we stole dandelions from the fields
like hard-time criminals
and watched as they melted
in the palms of our hands--

i should have realized it was a
perfect euphemism
for the months to follow.

It kills me that I can't keep you in words,
The more I write the more I seem to miss.
Like meaning from my pen is far off lured,
I can't put down your smile, your eyes, your kiss.
A kiss that for my life I can't describe,
despite how hard I try or oft I write.
Transform me hence into your willing scribe,
I'll work to make dark ink match your eyes light...
and though I know I'll fail I still write on,
hoping beyond hope that I'll succeed
in writing down some truth before I'm gone,
one truth might then find others and so breed.
Not unlike I found you and you found me
or how our I's met up to forge a we.

my mom always told me i was lazy
she was right; i never wanted to clean my room
or make my bed
or do my homework
i just wanted to go on the computer
or watch tv
or hang out with friends
because i wanted to be happy
and doing chores didn't make me happy

so when i went to college
i didn't clean my room
or make my bed
or do my homework
all i did was go on the computer
or watch tv
or hang out with friends
because i finally was on my own and had the chance to be happy

but rather than getting happier, my heart got heavier
things went from okay to bad
and then bad to worse
and now i'm tired

mom, you were right; i'm lazy
there are things that i don't want to do
because they are too much work
like cleaning my room, making my bed, doing my homework,
and waking up tomorrow morning

i.
maybe people really were made
first as one large whole,
then cracked into pieces
and scattered, so that
if we ever lose our sense of
purpose,
we could know that there is hope
in finding it in others.

ii.
maybe it is fate
that brought me to you,
something magnetic,
or just chance.
i don't care, all that matters
is that i have you--
sometimes i just wish i knew
who to thank.

iii.
it scares me how much i like
the feel of your hand gripping mine,
as though it was meant
to be there from the start
(when i'm with you, i always feel
that much more complete).

iv.
if you carry pieces of me
deep inside of you,
does that mean somewhere
i carry pieces of you too?

as a child, i was more of a
hide-and-seek kind of girl;
i had no mind for playing
pretend.  

yet here i am now, and these
past three months have been
my greatest show yet--

but ****,

               where
      have
                                 you
                                             gone?

because i've been seeking for too long,
and i can't find you anywhere.

i wonder what you'd look like
if you were stripped of your skin,
would your bones be as perfect
as your shell?

or would they be heavy with scars
etched into you slowly, filled with ink,
and laced with names you
wish you could forget?