ya throw fits at the mall
speak ***** in a child's voice
i hear delicacy in your dialect
but it's optimism, imagination
on my part, trepidation and mistaken identity
tantrums later, spilled coffee
deforestation in my thought's trees
skinny love, blood in sinks
listening to that song
ya don't dig a whole lot
about him, you don't have a shovel
but you drive your
pink nails in the sheets
it's probably why i can't escape you

It's almost three in the morning.

The problem is,
I'm not tired,
I'm Broken

As Is

Some will like me as is. Some will not. Some
will want to turn me into someone they like without
realizing you can not. If your hair is too long you can
cut it. If your clothes are inapt you can change them. If the

music’s too offensive you can shut it off. But you can’t cut someone else’s hair, or change someone else’s clothes,
or shut someone else off. You can only realize for you, they
are not. And if I decide to style my hair differently or wear other

clothes and suddenly be quiet for you, I will not be
me. I will lose myself. You will not have me
either. I will be someone that neither of us knows. No one
will be happy, not me/not you. You might think you’re happy

for a little while, until you realize that I’m not a child. You may
cut a child’s hair and change their clothes. You may hush
a child when they’re speaking out of turn. But an adult is
someone you will never own.

I miss your beautiful blue eyes
Your sweet addictive kiss
The pain and sadness of loving your broken soul
Is one part of you I will never miss

there are so many of you
that i would love to sit down with;
maybe over a milkshake and a plate of fries;
and just talk.
i want to ask you about the boy that hurt you,
about the anger you feel deep inside
over a father who said he’d come back...
and then didn’t.
i want to run with you through pages of words and say
“oh that’s right, what a lovely metaphor.”
i want to see all your smiling faces and
thank each and every one of you for showing me kindness,
for saving my life.
i want to collaborate on novels of poetry
and laugh with you through the tears of our pasts.
so until we sip those milkshakes and eat those fries...
thank you, to
some of the most beautiful people i have never met.