i think maybe i
brought you into my life to
turn you into words.

you are so ****** in the head.
they say "crazy can't see crazy"
but, baby, i looked you dead in the eyes,
and man, someone stirred your brain with a fork.
cerebellum penetrated by tines.
amygdala spooned into their mouths like lukewarm soup.
sliced a knife straight through your hypothalamus.
left the rest to swirl around in that thick skull of yours.

you're used goods, they told me.
you passed your expiration date.
a little too ripe around the edges.
i could see that.
you asked people to palpate your skin,
like checking cantaloupe.
you spit out your seeds in between
inhaling smoke and ******* down liquor.

she warned me that you were a wild one.
rebellion and fierce independence.
all lions and tigers and bears,
sutured together with wolfish teeth
and hyena laughter.
forever breaking out of cages
and biting the hands that fed you.

now if only you could see it too.
or if only i'd saw it earlier.

i want to tell you that i hate you.
i want to say that you were a mistake,
that you were something i regret.
that i wish we had never met and
never talked in the first place.
i want to tell you that i
wish we were never anything,
if we were anything to start.

but you're done with hearing from me.
sick of hearing sad stories.
tired of hearing tired apologies.
and i know you almost want to fix it,
but you always decide against it.
you stop replying.
you hit "ignore."
you delete your inbox.

i guess the lesson i've learned
is that i can't change the past.
i can't always fix what's broken -
especially when i'm the broken thing.
and i think that i might be okay with this.
i just wish you weren't roadkill in the process.
it'd be so nice to have you among the living.

it doesn't quite make sense but
i liked what we had, when we had it.
i've always had an issue with rejection,
but this time, this time is different.
it hangs around my throat, tightening,
choking me out until my face turns blue.
["so wear me like a locket around your throat,
i'll weigh you down, i'll watch you choke.
you look so good in blue."]

i settled so comfortably into the routine
of hidden messages and even more clandestine meanings
that i guess i forgot how to operate the english language.
your fingers settled so comfortably into mine,
with your lips on the back of my hand and mine on your jaw,
that i guess i forgot how to use them to hold on.
["i love you so much that it hurts my head.
i said i don't mind you under my skin,
i let the bad parts in, the bad parts in."]

i guess this is just how it has to be.
i can't say i'm entirely surprised;
after all, we are soul mates. cut from the same cloth.
honestly i'm not sure what i miss,
because it was never mine to start with.
but i do miss you. i miss you. i do.
["and the saddest fear comes creeping in:
that you never loved me, or her, or anyone, or anything.
i knew you were trouble when you walked in."]

when i was born,
you cried to our grandmother
because you wanted a brother
and got stuck with me, instead.
and what a turn of events that became.

when i was a baby,
i busted the back of your teeth out
with a bottle of perfume,
most likely contributing to your
repetitive dreams of your teeth falling out.
sometimes i think of this when you say your "th"s.

when i was a child,
you would pick peppers with our dad
down the street and hold eating competitions
while i squashed berries in my little tyke car.
we played mouse trap on the floor.

when i completed my first decade of life,
you packed your bags, got on a bus,
got married, and were deployed for the first time.
i don't remember much of those days.
i only remember the first phone call,
"yours truly, from iraq."

when i was eleven,
you came home, war torn and ragged
and divorced from an army wife
who was never really a wife at all.
you moved on, in some ways
more than others.
you were different, changed.

when i became a preteen,
i met a girl, and looked at our mom
and i said, "he's going to marry that girl."
and marry her, you did,
and had your first child, too.

when i was a teenager,
you taught me important life lessons
like how i act when i'm drunk
and how to do sake bombs like i belong in asia.
you taught me to eat with chopsticks.
through babysitting, i learned to wait to have a child.

and now, at twenty years old, everything is different.
living down the street from me, then in the old house,
and finally in our mom's house with me,
the dynamics changed.

we became the best friends we'd
always tried to be, but were too distant
to maintain. we gained trust and inside jokes.
you finally gave approval of my boyfriend.
we wreaked havoc and stayed up way too late.

but then you moved five hundred miles away,
and every day my heart feels ripped into pieces.
i miss all the jokes, and you waking me up
to our favorite songs.
i miss my brother. i miss my bubby.
i hope one day one of us will go home.

I was sitting on my fence post,
Chewing some bubble gum.
Playing with my yo-yo.
When along came Hermy the Wormy,
And he was thiiiis big.
And I said,
“Hermy!? What’s up with you, man!?”
And he said,
“Duh, I just ate a bug.”

my first memories of you are from
when we lived together when we were
young. we would be power rangers
and pokemon and a number of other
things. that was the summer your sister
broke her leg on the trampoline -
scaring us from climbing on top.
we were afraid of sharks in the pool.
clear water to the bottom, but we
were scared of the monsters we couldn't see.
no matter how many times we looked,
we couldn't shake the idea that something
was out to get us. wanted to hurt us.

I was sitting on my fence post,
Chewing some bubble gum.
Playing with my yo-yo.
When along came Hermy the Wormy,
And he was thiiiiis big.
And I said,
“Hermy!? What’s up with you, man!?”
And he said,
"Duh, I just ate a cat.”

you moved away that year.
you left for florida and took your
sister with you. you were gone for years.
in that time, she came to visit me.
she told me you were fine.
i heard from your mother that you
were struggling in school -
her straight A student,
crumbling before her eyes.
i didn't know what happened.

I was sitting on my fence post,
Chewing some bubble gum.
Playing with my yo-yo.
When along came Hermy the Wormy,
And he was thiiiiiis big.
And I said,
“Hermy!? What’s up with you, man!?”
And he said,
“Duh, I just ate a dog.”

you graduated top of your class.
you left your house for reasons i
didn't find out about until months
later. you moved back here, back
into that old house, pretending to
be the innocent boy you were.
the boy that hated to smoke ****.
the boy that drank his summer away
and regretted it.
you were the boy that let his girl get away.

I was sitting on my fence post,
Chewing some bubble gum.
Playing with my yo-yo.
When along came Hermy the Wormy,
And he was thiiiiiiis big.
And I said,
“Hermy!? What’s up with you, man!?”
And he said,
“Duh, I just ate a car.”

but we both know that wasn't who you are.
not deep down, anyway.
that boy that cried to me on my couch
gave me half-truths and spun stories
until i didn't know which way was up.
i told you that i was ****** up now.
i told you exactly what i did, and you
told me you'd done the same.
but what i didn't know, was that one
of my worst nightmares, is what you'd
become for someone else.

I was sitting on my fence post,
Chewing some bubble gum.
Playing with my yo-yo.
When along came Hermy the Wormy,
And he was thiiiiiiiis big.
And I said,
"Hermy!? What’s up with you, man!?”
And he said,
“Duh, I just ate a whale!”

when everyone found out the truth,
you fled the country.
when everyone found out the truth,
you left us all behind to
deal with your messes.
when everyone found out the truth,
i was the only one left
seeing sharks spin circles in my swimming pool,
swim circles in my heart.

I was sitting on my fence post,
Chewing some bubble gum.
Playing with my yo-yo.
When along came Hermy the Wormy,
And he was thiiis big.
And I said,
“Hermy!? What’s up with you, man!?”
And he said,
"Duh, I just burped!”

i mentioned your name to your mom for the first time since it happened.
i know it made her sad,
but things need to be said.
she will never run from this.
not successfully.
she will always be left picking your brain off the walls,
off the ceiling, out of the carpet.
fragments of your skull left shattered in her hands,
like the rest of her life.
i think the amount of red in that room drained her life of color from then on.
she could move a thousand times and never leave that home.
i could say this a thousand times but you'd never hear it.
some things are pointless, especially after time.  
i hope you never realize what it's like to get a group of your family to clean up after your messes,
even after death.

they used to tell me that i try too hard to be grown up.
i'm always questioning, calculating, planning.
walking in shoes too big for my feet,
and then wondering why i trip.
sometimes i feel like i can't help it when i
fall
so
hard,
but then i remembered that i forgot to tie the laces.
i remember that i live in metaphors.
making excuses and avoiding the present.
i try so hard to prepare for the future
that i forget to fix what's happening now,
or even to be happy with it.
i don't remember to feed my cat because
i'm too stressed trying to figure out
how to pay for her next bag.
i forgot my "see you later"
because i'm choking on "goodbye."
i need you to help me grip onto
what's here and what's now.
i need you to hold my hand.
please don't forget that i need you,
even when i don't know how to say it.

i don't know what my father sounds like when he laughs,
laughs where his sides are splitting and tears are in his eyes.
i only know his grin, his slight chuckle.
honestly, i hardly remember his voice;
something about a southern drawl
gently dabbed on syllables
spit out between the touch of nicotine, wrapped
in paper, to his lips.
i know the clothes that i wear mimic
his choice in clothes, somehow.
i know he will not walk me down the aisle,
and this is my decision.
this is my decision, and it will break my heart.
it will break my heart only
because it will break his,
like genetics somehow link emotion
across generations.
i cannot let him run my life,
like pretending to own a car that
isn't in his name;
borrowed from the person who
washes it gently, details the inside,
maintains its running parts.

turning children into property,
it's like trying to take a house that
you used to live in, years and years ago,
but forgot you had the keys to.
you test the locks, and when the door welcomes you
in for the first steps across a threshold
you call it "home" again.
you forget that there is a family on the couches.
a mother cleaning the kitchen.
a brother fixing the shudders.
the house has moved on,
but cannot bear to close its door to you.

this is our relationship.
this is our dynamic.
it has taught me that it hurts to tell him no.
it is expected for him to not care what hurts.
it has taught me how to run from guilt and shame,
destroying past and future in fits of
self-destructive rage,
just to forget the things i've done
or are happening to me.
it's taught me how it feels for a heart to break
from forgetting pieces of someone it loves.

but this hasn't taught me how to fix it,
and i don't think he knows how to, either.

i wanted to tell you that i loved you. really, i did.
i wanted to tell you that, when i looked at you, i choked on the words and promises i couldn't self-induce myself to *****.
i wanted to tell you that the curve of your guitar under your hands made me question if you would hold my body the same.
i wanted to tell you that you're the only one that made me smell like summertime.
i wanted to tell you that things were going wrong, i swear.
i wanted to tell you that i started to drown those words because you made me not want to say them anymore.
i wanted to tell you that i did not kiss that boy and i did not **** the other.
i wanted to tell you that i didn't move on, i found someone to find my corpse.
i wanted to tell you that i fell in love with him purely by accident.

i want you to know that you're the one who let this go.
i want you to know that i said those words; you're the one that took them back.
i want you to know that sometimes words cannot be erased from hearts, even if you erased it from your walls.
i want you to know that you were not the only one, and sometimes i am sorry for that.
i want you to know that you're trying too hard to forget me, that you're only making this worse.
i want you to know that you were a "failed attempt i never could forget," but a failed attempt all the same.
i want you to know that i probably think about this more than you do, but i feel less than you ever did.
i want you to know that i did more with him than i'll ever admit, and i don't regret that in the slightest. i gave him everything you didn't want.
i want you to know that he never found my corpse, but he saved me all the same.

after a night with you, people began to ask questions.
color blossomed on my skin in shades of purples and red,
interrupted with the occasional broken-blood-vessel lines
where you tried to sink your point into my skin,
bas relief engravings into my superficial self.
my lips are cracked and bleeding,
and my eyes are ringed in black.
whispers slip past me,
ghosts dancing along hallways about the stories my body told.
the only people who know what happened were the people in the room.
love and hate look a lot alike,
lust and violence practically synonymous.
it's all just semantics, after all.

our first kiss was a promise,
a promise that shouldn't have been made in the first place.
it was just something we'd mentioned, wanted,
but never thought to follow through with.
it was meant to soothe the pain between us,
your body and my heart, or maybe the other way around.
but in the end, we were left with nothing
but the cigarette smell on your jacket
and the person i needed to crawl back to.

our second kiss was commisery,
both of us scrubbed raw and bleeding.
ironic, how we just rubbed salt in the wounds.
they say it makes it better but it always just hurts.
to keep the ***** out of our mouths,
we just kept them busy,
like somehow our state of mind would care
that we were in public and that shame doesn't mean
a lack of composure.

our third kiss was a compromise,
a final pinky-swear that maybe we won't off ourselves after all
[but promise you'll leave me a note if you do].
somehow we traded off pain,
and i shouldered your stories while you brushed off mine.
i told you i'd try to get it together,
you told me you'd try not to fall in love.
hopefully you kept your end of the bargain,
because at least one of us needed to.

he pressed himself into me and whispered, "just the tip."
at the time, i wasn't sure what to think. i wasn't sure if i was able to think at all.
i felt something hard press into my back, but not what i was expecting.
no, this, this was cold even in the summer's air.
my mouth was sewn shut by the press of your hand, but maybe it was the drinks i'd consumed.
and it hurt, what came after. what led to this.
when you called out to me, this was the last thing i expected.
but i was naive, and i was innocent, but you took care of that.
the threat of violence hung heavy in the air, the tip of your weapon cradling my spine.
and i could smell the metal, faint over the smell of the dirt and leaves you'd shoved my face into.
and when the violence was over, and the questions began running through my mind
[white text on a blank slate,
wiped clean with new memories and a loss
of something i never knew i had],
it was over with a flippant wave of your hand and a flick of your sweat-matted hair.
a figurative, "see you later."
an au revoir to your ***** laundry, like it's not worth dumping in the wash.
but we both know i'll scrub myself clean later.
clean, but not fresh.
and you're not afraid, not yet.
no, you're not the one that will cower
in fear in corners of beds
in corners of rooms and closets,
all mirrors turned around.
you'll be able to look people in the eye.
but you're not the one that will recover. and you're not the one that will change.
no, you'll always be a monster, a beast of brutality and, eventually, regret.
but skin cells die and the body regenerates, and wounds,
well, they heal.
and i'm not there yet, but one day i will be.
first, i have to remember how to stand up.

there are times in your life where it does not matter what horrible things lined the edge of your clouds. despite what it seemed like so often, sometimes you just can't take the silver out of the gray.
it's often things like this that remind me of my summers with you. awful and tainted by extremities and currents threatening to rip us in alternate directions, almost succeeding.
and yet i look back on them and i smile.
because, no matter what the stories are behind it or the after taste those days had, there was a lingering taste of sweetness.
whether it was sweet tea, freshly cut grass, chlorine, slurpees, smoothies, or coffee ice cream,
we always managed to wash down the sadness for a while.
even when silence rings louder than the words we didn't speak, the emotions speak louder than words, or pictures, will ever say.
that first summer, even on days where i felt my whole world was crumbled underneath my bare toes, drowning in the pool i drenched them in, i kept them in for another few moments with you. and those are the memories i look back on and smile. no matter what happened after or with other people.
and the second, i was gaining my footing but you somehow slipped.  funny how unsteady ground can be, one foot from the other. and despite your falling, for other reasons or for someone else, i still see the time as peaceful. i'd never had what we had before with anyone else. not how we felt.
we've got another summer together approaching and this time i feel like i owe it to you. i think it's up to me to pull my **** together, despite my complaints, and grow up a bit. to bring you slurpees and suffer through heat just to sit for a while. to drain gas tanks and sit in parking lots at 4am to be able to talk. to hold hands through car washes or sing to each other or whatever else we did. i want it again and we'll have it. we'll figure it out.

When I was young, I was given a ring.
My mother gave it to me before she said goodbye, with a kiss and a wave.
Honestly, though, purity rings, even then, seemed like a fluke
with me. I was a rose
then, too. Blossom to the eye and thorns underneath, eyes stained an icy blue
and childish hands that were calloused, from playing, and rough.

I kept that trait with me. Being rough.
like a boxer in a ring.
I learned to fight, body covered in bruises in shades of black and blue.
My emotions were as dependable as waves –
tender and tranquil. And sometimes, unexpectedly, they rose.
Sensitivity was always a fluke.

So, naturally, falling in love was a fluke.
I wasn’t so pure at sixteen, because it was rough
to keep my mouth shut and my hands to myself around a girl named Sydney Rose.
They say sharks circle you before they attack, making endless rings
before making decisions and going for what they want, rising to the waves.
I just wanted to take her with me, into those murky depths of blue.

My fingers laced with hers, even years later, when we saw her veins of blue
beginning to become more apparent. Her sickness, a fluke.
It must have been, because it hurt her hand to wave
goodbye from behind hospital curtains. Grabbing at something you’re barely missing is rough
when all you’ve wanted is to garnish the finger with a ring
since you were sixteen years old, loving this Sydney Rose.

But as I’ve learned, despite its beauty, a rose
will one day wilt, and fingers tipped in blue
may never wear their rings.
Love, even in its most pure, must have been a fluke
with me, when someone can no longer kiss you roughly
against your mouth, passion no longer coming in insatiable waves.

I gave a little wave
to a stone marked with a name, date, and roses
piled high, petals tenderly grazing against a marker so rough.
And salt-water rivers threatened to drain, so blue,
from my eyes and past a mouth pursed in confusion against such a fluke.
And to say goodbye, I buried with her the symbol of purity that could match our love – my ring.

Now I wear another ring, one with a gold tinted with rose.
I sit in our house overlooking waves, overlooking an ocean blue.
And solitude seems such a fluke, when a life taken means making life remaining rough.

you make me cold in the pit of my stomach,
a glacier sliding past my lungs.
your bangs brush my eyelashes when foreheads press together,
only silence and movement and sweat between our skins.
and i feel condemned, of all things.
yet, irrevocably, i'm yours.
sold on the street corner, at the intersection of your passion and your distaste.

when the earth makes a complete orbit around the sun,
it is called a revolution.
when people stand up for what they believe in, enough to make a change,
it is called a revolution.
when you save something, preserve it for yourself,
it is called conservation.
when you told me you were leaving and i couldn't come with you,
we held what is called a conversation.
when i followed you across the country, train ticket in one hand and your hand in the other,
it was called love.
when you left me with nothing but a note on a hotel pillow,
it was called hate.
they say a picture is worth a thousand words, but words and pictures, slip-ups and homographs, grammar and literature and math and science,
none of it matters anymore.
none of it matters when nothing is changing and time stands still.
none of it matters when preserves run dry and talking turns to silence.
none of it matters with notes on a pillow that doesn't belong to you, thousands of miles from home.

he smiles like he has a secret tucked into the corner of his lips. "something to chew on when dinner isn't enough," he said.
but it's never enough, and she reminds him of that.

she pulls out a cigarette, slender as the fingers she grips it with. "the smoke in my lungs make me less empty," she said.
but she's always empty, and he reminds her of that.

and now they sit together in silence, pulling feathers from pillows and strings from seams. he says, "take your coat off and stay a while."
but neither wants to stay, and they both understand that.

"i'm sorry," she whispers, and lights another cigarette.
"it's okay," he returns with a smile.

i feel weary.
weary in a way that has me dragging my feet.
thick circles hang heavy under my eyes
like sucker punches.
sleeping too much or not enough.
words never meaning anything.
just missing, missing, missing.
wanting.
with such a peak comes such a fall.
flying means eventually landing.
and the question comes in,
are the wings just heavy?
or am i already crawling?
dragging my feet,
dirt under nails from clawing my way.
my tongue is thick and,
well,
there's no real hope here.
i just need quiet.
peace and quiet.

she got on her knees again [how many times this week?].
she whispers to herself, to a god, to anyone that'll listen.
she can't stop.
she's spinning circles around topics she can't avoid.
head-on collisions using nouns and verbs.
swallowing pride and trying doors,
searching for keys and answers.
she's on her knees, whispering again.
she's spitting into palms,
because it's better than holding nothing.
she's choking down drinks and god knows what else.
she can't stop.
she's writing equations in chalk
and diagramming sentences,
just trying to figure out how it's supposed to work.
it.
life, or love, or religion.
purpose.
she's dragging feet, leaving black scuffs behind.
trying to make some mark on the world
until someone buffs it away,
on their knees again.
never ending cycle of submission.
knees scarred and ***** from begging, from laughing,
from imbalance.
until we're flat on our faces,
flipped only to be dolled up in caskets
or kissed goodbye before we
kiss furnaces.

she can't stop.

he tucks her hair behind her ear, then goes back to reading his book.
and she stares at him and wonders simultaneously how she got so lucky, and how things got to be this way. because no one ever told her what it's like to be in love, and no one can tell her which way is up.
"listen to your heart," they say.
but untrained hearts are just as faulty as untrained minds, and this girl is spinning circles trying to figure out where to go.
which step is next.
she bites her lip, that one he's brought between his own teeth countless times before. she guides her hand along his arm, stares at his knees. she curses them, because they are what she fell in love with.
she fell in love with his hands, and his knees.
and she curses herself, too. "stupid girl, no wonder you don't know what love is."
too busy wasting time watching skin taught on bone and how swollen knuckles settle.
too busy staring to catch her breath.
'silly me,' she thinks.
she counts the miles that will soon separate them, comparing them to the amount of freckles she'd mapped out on his back.
the odds weren't in her favor.
but there was a sense of despairing hope, even.
in crowded train lines and sticky nights running from everything.
under streetlights, dancing,
and clutching each other during thunderstorms.
'don't lose hope,' she thinks.
'you may be stupid but don't lose this.'
questions might never be answered but at least there's promises, whispered and held between their chests.
she might not ever know if this is it or if she's wasting time,
but god knows it never feels like time wasted when she watches those eyelashes close.

everything was so soft. everything was so calm.
well, except our hearts. they were racing.
and it was awkward, but it was sweet. i spent my time biting my lip so i wouldn't touch them against yours. you spent your time taking pictures, to keep your fingers busy. on the camera, off my hair. and it brought us to our knees, almost. the weight of everything.
why me? of all people, why give me her present? i asked but never got an answer. but it sat by my bedside every night.
we were desperate lovers, desperate for change. desperate for some resemblances of the past, but rewritten.
older, even. more mature.
and well, the heat of the summer lit that flame in our hearts, and the rest of us. and you may have steered that ship, but my hands were on the wheel.
but eventually my hands gripped razors instead of bedsheets. and your kisses weren't sweet anymore. instead of burying your hands in my hair, they were buried in yours - in grief. we both broke, from the weight of the world. i told you we'd never be Atlas and you begged to try anyway.
why, though? you knew i was broken, you knew you were too. with cracks in the cornerstone, why did you keep building?
you sent that canary into a coal mine and you cried when it was dead.
just bury it. you always were so good at keeping a straight face; it won your poker game every time.
just smoke another one, you know you'd want to. why didn't you?
i don't understand why you were so broken. let alone why i was.
and when i asked, you could only say,
"it just all ended so...
abruptly."

it's funny -
every time we take a second to breathe,
we notice how different things are.
from before him.
to him.
to me.
to losing me.
to gaining me,
for me to leave again.
and somehow,
managing to slip through the cracks
into you and me.
to slip into a stride that has,
for some unknown, ******* reason
has always felt right.
****** knee, ****** hip,
we always manage to have that stride.
parallel,
oh god but so perpendicular.
and when you're quiet, i speak
and sometimes the other way around.
we've lost touch with those pathetic,
dramatic grasps of air and
breath and love and it's such
a relief, to be where we are.
to be given what we fought so hard for.
oh but isn't it funny,
how now that you have what you
said you begged for,
how you've lost so much.
lost a place and a sense of worth
and maybe confidence that
never really was there in the first place.
but you have me.
i warned you i was venom and
****** and poison -
and at times you may be content
believing that those are
inflated metaphors to coax my ego.
but my words are sharp, too sharp,
sharper than most knives because,
well - you love me.
and when words are cheap,
i make them worth their
weight in gold.
and you,
you're soft and malleable.
and god do i tear that apart sometimes.
but remember something -
when we were children, we had
silly putty that we loved,
but loved to destroy.
but the greatest part is
how it always came back together in the end,
with your fingerprints and dirt and
dust of the memories of that day
imprinted in it.
maybe it isn't pleasant and
i apologize for taking pleasure in that,
but i love you in my own way.
take a few steps back -
like i love to do when i ramble.
and remember i said
you're soft and malleable.
and please don't ever change -
because do you know
what else is soft?
malleable?
gold.
you're golden, baby.
and don't ever lose that shine.
i have loved you,
i love you,
i always will love you.
scars and mistakes and
addictions and tears.
laughter and sweets and
music and friends.
i love you.
don't ever forget it.
you're the golden girl.

she smiled,
a secret tucked into her right dimple.
her vision glaringly white once again.
oh she won't tell.
not this time.
blacking out,
and the sweat,
and that sheer adrenaline,
gave her something to live for.
gave her something to feel alive.
enough to feel sick,
but god did sick feel good.
and when everyone
is crying no,
she knows she wants
to say yes.
because rebellion and
anarchy really sets
a fire in her veins.

she doesn't like to sleep anymore.
she'd rather stay up and make wishes
on the scars that she counts
than slip under a sheet.
it's something about vulnerability.
something about letting go.
if she can just keep her eyes pried
for one more second, minute, hour,
she can control it.
how long she sleeps and if she'll
dream [of him] again.
and maybe later,
once she's all alone,
she can sleep through meals
and start to hate the spots
he loved to hold
a little less.
anything, just to
hate him a little less.
she spends every spare second
checking her phone,
hoping to see if he's responded.
hours later.
still checking, and still hoping
for no real reason at all.
"is it possible,"
she asked herself,
"to hate someone and still
hang on every word?"
but maybe she wants to hang on
every word, hang on everything
he meant.
because letting it go was harder
than holding onto it.
staying awake was harder than
just shutting her eyes long
enough to let him go.
so she wastes her time counting
stars and counting scars,
until she can breathe again.

she kisses hearts
and stabs lips,
luring them into traps
and whispering,
"this is all your fault."
she counts wishes
and makes stars,
one for every finger
and two for every toe,
"he'll come home tomorrow."
she drinks air
and breathes water,
gripping edges of sheets
and moaning,
"what's your name again?"
she smiles into his hand
and slips a bit on her expression,
emotions dropping
faster than the temperature.
"he was always full of ****."

it's funny how stark a difference
there is before and after that day.
a literal line can be drawn.
there's evidence, so don't try to deny.
i don't know who changed more,
you or me.
i stopped saying those words
but you stopped reciting them.
i stopped reaching for your hand
but you stopped clenching so hard.
i stopped singing for you
but you stopped listening to me speak.
and maybe we changed together,
and maybe it's for the best.
but when a foundation crumbles,
is it still safe to walk?

you know this isn't ******* fair. you leave me shaking like the earthquakes i told you to leave in your state but slowly drifted to mine. you make me terrified like i was that day, wondering if i should take cover and protect myself or just wait it out.
you said you miss the cute little flirting i always did. what i suppose made you love me. but you told me you got hurt too. i can almost promise you it never hurt you this bad. i wanted to choke you like you made me choke up when you said then, "you were always trying a little too hard to grow up, j." and you tell me now "you always were a little too naive." but you were a ******* coward. you always have been. you cut yourself on your back because the sight of your own spliced skin makes you *****. always taking the easy way out.
you drove away from the ******* the hill that night, that night she told you she was in love with you. and then you told me you loved me and then you went home and ****** your best friend. coward.
i told you i'd change coasts just to be with you and you never took me seriously. you were too busy staring at my smile. and you remember now that i said it but never remembered how serious i was then. you regret not ******* me that afternoon, when we laid awkwardly on your bed and i wanted so badly to touch you that it felt like my whole body, my every ******* neuron, was screaming to feel your hand under my own. but you stood up and walked away. coward.
you say i'm the one that's different, that i was the one who told you to never say you love me again. but i'm the one left texting you old songs in the middle of the night. i'm the one left counting hours back,
one
two
three,
always wondering what time it is there.
especially after you turned your computer towards me to show that you always had a clock in the corner with the time here.
i would have run away with you. i wanted to, no matter how ******* stupid i was. i would have married you. i would have done anything you asked. and we talk now and you told me it would have been hard to work out. you word it like it was my fault i was never yours. but weren't you the one who always whispered to me, "we'd never work out, i can't stand the distance"?
but here we are, three years and 2,450 miles apart and you remember trying to figure out how it'd work. like you still wonder. like you still feel your heart flutter every time you see a little redhead.
because you do.
and every time i see your flower, i double take. and every time i think of surfing you cross my mind. and every time i think of sunset beaches i remember your words. every time. i love you every time.
if you asked me to leave now, to see you. or asked to see me, i'd say no. because my heart is in a different place and we live in different times.
we belong in "what-ifs" and "remember-whens" because we crossed that line and i'm afraid it can't ever go back. i just can't do it. i just can't.

my favorite thing about her
is how much she looks like
i did the night
you begged me to stay.

the best part of you spitting the same words
to other girls that you said to me is that
i know what to expect.
i can read your moves.
i can see right through you.
right through your every move.
and the best part of you
moving on is that maybe one of those girls
will break you to pieces.
worse than i did.

but baby, who are we trying to fool?
if we believed in that, we'd only be kidding ourselves.

all of her fingers
and all of her toes
are as cold as ice.
"like my heart,"
she always liked to say.
but this girl is golden -
metal on the outside,
as soft as ever on the inside.
malleable and valuable.
like the gold leaf
on the edges of bibles -
something you always see
but never seem to appreciate.
always on the edge of
something useless.
like the side of this
empty bathtub,
filled with nothing but air.
trying to decide if she'll
drown herself in this silence.
wondering if the other side is ever
really better
or just another waste of time.

He swallows, hard.
Clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair.
She bites her lip and holds the tears in,
holds herself together.
A glimpse of silence, like cars under an overpass on a rainy day.
The calm before the downpour.
The eye of the storm.
What do you do when there's nothing left to say?
What do you say when there's nothing left to do?

baby, won't you promise me forever?
baby, won't you stay by my side?
you have the prettiest eyes and i
never want to look away.
i know i promised you "never again."
and i know i spent more time on my knees than at your side.
but my eyes were filled with tears and i
couldn't keep my eyes off the ground.
well maybe forever was broken.
and maybe my side got scars.
but our eyes are locked in honesty
and they can't ever blink again.
but perhaps forever can be repaired.
and perhaps i fit by your side.
but our eyes are softer now,
and close just long enough to dream together.

hush hush, sweet darling.
the neighbors could hear you tremble.
if only you'd cover your mouth with mine,
you might stay out of trouble.
grasp hands tight and
don't you dare let go,
and i'll make you beg for more.

don't cry, don't cry.
it'll all get better someday.

i walked down the stairs,
thought i glimpsed you
out of the corner of my eye.
of course it was you.
you grabbed my arm,
pulled me to you.
i wrapped my arms around you.
your hands slid around my waist.
why did i let go?

because i had to.
you had gone upstairs
to find me.
i had come downstairs
to avoid you.
i studied you closely.
the snake bites.
the black hat.
your pupils so big,
your eyes wide with wonder.
you were so excited to see me.
******* ****, why did you
look at me like that?
i miss you, ******* it.

i wanted to hold you.
run away with you.
wake up to you.
but i remembered that i had
let go of all of that.
you had been dead to me
for months.
then i remembered the heartbreak,
the wasted memories and the
kiss goodbye.
so i said goodbye,
and i watched you walk away.

i'm not in love with you,
i never have been.
but i love you dearly.
but love and hate have
a very thin line, and
honey, i may just love you too much.

steady yourself,
you have to stop drinking.
aren't you sick of getting dizzy?
being short of breath?
aren't you sick of sleeping on floors?
steady yourself,
you have to stop crying.
aren't you sick of wiping tears?
listening to the same pathetic ****?
aren't you sick of flipping your pillow?
steady yourself.

one day you'll learn how to place your fingertips in all the right places.
to be able to smile and whisper to them and say words
that maybe your heart doesn't mean,
but it just rolls off the tongue.
you'll learn to hurt others, rather than them hurting you.
or worse, you hurting yourself.
you'll learn to touch up the bleeding mascara before
applying the lipstick you'll stain him with.
you'll learn, dear.
you'll learn.

i swear i'll give you everything
i can and hold nothing back.
not anymore, not ever again.
i'll make you the happiest
you'll ever be, or
i'll die trying.
this is to loving,
blindly, even after your
eyes have been opened.
this is to being silly and
laughing your stomach sore
for days, with you by my side.
this is to me giving you my hand,
switching ring for ring
until we find the right fit.
this is me, and you,
and living and loving to the fullest.
being everything we can be,
together.

she's the kind of girl that reminds you
of summer in all the wrong ways -
of the pain in the sunburn,
or saying goodbye to what you love.
she's the kind of girl that you
need alcohol to love,
because only you know just how much
you want to forget her.
she's the kind of girl that makes you
choke back words like "****" and "failure"
for fear that one day
she might stop proving you right.
she's the kind of girl that makes you
punch your knuckles ****** against tile,
tear at hangnails,
or turn off your favorite songs.
she's the kind of girl that you have to
learn to let go of, because she sinks her teeth
so far under your skin
that it's hard to **** the poison out.

i'd give you my heart,
but i'm afraid you'd break it.
heart breakers break hearts, they say,
and you play your cards right.
see you took my heart off
that silver platter,
cut it in slivers and
as the rain pattered
against the windowsill
you handed it back,
with a note that simply read, "*******."

i could taste the hesitation on her lips.
i held her so soft,
kissed her so quietly.
the silence was heavy,
save for the shifting of our bodies
and the moans that slipped past our lips.
sometimes we're in so far over our heads
that we'll never find which is the real way out.
"the past is destined to repeat itself,"
i tell her.
"that only means that the leaves will die,
and you will leave again."
i shake my head,
but how can you promise someone forever
when it's just for tonight?
i tell her i love her
but we both know it isn't true.
anything to increase the body heat,
anything to melt the icy walls.
she'd never understand my
parasitic need for her.
just to hold her, just for tonight.
to taste something more than bland food
and smell more than the insides
of the four walls i see
every ******* morning.
i know she wonders why i come and go,
and i know she wonders why i chose her.
even those questions i can't answer.
whether it's those green eyes
or that crooked smile,
or just because i know she'll come back.
either way i'm sweating above her,
wondering if i should kiss her or
choke her.
poor pitiful thing,
sometimes i just want to put her out of her misery.
but for now,
we share the night
and the sighs
and the misery.

the church bell rang.
and that's when she saw it.
her tree was gone.
it rang again.
her loss was accompanied by a rush of silence.
only distant sounds of traffic.
a train.
accompanied again by a rush of memories.
one kiss, another's laugh.
fitting perfectly into the trunk,
feeling more comfort than ever before.
her heart inside of the tree's.

and she was left with nothing.

and she said,
"i live for things like that."
"i live for things like you,"
he replied.

your fingers twitch and you
know ****'s about to go down.
next your heart begins to beat
faster
and
faster
until it feels like it's about to take
flight.
it pounds it's way into your throat,
your stomach is in a knot.
and somehow, you're still standing
wide-eyed with knees locked.
his ****'s on your door step.
to know he was here,
it was just.
too much.
to think he was just mere inches
on the other side of a wooden
barricade,
but the miles between your hearts
could suffocate you.
so you drag it.
all of your **** he'd left behind
everything that reminded him of
the two of you.
backyard.
gasoline.
gasoline everywhere.
it all began, and ends,
with the flick of a zippo.
the lighting of a cigarette.
click, light, inhale, exhale.
repeat.
drop it.
run.

you always seem to find yourself
choking back words.
you'd rather choke by swallowing
your own tongue than admit the truth.
but jesus ******* christ,
you want to say those words
more than anything.
how you really feel.
what's really on your mind.
but society has taught you
that this is taboo.
if you pair "speaking your mind"
with politics,
you'll find yourself with
a bullet in your head.
but one day,
you'll go silent
from all the words
you'll never say.

she sat in the pew,
lip between her teeth.
"what a way to end a year,"
she thought,
blue eyes closed to the world.
there were no wedding bells
in this church, not today.
they read eulogies instead
of vows and shed
tears rather than rice.
a funeral for the year.
many people gathering to
say goodbye to the good times
and the bad times.
tears, maybe even laughs,
for the year that ends itself.
time turns years into suicide
and funerals turn strangers
into desperate friends.
casket closed,
dressed in black,
what could you lose?
except everything.
no one knows what'll
happen when those doors open
and the sunshine floods in.
not knowing what the next
year will bring,
what people or conflicts.
if you'll even make it out alive.
the safest place you'll ever be
is the funeral for a year.
with everything closing,
just for a moment,
you know what to expect.
that's the beauty of finality.
all you know is that room,
death, and what finite tastes like.

last week a man took my picture,
his grin stretched ear to ear.
i glanced over and mirrored with
a smile like cheshire cats,
and he took another.
i wonder what brought him
to our table,
to me.

last week a man drew my picture,
his mouth set rigid in focus.
i noticed his anonymous glances
but i carried on my way,
not knowing who the girl his pen
was putting on paper was.
it wasn't until i passed
and they told me our bangs
were the same and she
wore glasses like mine
that i recognized her.
me.

there's something about strangers
anonymously immortalizing you
in art that makes you realize
how empty your eyes are.

i'm holding you
cupped in fragile hands,
a frail little bird
in frail little fingers.
i can never hold too tightly,
because my grip might not
be strong enough
and even if i could
little bird bones
are tender little things.
and it doesn't make sense
because i hate birds so much
but i love you more
than words could ever say.
and then i think of that time
when i was a little girl
and that baby bird sat on my deck
and it didn't chirp
because it was dead
so i didn't know it was there,
and i stepped on it's tender
featherless wings
and it crunched under my foot.
and viscera spilled out
in reds
and blues
and yellow
and i cried
and cried
and cried.
and even though it was dead
inside already,
i was so afraid i would
be the one to hurt it again.
and it's kinda like that.
so excuse me if
i hold you too tight some days.
and excuse me if
sometimes my fingers are too loose.
i have my reasons,
they're there.
please, just please
sing loud enough to let me know
that you're still alive,
even if it's only a little bit.
and i'm so, so sorry
if i ever crush you.
i never meant to.