I write better than I speak,
Felt the words caress my cheek,
They tumble out like a coffee grinder,
Enough to fill just one binder.
Only enough for a cup.

I write better than I speak,
The words are rationed treats,
Whenever it comes slow like drops of tar,
Filling my heart like a pickle jar,
Just enough air at the top.

I write better than I speak,
My words don't know de-feet,
They're smart bombs that hit only their mark,
They huddle like grapes in the park
Only each other is enough.

I write better than I speak,
Picking words like wild berries,
They are green caterpillars crawling around my mind,
and yellow butterflies when my mouth opens,
Alive for today, only.

Til two we played in the quartz sand,
Hoping the sands of times would quickly past,
You will be my first,.........last love,
for drawing kisses and hearts on my cast.

I felt you squeeze my hand when I cried,
I felt to squeeze your .... yours well I tried :)
To speak for you out of turn,
how rubbing grade school crayon from walls burn.

I gave you that rose stolen,
from the secret garden that stole our hearts,
and crosses don't come often,
but i'm happy we crossed paths

i drive past twenty-seven churches before i realize
that i am looking for someone
to save me. you will not want to know this,
but i think about telling you anyway,

think about calling
you up on the phone and saying, “hey, do you
remember me? i’m the girl who sat in your
passenger seat like it was stitched to fit the curve of her waist.
you loved my broken poetry. you loved the stain
of my teeth against your collarbone.
you looked into my eyes and thought about oceans and blackberries.
you thought about what it would be like to love me,
to carry me over the fire and deliver me from the floods.
but tonight

i am not your cross to bear.
you are miles away and i am still here, rubbing
over old scars that still ache when it rains and writing
poetry in the same stupid stilted stanzas you used to love.
i guess i haven’t gotten the hang of letting go yet.
i was kind of hoping you could give me some pointers.

i know it sounds crazy,
but sometimes when i get too distant, i imagine
all the cities you have been to since the last time we kissed.
i hope they have loved you kinder and more gently than
i ever did. i am sorry about the wreckage and the wine
and the cigarettes and the sins. i just—

i just need you to know that i think about you often,
okay, and nothing has been the same since you left,
but i would never forgive you if you came back. please,
keep your feet towards the horizon. please forget
my name. please do not call back.”