i hear your car pull into the driveway
and I rush to close my eyes.

i pull the covers to my shoulders
and pretend that i am sleeping

this has become my ritual

i can hear your key turn in the lock and my heart presses against my ribcage.
i have been waiting for this

you quietly enter our bedroom
the smell of snow follows you in.

silence
(just for a moment.)
then
the rustle of layers being shed

i feel the bed shift as you climb in next to me

slowly
you reach for me
lightly touching my side

in this dark room
i am beaming

'hey'

it's all you say,
but in it i can hear the high note of every love song.

with a smile firmly in place
i slowly open my eyes

only to find myself alone

in a room miles away

and all these years later
i still have a tendency to wander
to spin
to dance

and you watch me.
you watch me drift from foot to foot just testing my own stability
(i'm a lot more stable than i used to be)

i'm finally used to me

we ****** on my best friend's futon
i had bits of gravel embedded in my palm

i'm always falling head over heels

bodies.
yours and mine
the fairy tales of anatomy books

you are the reason i stopped believing in love poems.

i dug my nails into your back,
just trying to find purchase in the world that i was drowning in.

you made room for yourself at the back of my throat
(the place I had reserved for unfinished sentences)

your beard scraped my lips like sandpaper

your hands felt like lukewarm water

i peed in the attic because the stairs creaked
and your roommates were asleep

your hair licked your earlobes
and your mouth was rough

a body.
a boy.
a bottle
a bed.
a loss.

a boy.
a bottle.
the bed.
my body

a loss.

"Why can't you just ******* tell me what you're thinking?"*

daffodils, painted glass, frost bite,*                                           you.
split ends, comforters, paint fumes, phone calls, spring time,         you.
knee highs, cigarettes, car rides, missed texts, hang overs, slip knots,   you.
school books, friendship, roof tops, chipped teeth, hang nails, snow shoes,   you.
pinky promise, treasure maps, lipstick, hopscotch, pudding pie, porch swings,     you.

I think I met you when I was seven,
but I can't be sure
it may have been a dream.

I ask my friends about you,
but they all have their own nicknames for you.
Allah,
            God,
                       and Mother
the three I hear most often.

for me, none of these names fit you.
they hang from your body, concealing what you truly are.

forgiveness and rage
                                        empathy and judgement
                                                     ­                                tenderness and hostility



my grandfather talks to you every night with his eyes clenched and fingers clasped

he tells me that you have saved him from his nightmares,
washed the blood from his hands.
he wants to introduce us,

he thinks that you can save me.

I want to thank you for cleansing my grandfather's hands.
for teaching him that a single bad act
(or a collection of many)
does not make you a bad person.
that Life is a game of unknown rules
and unwilling players.

and I don't know if it's my "rebellious nature"
(as my mother calls it)
but for me,
the unknown is a comfort blanket.

walking through life heel-to-toe
I take the time to lose myself.

I lose myself in books,
                                     shopping malls,
                                                              an­d other people.

I believe in little moments of Fate
and Love's cruel intentions.
the Power of silence
and the weight of Words.

but these days, I tend to lose myself within the four walls of my bedroom.
I lose myself.
I actually lose myself.

So, if you ever want to get a cup of coffee,
my number is at the bottom.

I would love to hear what you have to say.

I have spent the last two years kissing away conversations.

His hands
burn away at my momentary doubt

my skin becomes softer beneath his lips.

his lips taste like a postage stamp for an unwritten letter

with slowly drifting fingers, he writes to me:
he asks about my day with his palm on my rib cage and his sighs in my ear.
he kisses the center of my chest, and tells me a story about friends I've never met
he suckles my ****** when he talks about his alcoholic father.

and he writes goodbye with his hips between my thighs.

he provides no return address.
he simply signs his name.

I am a girl of textures,
scriptures,
and hymns.

compulsively forgetful,
i inscribe my teeth with one night love poems.

i try to remember their names

i carve a notch in my hip bone for each of them
an indent where their hands might rest for a moment
and possibly leave their fingerprint...

Your hands
felt like the pages of a well-read library book
torn at the edges by someone who didn't appreciate the story you told

using all the big words I knew,
I tried to fill in your missing paragraphs

but you were never that hard to read.

tracing my fingers along your spine
I find her name
breaking up your sentences like a misplaced comma.

You will never love me.
period.

a brown-eyed susan deflowered in the unmade bed of a bleary eyed boy
she ***** her fists into ocean blue sheets,
she feels as if her roots are about to give
with clumsy hands, he caresses her spine

he calls her beautiful

she is awoken by a gentle beam of sunlight that sneaks through his curtains
and kisses her eyelids
her delicate petals litter the floor

she tip-toes around them

and sees herself out.

short-handed love letters
written in the daydreams of a deliberate narcoleptic.

i send you the paper plane promises of summer
(sealed tightly in sweaty palmed envelopes)

you're not one to read poetry
yet i always manage to find feather light stanzas draped across your shoulders
held down by nothing more
than freckled thumbtacks

years fall away
like too heavy eyelashes onto cheeks

waiting to be brushed away
by the callused fingers of patient lovers

our slow and natural tendencies
our lips mimic the rate of gravity

you use a box cutter to lengthen the creases in my palm

but borrowed time
and fickle fate
will never heal heartbreak

nights fall heavy lidded
October leaves rustle beneath my skin.

and on nights like tonight,
you settle for the warm fingertips of sunken ship lovers
and anchored down hopes.

labored heaving
uneven breathing

stars hang from our lashes
our eyes clouded over with moon dust

sunken hips.
lovers' lips.
heartbeats on bed sheets

i never wanted to sleep alone

I want to believe in a higher power,
but I feel such a connection to the Earth.
grass caresses my shoulder blades
pollen coats my finger tips

I keep my fumbled words in a pocket book with old receipts,
frayed on the edges
and yellowed with age
they stick around hoping that one day I can do them justice.

Love letters coat the walls of my lungs
I cough them up with bits of phlegm
and spit them on the sidewalk

I press too ******* pencils
break my fingers at the knuckles
but these fumbled words demand to be written

So I grind my teeth
and paint my taste buds
with half forgotten memories.

My fingers smell of cigarettes
stale regrets
and summer nights

a semi's  taillights lead us home
we litter cigarette butts along the highway,
our interpretation of breadcrumbs.

i hope that one day
(when our skin begins to slide from our bodies)
we are able to remember these nights.

on nights when i feel unwanted
i grab my pack
and wander

in my ugliest underwear
i dance on shaking knees
a fawn eyed star gazer
blowing smoke to the clouds

enamored by the particles of my eyelashes,
i blink with appreciation of the little things

i lose myself on one way side streets
in order to get from here to there
but i always seem to be a little too late

another moment missed.

I wade into tidal waves,
my hands full of dandelions

humbled by the sun
choked up over comets
I’ve given up on sunsets

you are a supernova clad only in my bed sheets
I make a wish every time your chest falls

****** lungs full of anxiety
My mouth tastes like an ashtray
filled with the buts of things i forgot to say
washed down by things i wish i hadn't

Still tripping over shoe laces,
I search for poetry in *** holes.
Forgiveness in pillowcases
my eyes have trouble resting these days

So, why aren't we dancing?

Following the rhythm of our mismatched heartbeats
I clumsily waltz through misleading conversations

Curls brush my shoulder blades
reminding me of your fingertips

so I cut them down

to one word texts
and a dozen missed calls

Afraid to lie in the beds I've made,
I seek comfort in your sheets

Your morning sighs,
my springtime breeze

Mistakes rest on my collarbones
William Burroughs knocks on my chest and listens to the echoes

Catch my breath and weigh the possibilities

Navigating the side streets
we drink tequila from a tea *** while the bowl moves counterclockwise

Tuck my friendships back into pockets and carry them like loose change.
Take a penny, leave a penny
Just don't leave me lonely.

I lay in your front yard with my mouth wide open
I capture the songs of the day so we can share them in the moon light

You simply go through the motions
your mind full of figures,
while I think about thinking
                                               of thinking
                                                        ­          of thinking
                                                        ­                             a thought.

I fumble through life, my shoe laces tied together
You laugh into our kiss and call me useless

So please,
use less of me.

and maybe you don't want me here.
and maybe I don't want you to want me here
and maybe I want you to want me so much that your heart hiccups

and maybe I drink to summon the courage to say it
and maybe I drink to find it

and maybe I loved you
and maybe I still do

and maybe I don't want you to see me broken
and maybe I want you to feel the shattered glass of my fingertips

and maybe we're doomed
and maybe we're destined

and maybe last night was different
and maybe we'll never change

and maybe we love like cancer

and maybe we walk like Egyptians

and maybe we just need time
and maybe we've had enough for tonight

and maybe we make bonfires on bunk beds

and maybe you turned your back to me
and maybe I left

and maybe you love the hawk with brown tipped wings

and maybe common sense isn't so common

and maybe we're newcomers
and maybe we never got there

and maybe those weren't tears, but stray raindrops

and maybe all my words are lyrical
and maybe my pen is tapping out my heartbeat

and maybe I watch you watch me

and maybe we jive like honey bees
and maybe I dream of daffodils and popcorn

and maybe we've lost faith in God and gravity and poetry

and maybe I ride my bike down the narrow streets downtown
and maybe I sunbathe on park benches
and maybe I fell from my tree house

and maybe I flew
and maybe our hands don't fit quite right
and maybe I tried to recreate snowflakes

and maybe I dance to the songs you hate
and maybe you know every word from my favorite poem

and maybe I cry when I think too much
and maybe I smile at every hair on your body

and maybe I loved you
then again, maybe not.

Smoking out of your roommates' hookah,
we blow smoke rings into the center of the room as our heads press into the backs of couches.

Drinking out of plastic cups and writing "**** LYFE" on our knuckles
we dabble in the witchcraft of half-truths.
I feel beautiful in this moment.

Wearing combat boots, torn tights and a cardigan
I stomp through your living room not giving two *****.
I flirt with the table,
the chairs
and even your brother.

Tonight is about me.

I had woken up this morning with a ****** piercing and curls stuck to my neck,
my fists balled up in soft blankets.

Doubting everything,
I tried running through my thoughts with my eyes shut,
only picking up fragments of sentences and bad music.

A full moon
and a monroe
the only tangible proof that last night even happened.

I have grown accustomed to holding my own hand in public,
taking up the place that I had reserved for you.

With our lunch date canceled, I'm free to go dancing with poets and *** heads.
Twist my fingers into the hem of the skirts that tickle my knee caps,
I laugh as loud as my lungs will allow.

If you looked at the back of my throat you might see the words I am saving for a much anticipated stranger.
A beautiful doe-eyed stranger who drinks me in like his favorite liquor.

*"You can never have too much of a good thing, babe."

I would rather sit back and watch Scrubs than go out tonight.

throw my hair in a bun, put on my glasses and read to my lover.

press my cold toes into bare shins
I want to interlock fingers.
sit back-to-back and guess which knee he has cradled to his chest.

I want life to be simply complicated.

forget how many seconds make up an ounce.
I want hours to be measured in irrational numbers.

making shadow puppets on our naked chests,
we make breathing look like an art form.

knotted ribs and hip bones

...

that's all we really are.

Winter moves by slowly.
I wrap myself in your stanzas.

I was a false prophet in an unknown land.

Things used to be better,
With my hand in your hand
I fell asleep on the typewriter and wrote this poem while I dreamed

Sprites dancing across my eyelids,
We made a game of nervous glances.

Touching fingertips like bits of flint,
We ignited fire in our voice boxes.

Screaming the sonnets of dead poets, we pronounced our love like rotting words.

Cracked, marble lovers.

Tumbling together
breaking piece by piece

We drank gasoline and swallowed three lit matches

You started a scene when you kissed my dream

With your eyes glowing silver* and your eyelashes curved skyward
you talk of UFOs and astronauts

Complex and ever-changing,
I search your lips every night, looking for a sunset.

You catch stars in the corners of your smile, you are my favorite constellation.

bet you i'll be bitter.
bet you i'll be better,
maybe even sit down and write you a letter.

sing all the symphonies of my dreams.

and wouldn’t it be beautiful,
if we could be lovely?

if we could morph these disillusioned thoughts
into proper actions.

there was a tear in the ankle of his converses.
he tapped his foot to the tremors of the bus
he carried a coffee cup like his life ambitions
i stared at him over the top of my book,
reading the lines of his mouth
they captivate my attention like a novel never could.
arm draped over the back of the seat next to him,
he glances my way.
my gaze plummets to my lap
i sneak a peak his way.
he gives me a smile
i gleam like the sun.

Now that I'm older
I only cry in the shower.

Dear dog.
Stop licking my side,
I'm trying to sleep.

basement sitting
"angel headed hipsters".
i keep my heart on my sleeve.
my tongue on your lips.
you and your multiple personalities
me and my numerous dreams.
keep me close.
i have a tendency to let my mind wander.
tears embrace eyelashes.
i want to burn these memories
set fire to the wind
take my breathe away.
fill my lungs with the hope that this time you mean it.
hold me in your arms tonight.
hold me in your arms.
hold me.
please.

Her sobs punch me eardrums.

Green eyes rimmed with red,
she presses her forehead firmly into her knee caps.
I stare at her hands and imagine them in his.

“I can’t breathe underwater like I used to…”

Passed out on the floor
she gasps for air.
I bet she dreams of water falls and razorblades.

He flattened her optimism with his realism.
Confused by body parts and heartbeats,
they made disappointment a language.

Illiterate lovers

*“I can’t breathe underwater like I used to, before I met you...”

Mixing
***
and
Alcohol
was
Possibly
the
Worst
Idea
Ever.

With Buddha tattooed on my neck,
I feel like I might finally have a vague understanding of serenity.

Submerge my worries in drunken logic and suddenly I am floating.
Unable to keep my feet on the ground,
I make a habit of leaving cupboards open.

With my drunken intentions,
I lay my head in your lap.
You twirl my curls in your fingers trying to wrap yourself within me.

You are a rotting romantic.

My mother once told me to “Love softly, for love is fragile.”
It was then I realized that my mother had never been in love.

Love is a backstabbing ***** with no morals.

Love is merciful.

Love is red.

Love is rage.

Love is quiet.

Love is not fragile.

Fragile,
is my hand in yours at the end of the night.
When we’re too ****** up to function on the verge of passing out,
and you give my fingers one final squeeze.

I fight the sleep that is inevitable.

I watch as you dream with your mouth shut tight.
I imagine words of affection fighting to break free,
begging to make love to my ears.