what do you do with
the moments between
moments

the time when her head
leaves your shoulder
but before
her fingers lace yours

when his kiss
leaves your conscience
and you're just staring
waiting - what's next?

or when your bodies are moving
together
on couches
and you become separate
long enough
to make it upstairs

what goes on
in your head?
is this the right choice? maybe
am i hurting you? likely
am i hurting, too? always
is this enough? or anything?

what about
when you realize
that your whole life
is a moment
in between
moments
and we're just
trying
not to
notice.

"i'm sorry"
i find myself saying
to my friends at 4am in my brain
to the mirrors as I walk by them
see the face of a 10 - 13 - 21 year old girl (woman?)
I'm sorry
for whatever I did to you
i don't know what i did still
but if it hurt you, then i'm sorry
when can i stop being sorry
for other people's mistakes
i want to take the blame and shame
because if *I don't, who will?
It has to go somewhere and it's much easier
to make room in my chest than to let in run free
it's easier for me
it's easier on me
if i just say i'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for being a person.
I'm sorry I couldn't be anything but real.

pain is too many exclamation points -
some kind of overcompensation for the sober realization that we need to be happy,
but aren't

pain is burnt toast, but not in the good way;
like the way that it sits on your tongue
Makes your mouth taste like metal,
makes your words feel like crumbs
waiting to be swept away

today, I laughed too much, so by 3 o' clock I had no smiles left in me
They have gone like I have gone to sleep
waiting for some alarm to sing
to ring with something like hope
something to cut the rope, the knots
my stomach ties when I don't notice
Pain is knowing that you know this
will hurt
and knowing is half the battle.

But knowing is...half the battle
The rest of the war is dealing with more
exclamation points than you wanted
more mornings without alarms

more meals
of only crumbs.

some days the birds just sing.
some days the clouds don't mean a thing.
some days your tea is hot, but cool enough to drink.
some days the birds just sing.

Five years is an awfully short time to spend with someone you thought was a part of your stomach -
the skin in your throat, the folds of your kneecaps
You couldn't imagine shaking them from your fingertips,
not in a million lifetimes

But instead, it only took one;
not as brief as a mayfly but as not as long as a bird soars
If you ask me, we were cut down too soon but hung on too long -
I'd have kept hanging, too,
if only the branch weren't gone.

morning air
bittersweet, home-made mocha
my dog’s wet tongue
glitter glue
how quiet we were
soft lips
a few made-up worlds
a new made-up bed
how we touched heads
the way she looks at me
friends who don’t hate me
me, who won’t hate me
ocean water
cheese tortellini
waving hands
turning tides

make my throat a little sore
going down -
but go down,
fill the open wounds in my chest
make my stomach stop turning
make my world stop burning
from the inside out
color me in
with a chamomile crayon
lay on me until
we're lost