Who is she to say you're a liar?
Maybe with every fiber
you loved her.
Like you do with your
Recklessly floating heart.
You two were different lovers.
She's the kind of girl with metallic blood.
An ancient stone
heavy in her chest,
Unusual and destructive
When it arrives late.
You were wrong to have loved her like butterflies when bones like hers require sorcery.

i've gone to war with my own skin.
-
i'm sorry i never bloomed. leave all the things i wish i was on top of here.
-
i never grew wings.
-
you will not find me here.
-
i never could find myself.
-
my bed might still smell like me.
-
please, whatever you do, burn that notebook.
-
i wanted someone to read it.
-
i never had a someone.
-
my heart lies over the delmarva.

Don't let yourself
Get close to me
If you don't
Intend to stay
Don't dance
Along the
Thinning line
Of loving and
Going away

Don't allow me  
To attach myself
To who I think
You are,
Better strangers
With whole hearts
Than broken
Lovers
From afar.

I can sit
in this chair
forever

and search the
sky for black
birds while you

try to find
a song that
isn't hollow

But we can't
Stop the tide
So we kick

smoke from old
Wood that burns
on red leaves

Watch it drift
Sway, sink and
Remember

each tea cup
ringed poem;
a mirror

of this that
is not us.

stop destroying your life
and yourself
for people who
don't deserve it.

I would have loved to have kissed you through
your polo shirt, to have felt your leather chest
on the palms of my hand, get my tongue caught
in the feeling of yours. I bet you would have held
my face, one of those guys, who cradles cheekbones
like pottery. I imagined us, feet tangling in sheets
as we wrestle each other in a small bed
pinning arms against the headboard, pulling ribs
closer to the other so they can connect
in their respective grooves. I would have loved
to have played catch with your smile, circle
your eyes with my own, nibble your shoulder
as we collide. I would have loved to,

but I'm still being haunted by ghosts in good underwear
who gave me more than just a body
for a month or two. By boys who swore
that the time wasn't right now, but it was coming
as fast as it could. I've been sliced open
by flea market promise rings with crooked diamonds,
and I would have loved to have used
you to stitch me back together. But you
are just a boy with your parents wallet,
sweetness baked into tight khaki's
and some really cool vans. You are not
the remedy I attempt to find in Bacardi bottles
or a blank document or even cups of tea.
You are too good for this part of me.
I'm sorry for teasing you with my jeans
and the bit of skin I let peak between
my belt and the rest of my blouse.
Imagine what that would have felt like
on your belly while the November breeze
crept through your open window?
I would have loved to.