Remember locking eyes that first time?
The dimly lit room on the bad side of town.
We were just children,
and you laughed at everything I said.

Remember kissing me unsure, yet steady?
Our first kiss, at my parents house,
hiding in the stairwell,
as our hearts beat like thunder.

Remember letting me steal your clothes?
Just that sweatshirt, and the others
so your scent could linger
just long enough to lull me to sleep.

Remember when you let me in?
Our two bodies becoming one
as we exchanged
our last pieces of innocence.

Remember those petty fights?
You told me I was crazy,
but I was just insecure.
You were stubborn, but I always won.

Do you remember the end, my love?
My world crumbled into pieces,
and you were free, at last.
Your parents were thrilled, and I just cried.

Remember seeing me again?
You hated me, but the *** was good,
and I was willing to be treated like that
just to see you for that short-lived moment.

Remember that hotel we met at?
We had just started college.
I confessed that I always have loved you,
and I think you felt something too.

Then, do you remember the distance?
We both tried so hard,
but in the end you knew,
there wasn't enough we could do.

Remember parting again?
We went months without speaking,
you and your school, I and my life;
Emerging on the other side, as friends.

Do you remember that summer?
You went away, helping others for you.
I finally was able to let go;
I moved on, scared, but ready.

All this time has passed,
and still, here we are.
Not meant to be anything more than we are.
I'm glad to remember.

Salty,
silent
streams
cut lines through porcelain.
Sad eyes
open wide
revealing her broken soul.
Being alone
and being left alone
are dissimilar.
One a retreat,
the other, a life sentence.
Casual curiosities question:
"Why?"
Sullen silence is
the only reply.
Cold outlines
in Egyptian cotton
are the ghost
of a warm body.
Your side
is empty.
So is
her chest.
Brutal beating
of a bleeding heart
is a rigid reminder
of a life left to live.
Love is lost.

"You're so beautiful,"
says
Mr. You-Deserve-Better.
His friend,
Joe I-Can-Be-Different,
nods in agreement.
I'm just Miss Single-20-Something
searching for companionship
finding nothing
but the company
of every one-track-minder
in the Greater Portland Area.
I've been promised the moon,
stars,
a few planets here
or there.
Receiving just grunted approvals
from two-pump chumps
with over-active sweat glands.
So excuse the skepticism
clouding my judgement
as I roll all man kind
into one conclusion:
You all bark like dogs.
If he acts like one,
and smells like one,
I'd say Bingo
is his
name-o.
Just save it.
This Jenny has been around the block.
Your flowers will die.
Your chocolates will go to my hips.
For now,
your name is Mud,
and you can call me Miss Independent.

All the things
I've been dying to say
slip from my mind
as you release your hold,
strong, around my body.
3,000 miles
from your sea,
to my sea.
My heart shatters.
You start the engine purring.
I cry salty tears.
You look away.
Even if time machines existed.
Even if I could go back.
We would still be tumultuous,
crazy, and unpredictable,
like your sea.
And like mine.
You would still leave.
And I would still always love you,
in my own crazy way,
constant-
like the ebb
and the flow
of our two seas.
The sun rises
on what used to be our coast.
As you drive the winding interstates,
racing the sun
to your new life.
Your new beginning.
A different coast.
A different sea.
We always had different dreams.

To Nick, Love ******

Don’t grow old.
Don’t leave behind your
skinned knees,
chubby cheeks,
and toothless
chocolatey grin.
Don’t grow old.
Don’t forget that nothing is too big
to fit inside your pocket
and to forget about for awhile
(like your crayons.)
Don’t grow old.
Make time to pretend
the floor is covered in lava
and the only way to be saved
are the throw pillows from your couch.
Don’t grow old.
Remember playtime,
and naptime,
and snack time.
Retain your sense of wonder,
feel free to proudly display blankie,
and keep that childlike beauty you wear so well.
At least on the inside,
don’t grow old.

I
am torn.
Like the papers you signed.
Forced.
Forced to raise the boys
with you
and
your fears.
Forced into silence;
keeping myself from what I deserved
as a daughter,
to silence your tears.

My hero.
I saw you strong,
time and time again.
But I, too, saw your achilles bare.
I know the ins-and-outs.
I was there.
I share those feelings --
I share that experience.
I share the life that we were forced,
together,
to live.

But now,
with our loss --
I'm stamped.
The title:
DAMAGED GOODS.

I am not me;
I am the product of a splitting of a man and his wife.
I am the adultery.
I am the unwanted.

Well, now that I'm wanted
you must now forgive me for wondering.

I've waited patiently,
and gone through the motions;
Now that I can,
I can't.
The unfair tugging at my heart strings.
The love for you and the yearning for what my life could have been.
Don't let me have that.

I deserve to know.
I deserve a blank slate --
whether new or cleaned off --
it matters not to me.
I will make the mistakes
or I will relish
in the ways of human kind:
The ability to change and adapt;
The same ability I put into motion.
If you can change, we all can change.

So,
please.
I beg of you.
I represent not the hatred
and I will not bear it any longer.
You are my flesh,
you are my blood.
And I owe you the rewards of my life.
But he,
he is my flesh
and my blood
too...

This is the life we live:
The droning on of the voices
speak to me, and preach to me.
Tell me the wrong and right,
and watch me as I slowly back away,
and do what I want anyway.
This is the youth of today.
This is the way we were raised.
Stand up for what we believe in,
and stand up against the bad.
Stand up for the good.
Now take a seat,
and silence everything that we made you know.
Spoon fed the knowledge
of a truth that could be false.
Did Orwell know something we didn't?
The secrets kept so well,
like our own.
This is the life we live.
The choice of living.
The choice of being.
The weight of the world on your shoulders,
dear Atlas.