I'm still trying to figure out
What feels better--
Scribbling furiously into my journal,
Etching the pages with anger,
Or crazily pounding words out
With my keyboard.

My poems rarely trend
Guess I'm not a trend-setter

I should wear a sign that says fragile
but instead I wear fake strength
and pretend that I don't break

You asked me if I believed in soul mates,
If I believed that there was someone out there
Meant for me
Who isn’t you.

I asked you if you believed in destiny,
If fate somehow brought us together,
You nodded and laughed
Mocking me for believing that fate was real.

I told you the Truth, Darling.
I didn’t believe in fate,
Neither did I in soul mates.
I didn’t believe in what I thought was
Fake.

Then I laid my eyes on you,
Saw the way your eyes crinkled
When you smiled,
Saw how my heart kept racing a million miles,
I knew I couldn’t get you out of my head,
Not even if I Tried.

That’s when I knew,
I was always destined to be with you.

Fate isn’t my friend, my darling,
It puts me in a constant state of aching.
Because I know that you’re meant for me,
But I’m not meant for you.

And honey sometimes I know you're not okay but
I can't get up the courage to ask
In fear that
I ask the wrong question

I.

Last winter,
when snow softened streets
and windswept ice decorated
cold light-posts, you called
Minnesota "home--"
"koti--"
for the first time.

I sat across from you
as a Minnesotan might--
I looked you in the eye
while we shared conversation
and you avoided my gaze.

Face red like firelight,
you smiled at all the right words
and spoke softly, your
thick accent stumbling
over English.

Each time our eyes met,
a grin darted across your lips,
an unspoken assent
to a question I hadn't asked--
then, quickly, you trained your eyes
on my shoulder-- on my forehead.

Maybe, I thought, he's
traditional-- maybe my
V-neck makes him uncomfortable.

II.

Today, I learned that
eye contact-- in your country--
is an invitation
to bed.