i accidentally threw my toothbrush away last night and had to use the spare i’ve been saving for you
my eyeglasses had a water droplet on them and i couldn’t see straight it wasn’t because i was drunk
or sad
or angry
it was the water droplet blurring everything and bringing an end to fine edges and clarity answers

in the end it is kindness that undoes me
my dog brings me toys when i'm sad or sick and nudges them into my elbow like some knock-off substitution for benadryl or lexapro
i still have sand in my eyes from the desert you drug me through
it isn’t because i haven’t slept  
or am hungover
or dehydrated
i swear it's the sand like diamonds

whenever i'm in the throes of a panic attack i wear the shirt my mom bought me because it makes me feel safe
the day after you i ask her if i'm allowed to tell her when i'm hungover or when i've made a mistake
but i can't because when you moved over me and my body responded
it wasn’t my mom's shirt anymore.
it was yours

your version of love is an algorithm more basic than take-aways. you're allowed to take as much as you give and you still get a solid number. a real result. but i don't work in binaries and black-and-whites.

love is my negative number and the missing letter to my typewriter i can't find no matter which dusty beasts i search through. it's the bruise on the heel of my palm as i collide with secrets -- swiping hands beneath your sofa searching for my missing key.  

love is your receipt.
here's what you bought, here's what it cost.

i'll register bankruptcy instead. take my seven years and start over instead of being your negative number and unknown variable. a declined credit card stamped on your list of positive transactions.

Under the gazebo,
you sang in silly cadence
while patting along on your lap
you smiled so happily.
You made my heart beat rapidly
and you still do, so easily
even now just remembering
my heart pounds without warning.
It yearns for the memories to repeat.
So often, I'll lay and reminisce,
even so my heart begs me to rewind,
I feel it crying for what's inside.

The first time I looked at her photos,
I didn't like her.
I also didn't like the deeply cutting feeling in my stomach.
The light anguish I didn't want to accept: I wasn't hurt,
I can't care about your past because I don't care about you.

Today when I looked at her photos, I saw another being.
A happy, full of life, brimming with energy type of being
And I found myself understanding why you loved her.
I like her too. Even if you don't love her anymore (and maybe you do?)
I can't trust you, and I can't feel hurt. No.

This morning I could not
walk by you without smiling like a fool
I knew something was going on
but now it's for sure, I like you a lot

I write because the paper listens
to the tears and laughter of my soul
like blood pumping though my vanes
seeping ink drips down the damp pages
as I write across every straight line
the messy confused bottled up thoughts
turn into questions running through my head
high above my neck it sits holding it all in
just think of what my brain is going through
my pen may scribble to fill the page
with words written from my soul
yet it transforms all my thoughts
never before told

my pen takes hold of the paper
as I hold the flow of my thoughts
floating through the lines on each page
riding the waves of concept
that takes flight
thoughts are like birds
so many in groups
bunched together
one by one loose
feathers drop
here and there
falling out of line
yet finds its place
ether speaking in flight
or written in words
the paper listens
that's why I write

my words can hit instantly as you can see
I have to jot them down as they spark..
or they just might fly away from me
I write because the paper listens
for inspiration it can vanish so quickly
sometimes my thoughts may flow fast
if I stop in the middle I lose the imagery
causing my pen to trip over words
leaving behind a big mess of typos
then the bad grammar is exposed
my pen may scribble to fill the page
with words written from my soul
yet it transforms all my thoughts
never before told

just to let you know
my words can hit instantly
that's just how I be
most of my writings
are free style poetry
my mind possess the tempo
as each poem I write grows
I the poet hum silently as
my ink of harmony flows
from my quenching desire
my mind and fingers they
think much faster than me
unleashing unspoken thoughts
silent for too long I can not be
the paper listens and gets drenched
with thoughts of my hot to the touch
written emotions curved creatively

I love you more
than the sun
loves the moon,
and I miss you so much
when I'm watching
the flowers bloom.
I look at the lilacs,
the lillies,
and lavender.
Their blossoms blooming,
despite the cold dew.
They remind me of you
with their purplish hue,
how you are so pure,
but always feeling blue.
I wish you were here,
your shy smile in bloom.
It lights up my world,
like the sun warms the moon.