hope that maybe today will be better. Maybe today I'll do something right. I am the one you need, but I am the one who lets you down every day.

I am the stuffed animal in the corner of your bed that is falling apart, but you can’t throw it away because it has seen you at your worst and you would miss holding it.

I am watching us disintegrate as I stop being the one you go to, because I am so unreliable. I can only offer you words and you need more than someone who is just good with words. You need someone who can make you feel like you’re on top of the world, and that someone is not me. But you desperately want that someone to be me. You tell me you love me, and I answer quickly I love you too but each of us doubts the other, and neither of us believes ourselves.

I am listening to you suggest that maybe we should like... take a break and neither of us knows how long this will be, and neither of us knows if we’ll ever come back.

I am still telling you goodnight, and I still walk you to school because I still love you. But I am realizing that you better off without me, because you stay out all night to avoid thinking about me, and you don’t like coming home anymore because your bed reminds you of me. But I still hold on to you because I can’t bear to see you go.

I am just your bedtime story, whispering into the phone when you can’t sleep. And after you fall asleep I whisper my feelings to you, because I’m not allowed to speak them when you’re awake anymore. I am just your bedtime story because that’s all you need me for anymore. And that’s okay, because I don't need you to love me back, I will make sure you fall asleep before I close my eyes and I will call you in the morning if I haven’t heard from you yet to make sure you didn’t oversleep and I will still call you baby but only after you fall asleep and I will still kiss my hand before I hang up the phone and I will still pick you flowers and buy you donuts and walk you to school and remind you about the vocab quizzes in english class so you don’t **** yourself cramming the night before and I will continue to listen to the music I used to criticize once upon a time, long after you stop thinking about me. I will continue to love you and I will continue to be your bedtime story if that’s all you need me for.

I will forever be your bedtime story.

Written 08.21.16**

I am rereading these words and am made sick by the pathetic, desperate clinging words of my former self, less than 6 months ago. I tell myself I will never fall this deeply again, I will not lose myself to someone who stops appreciating me. I will not destroy myself anymore. I am healthy, and I am not ashamed of my emotions anymore.

a sodden trampoline
in the backyard
after it rains.
wet grass,
bare feet,
watching from
the screen door,
yelling through
cigarette smoke,
you'll catch a cold
but
let him live.*

he wants to fly,
forget gravity,
because he's nine
and loves to feel
like
he's
falling

like he's
dancing
in the clouds,
                 
                                      ­   take my hand,
                                         fly with me.
                                             listen to wind
                                   and outside songs.

                                  squeaking springs,
                              can’t hear my mom or
                                              the tv inside,
                                                     blaring.
                                        
                                       *take my hand.    
                                   fall with me 
                             into my seldom seen,
                                  sodden
                  ­                      trampoline.

I am from Loony Tunes
And a red, two-seat jogging stroller,
Laughing with my sister
Sitting next to me.
I am from waking up to pigeons cooing,
Glow-in-the-dark plastic stars on distant ceilings.
When everything was new,
And bright, and fascinating.

I am from amusement parks;
Six Flags Picnics in parking lots
Because the food there was too expensive,
We brought our own and sat in the grass
With the ducks.

I am from homemade tortillas,
Fighting cousins and uncles like brothers for
The first one off the stove.
And I am from Christmas tamales
and way too much Thanksgiving turkey.

I am from music,
And the difference between hearing and listening,
And between reading and playing and feeling and living.
And not having a favorite song
Because they are all important
And they all mean something different.

I am from falling in love too quickly
With the girl across the aisle
Across the room
Across the street.
From holding my breath but not my tongue
And letting my mind wander a little too far.
"I don't like you like that"
"Oh that's okay I didn't think so anyway"
Is it wrong to feel too much?

I am from people mispronouncing my name,
Saying "here" before teachers can even attempt.
But I am from knowing I would never change it if I could,
Because if everyone could pick where they come from,
We'd all end up in the same place.

how can I text you all day
without talking about anything
at all?

can we please
discuss something
other than
what we had
for breakfast?

plastic stars on the ceiling of my bedroom,
without my glasses look like splotches of a galaxy
painted a million miles away.
.
take off your glasses and
marvel with me
at the plaster planetarium of my room.

what do u think the purpose of life is

I don't mean like humanity's purpose as a whole. just like the purpose of one persons individual life

I think the purpose of life is just to be happy

and even in like 4th grade ppl would like ask "what's the purpose of life" and have these intense conversations and I didn't understand what the question was

bc it was pretty obvious to me that you were just supposed to be happy

and everything that we do is just a step in reaching eventual happiness

but now I'm rethinking that and I don't think the goal is EVENTUAL happiness

but rather perpetual happiness

why should I suffer now? I mean

like love is a **** thing that hurts like hell

but ppl go through it bc they hope that it'll make them really happy for the rest of their life

but I've been realizing lately that while love is the answer to happiness, that love is not at all necessarily for another person

but rather love for your own life and the world in general

this sounds totally fake and cheesy but

like I realized the other day this is the first time in like 3 years that I've been without a girlfriend and I'm having to regain my independence and love for the little things in my life

like my friends and good food and literally just the thought of taking a walk before the sun comes up

and skype calls with ppl who I really enjoy with my window open and the lights off and forgetting that it's not summer

and not having to tell someone "I'll brb I have to go eat dinner I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'll be back soon"

and falling asleep whenever I want

and waking up without wanting to throw up

it makes you realize "what the **** was I doing"

and then another part of you answers the question.

"being in love, *******"

"forgetting to love yourself"

"thinking, someone else will love me. I don't have to love myself"

I don't know what I thought a relationship was supposed to be before now but it was so wrong

that was toxic, and I am so much better off loving myself than loving her

.

Streaks of light.

.

Orange hazes through closed eyelids.

.

Counting cars, watching headlights.

.

Wondering to where everyone speeds off.


//


Lose count.

.

Resort to counting freckles

On your nose.

.

Your face is lit by

Passing cars and

The highways in your eyes.

.

i still haven't come up
with a reason
not to like you.

What month is it, August?

9 whole months ago I started to notice you.
I'd known you for a year already.
I'd notice how you looked at the floor a lot,
and your voice made me smile no matter what you said.
but I was scared to look at you, because
      you're not supposed to stare at the sun,
ya know?

and now we're young and happy,
living each day from
      good morning <3
to
      *goodnight you, sleep well <3

funny how
a year ago tonight
we danced
to summer wind
and outside songs,
looked at clouded
navy skies and pretended
there were stars.

how young we were,
that summer.
lived and loved
with firey hearts
and wet lips,
shadows holding hands
under street lamps
and fluorescent walmart lights.

fell for you like a stumble
off a cliff and when I
read the freckles across your face
by the light of the moon
and we argued over the existence of
aliens,
               look, they're right there

soco amaretto lime,
the anthem of our night time
wanderings through the streets
where we grew up,
tripped over my words
like the curb I couldn't see
in the dark, never been out
this late before.

same time next week?

when the lights are off the music
is louder the blanket
is smaller the voices
are lower my hair
is softer the world
is bigger your face
is blurrier my mind
is opener my heart
beats stronger

cherry-flavored memories
stain my mattress like
watercolor *****.

voices haunt my headspace
I see people in the dark, moving splotches
on my walls
save me the monsters are coming.

horizontal kissing
playground platform
dirt and *** and sand
between your

green blanket
green tea
green is my favorite color
green eyes
sometimes brown
depending on
the light my
hands belong here
this is mine what's
yours is mine and I
abhor your past
adores him like
a moth adores a
flame and
I'm the smoke
and you're a joke
and life's a game
but you don't want to
play anymore
so you

split your skin
as easily as his words
cut through
your chest
**** that i'm going home
and I won't stand to watch you
throw your life away.

I can't save you so
I'll close my eyes,
or look away or leave the room your
EYES BURNED INTO THE BLACK
OF MY WALLS AT NIGHT
WHEN THE MONSTERS COME
AND I HAVE TO TOUCH HER FACE
TO KNOW SHE'S THERE AND
FEEL HER BREATH AND COUNT
THE STARS ON THE CEILING
OF MY
yes I'm doing fine.yes I'm sure.

Your loss.

Everything I write makes me sound self-important,
So I’ll write about something that’s not me.

she does not have a face.
she does not have a name.
I do not know what she looks like,
how her eyes refract morning light.
I do not know what her laugh sounds like,
or how she answers the phone.

I do not know what color her skin is.
I do not know how she will take her coffee.
I do not know if she will drink coffee at all.
I do not know if she moves her mouth when
she reads to herself.
does she know how to dance?
does she love to paint?

will she like roller coasters
and cartoons?
Whataburger and late night rendezvous?

will she like rhyming poetry as much as I do?
will she hate it, as much as you may?
I’ve abandoned all structure,
First, third, and second person.
What even is this?
It’s 1:16 am right now
And I’m tired
But ***** it
Let’s write down some more things
I don’t know about her.

What will she study?
Does she like science and math?
or is she a freak who likes history?
Will she understand my repulsion to Styrofoam?
from which side does she peel a banana?
does she sleep on her back or her side or her stomach?
How much do inconsistent capitalization patterns bother her?
Will she understand that I am marvelously hysterical?
And that no one should seriously use the word ‘marvelous’?

What color are her eyes?
What color is her toothbrush?
What color is her hair?
What color is her favorite shirt?
What is she thinking right now?
What is she doing right now?
I’ll ask her in 15 years.
Maybe she’ll remember.

How many hearts has she broken?
How many times has hers broke?
How many summer nights were spent outside looking out
At the limitless sky wondering if there are any stars left or if all the lights in the sky are now airplanes?

Does she think about me?
Is she asleep right now?
Does she live down the street?
Does she live across the country,
Or a few towns over?
What’s her first initial?
Does she believe in aliens
Or is she wrong?
Does she appreciate this poem’s organization?
This isn’t even a poem anymore and to call it that was offensive.
Sorry.
Goodbye poetry.
Get it?
Because it’s hello poetry but like, not.
Ha, I love myself.

.

Does she love herself?
Yes.
Yes she does.

makes me wonder what the stars
taste like

turn in your chair to see her
catch her eye she smiles
do not look away.

her eyes heal.
make you

forget
      your
             self
your
                              

              . problems

♡         You are only fifteen years old. You still have years, and years to be happy. To fall in love. To try new things and make new friends, and finally read that book or learn the words to that song. You have all the time in the world. But a lot of people forget that that time is still finite. And one day it will run out. "I've got time."
           "I'll do that next time."
           "Not right now."
           I'm writing to you to tell you not to wait. You are not stuck. You are not obligated to do anything that doesn't make you happy. More than anything, it is important to understand that the single thing what is most important in your life, is you. Recently, I've had a revelation as to what the purpose of my life is: to fall in love with the world.
           Tonight, the sun will set and tomorrow it will rise again, and that's not something to sigh about. It's not something routine. "What's the point? Everything stays the same anyway."
           The world, your life, your needs and you are constantly changing, and if you don't look up every once in a while from your cushy, comfortable life - if you don't appreciate the growth of the world outside of your own bubble - then you're going to wake up one morning very, very confused.
           Don't take the sun for granted. Don't take your sun for granted. Don't take yourself for granted. You owe it to the world to love yourself.
           Please, do not be afraid of change.
           Please, do not choose what is the most comfortable if it is not what makes you happiest.
    
        
         Please, love yourself. You are all you have left when the sun doesn't rise.

I think I use the phrase "I think" too often.

I
sleep better
now.

and now it skirts away
into the gulf of apathy that is my
default setting.

I guess it was as fleeting
as the sand in my hair:
the fascination:

it subsides from
my mind
like retreating

tides, leaving dark colored
shells half- buried in the sand.
         this one's my favorite

I thought maybe you were it.
my bad.
the humidity got to my head.
my bad.

the humidity got to my head.
my heart.
forget it.
the humidity got to my head.

forgotten.
done.
I won't anymore.

but your beauty is perpetual as the moon.
walking on the beach
or sitting next to me in class.

perpetual,
what's the difference
your eyes reflecting the ocean
or fluorescent lights, too bright

what's the difference
perpetually
you
are
beautiful

chasing laughs around my head
your smile lights
the lenses of my glasses and

your name lights up my
phone screen and I stop
whatever I'm doing

is this real or am I imagining it
I want to
forget it
no
forget it
no

I wish I had more time.

what's the difference between feeling everything
and feeling nothing?

JUST NUMB IT WITH LOUD MUSIC
AND **** IT WITH FIRE.

ok

you're beautiful with makeup on, too.

on twitter,
instagram
hellopoetry.com

who are you?
why are you sad all the time?
why are you only happy about your
boyfriends?

the drawbacks of being mentally sound.

I have a beautiful life
filled with beautiful people
who make me feel beautiful things.

I love my friends.

just a sophomore-now-junior who thinks too much, does too little, complains too often, and feels too strongly.

I really like you

like a lot

and I think you're super amazing and funny and beautiful and wonderful in basically every way and I care about you way more than is probably rational

I know you probably have no idea what to say to that and I'm sorry for the 5 minutes of awkward this is gonna cause

but I really needed you to know that

because you're really something special

and if there is any way I can ever help you be happy, or be there for you at all, I am 100% here

I'd like that a lot.

I'm not expecting any kind of response I just think that when you feel this strongly about someone you should tell them.

ok that's all

and now I make up rhymes
so I feel important to myself
but it's
whatever.

I'm getting better at writing
and worse at sleeping.

We walk into my bedroom,
continuing the conversation we had in the car.
But, don't you see? she was saying.
We all live forever.
You just have to adjust your definition of forever. I mean, what frame of reference for eternity do we have
other than our own perception?

Really, for all I'm concerned, she sighs,
falling backwards onto the bed,
the universe was born with me.

Isn't that a little bit . . . egocentric? I venture.

Don't be silly. She pulls her hat down over her eyes.
We are all our own universe.

I didn't sleep that night.

I don't remember her
I saw her yesterday
her hair was a lot longer
I don't remember her
favorite color
or what she smelled like.
yes I do, blue, and red.

she wore a different perfume once and I told her
I liked it
so she wore more the next day
and i suffocated in strawberry
and held my breath when i held her hand.

she was my first kiss and i was better than she was she just sat there.
a year later she'd tell her friends i was a bad kisser.
*******.

i tried to talk to her once to make sure she didn't hate me and i got cold silence so i yelled at her and called her names because that's how you handle those kind of situations when you're fifteen and don't know anything about love.

13 months with her and all i learned about myself was that i didn't like her very much, but i liked myself too much to let her go.

her parents were very religious and told her in passing once that anyone she dates has to also be very religious. i was not religious and we had started dating six months before. she tried to get me to find God when i told her i didn't know where He was. i cried, and told my mom.

"if we're not getting married then why are we dating"
"we're in middle school"
"but whats the point if we're not gonna get married why am i wasting my time"
"the point is to have fun and figure out what it's like to be there for someone. the point is to start to try to figure out what love is supposed to be"
"maybe we shouldn't even be dating then."
"if you think that you're stupid.  you're literally 13 years old. calm down"

we dated for seven more months after that.

when we broke up she cried and i didn't, even though shes the one who broke up with me. I'm glad she did, because i probably never would've. not so much a coward as i was fourteen years old. we tried to stay friends but that never goes well, as i know all to well by now. but then, it seemed like the most possible thing in the world because we weren't everyone else. we weren't movies, we were us and we were strong and we survived 13 months.
we didn't realize that we only lasted that long because we never told each other anything.

middle school relationships are **** anyway, youre probably bored of reading about this petty **** that actually doesn't matter at all. but i guess my point is that i still remember all this ****. i still remember. i haven't spoken to her in over a year but i still remember her favorite color and how before i fell in "love" my favorite color was grey, and then it was blue. i still remember how i'd laugh at the music she listened to and she'd get mad at me. i still remember the time we got caught making out under the bleachers, which apparently is something that people actually do. i still remember sobbing on the bathroom floor over her on april fools day, and opening doors for her and sitting next to each other in Spanish class.

these are all stupid things but we were stupid then so its all we had.

i still have all of it,
so i'll still have yours too.
ill see you in two years and your hair will probably be a different color
and ill still have all of it.


i don't know if i want it.

skating around the idea that i
might be
better off
alone.

I wonder what kind of music you listen to

nostalgic for a friendship i never had.

sand in my bed
clouds set in my head

"she's not just a girl, in my eyes. she's, like, a symbol of beauty in the world."

Lying on the floor
Smells like coffee and peppermint
Bells are ringing

your crying, bright green, bloodshot eyes remind me of christmas in a sad way.
like shattered ornaments.

she's 18 and falling for me.
she is not my moon
she is my stars.

I like the stars.

she's 18 and falling for me.

I told her.
She likes me too.

she has your body but not your face.
what does that say about us?

at once.

to find that perfect balance
between
you are my world
and
*this is my life

I loved you yesterday, too.

hope for happier

to say goodnight again.

hard to imagine
             remember
a time when you weren't
a distant voice weren't
a million months away

a time when your head
rested on my shoulder.

(come to think of it,
mine rested on yours
more often.)

I don't remember.
this is all I know.

weird to think
I loved you

once.