If loving you was a mistake,
either way—mine to make,
says she, to shape in my hands,
your body. And this pain?
Mine to deal with.
Deserved,

maybe, found guilty,
for trying to trick you
into loving me. Through
the whispers, the touch, she
laughs, inducing only
ecstasy—

What if the burning at the
stake is not the witch's
fate, but her pleasure?
Her final triumph. No end
more fitting. Nowhere
to escape but
in flames.

All I wanted was love, but I swore I’d never ask because it doesn’t count if you force it. So at the start, I brought you cookies and sat beside you in every class, chattering endlessly. I wrote you letters, and made tiny watercolor paintings of your face. I didn’t think it would work, but I guess I was so good at falling in love that you thought you were too.

But then, just because ‘I love you’s are exchanged doesn’t mean the feelings are the same, and when you started taking longer to reply and were barely by my side, I began to wonder. So I went further—bought you only the most expensive presents, gifted you even the parts of myself I’d been saving. Who could blame me if I just longed to make you happy, and thought that meant giving you everything you asked for and wanted?

Towards the end, I realized you wanted more than I could ever give because you looked for it in someone else. But like a fool, I still loved you. Am I not nice and sweet, not right or enough for you? Here I am, still begging. Who else would have forgiven you? Who else would have needed you that much, wanted so badly to be with you? I deserve to be loved back.

But you know what? If even now, you’re still not sure about your feelings, then just admit you don’t love me. Let’s leave it at that. Even if I plead and cry, don’t let me force you. Love isn’t supposed to need convincing. Just because I want you, love you doesn’t mean I don’t deserve better. And it doesn’t mean you can love me. It doesn’t mean you’re supposed to.

I. THE FALLING IN LOVE

i should have known

from how the very first thing you told me
was a lie, and your eyes captivated me,
perhaps because i could never read them;
you were a mystery

that it was wrong

for you to say you liked me, so soon
just because i brought you cookies
just because i did; i must have been so good
at falling in love that you thought
you were too

II. THE FALLING APART

i should have known

when you’d say you love me
but i’d find myself alone,
when i’m blue, when i’m in tears,
and you search for words
and come up empty

that it was wrong

except i’d gotten so used to it,
to making excuses, to finding comfort
in what you offered, to convincing myself
it meant more

III. THE HOLDING ON ANYWAY*

i should have known

when i was too afraid to be honest; i knew
the hurt my words would cause; i knew
they could never be taken back, and that
we would both be left hollow

that it was wrong*

if i ever hurt you i would have had to be
broken myself, shattered beyond repair; and
the bullet i would use to shoot you were the
pieces of metal i dug from my own heart
with shaking hands

i should have known
that it was wrong
and i did,

but i thought that if i kept quiet you would
never notice and i would rather live with you like
this, because you disable the ticking time bomb
of my heart and in its place a dull ache,
throbbing instead of beating, and because
if you left, *no one would care if i exploded

i'm getting ahead of myself and i feel nostalgic about everything already. i swear i was just thirteen yesterday. then i fell in love and i broke my own heart and fell in love again, got caught in the end. all of it just yesterday. some of it just feels like a dream.

and i woke up like this, almost eighteen. with a belly full of worries, a heart tripping on hope, and ribcage heaving with sighs. but still we persist. no matter that i hold my head in my hands or hide behind my hair a lot of the time. no matter that i am becoming afraid to speak. no matter that i think i want to cry all the time. and i don't even try to tell anyone anymore.

but just yesterday i was a kid and i'd never truly known what afraid meant. i never used the words heavy, burden, weight. now they're always on the tip of my tongue when i taste the air and try to gauge how i'm feeling. i open my clenched fists and think, pain.

what did i do? what changed yesterday? i remember at one point i learned to take a blade to my skin. at one point i learned to change my face. i learned to stop eating. i remember making so many promises. that if lord would grant me this, i would be glad. that's it, i would say. i would not ask for more. i would not need anything else. i think maybe i never needed more in the first place.

what have i done? if i could go back, what would it take to save myself? did i ask for the wrong things? had i worded my prayers differently, would i be someone else? what is this story? could i be doomed before i even begin? i don't miss who i was yesterday.  yesterday, she wanted to be who i am today. i don't like who i am today. i don't know if that will change when i wake up tomorrow, or in a few years.

maybe everything will be much the same but i won't know my heart again. i'll be wondering what was on my mind then. and it's just this: i am scared, cold, alone, and sorry for the choices i have made which led us to this place. i think i am weaker now than i have ever been, and it makes me ashamed.

my first love
he kissed the hickeys and the bruises and all the parts of me that only he had ever touched and said, this makes you mine.

my second love*
he taught me you can still feel pleasure when your heart is broken. pleasure so intense, i still dream about his hands on me sometimes. he knew me no further than my body, but,* oh god, *he knew my body.

12:34 AM  — *I scream “I love myself” over and over in my head, whisper “I don’t need you,” even as my eyes are drawn to my slim wrists and I think about how mirrors are glass, and, oh, what I could do with the shards.

pisces:* what is it about love that always has you in doubt? really, whose feelings are you unsure about? his or yours? and tell me—will it ever be enough?

You're turning eighteen.

I know you think it's a big deal, and well, yes, you should celebrate it. But for the most part, things are still the same and change is yet to come. You will wake up still with acne scars. You will wake up still with painful memories carved into your thighs. You will remember that once it wasn't like this and you will have the vague sense that even what you have now will soon no longer be.

Rejoice in the fleeting nature of this moment, with its infinitesimal relevance and infinite beauty. You live here in this ever-changing space; nothing stays the same and you let yourself be carried from day to day. You drift. You watch the landscape of your heart slowly change. Sometimes the sun is creeping over the horizon and the sky is painted in your favorite colors. Sometimes you watch the sky shed tears and apologize for its mistakes. Sometimes you feel filled up with it.

You're turning eighteen. You're scared. And no, you will not wake up entirely different. You will have to keep being alive without knowing what it means. You will still have to be alone. This is your body. This is your soul. This is your brain; these are the demons you've created, monsters you've fed. This is your heart; these are the cracks, these are the bruises which are still tender, still blue.

If you listen closely, it is still in pain, fighting to beat each second. It remembers how you kicked and screamed and threatened to hit it, beat it to a ****** pulp, if it refused to give up on its own, to just stop, to pack its bags and leave behind a sunken, shriveled mess. You remember you were wearing tennis shoes and holding a baseball bat.

Sometimes, inside you, there are thunderstorms no one can tell are brewing. It's just the weather. Tell yourself that. It's something you will have to put up with and make adjustments for every day of your life. So pack an umbrella, buy pink rain boots and a matching polka dot rain coat, if you want. Bandage your heart better, prop it up with stilts, and whisper good things to it sometimes.

Say you've made it this far.

loud music, karaoke,
barbecue on the balcony,
smirnoffs and local beers,

zoom in on me holding
the mic, trying to have
a good time.

watch as everyone
loses themselves or falls
apart, some into laughter,

others into tears. it's time
to leave and i'm wondering
why do boys only call me

pretty when they're drunk?
they wrap their arms around
me and whisper in my ear,

tell me i'm special when
i've never felt less. it's hard
to be believable with alcohol

on your breath. so i just fall
into bed, more alone than
exhausted.

This year:*

(for those with brave hearts)
I hope you find the strength to make your choices and fight for the life that you want.
I hope you look up from all your hard work and realize how much you've grown.
I hope you find yourself saved sometimes.
I hope you find time to get lost, in your head, in the wilderness, to explore forests, and gaze into rivers.
I hope you find your best self looking back at you. I hope you know you're always growing.
I hope you feel challenged.
I hope you never stop believing in the view from the top of the mountain.
I hope you get there. I hope you find it was worth it.

(for the softhearted)
I hope you find more time to laugh.
With your friends, at yourself, or at the world for ever thinking it could hurt you.
I hope you can take the pain and say "thank you."
i hope you realize it has only made you all the more good, all the more beautiful.
I hope you start looking less at the mirror, start believing more in who you are in other people's eyes, what you know you are in your heart.
I hope life gets sweeter, hope you wake up with your head in the clouds, your soul flying.
I hope you finally find what you're looking for.
I hope you find yourself smiling.

(for those with big hearts)
i hope you realize how important you are, how you make people feel appreciated and loved.
i hope you realize that the world wouldn't be the same if you weren't trying so hard to make it a better place.
i hope the world tucks you into bed, proud of its little soldier.
i hope you appreciate yourself for your efforts.
i hope you never get tired of being a champion of the things people say no longer exist - so much kindness, goodness, love, peace.
i hope that you find fulfillment in the little things because sometimes, that's all we get.
little things like knowing you made someone smile, or that the people you love are doing fine, doing better.
i hope you realize that's all you need.
i hope your heart is proud of itself.
i hope the love that burns in you always keeps you warm.

(for the fainthearted)*
I hope you realize there's so much more to your life than you thought there was.
I hope you find moments that make your breath catch, a million things to marvel at.
I hope life surprises you. I hope you surprise yourself.
I hope you find your horizons expanding, and see that it's not as bad as you thought.
I hope your dreams take you places; I hope you travel paths that you never knew existed, but where you feel you belong.
I hope you discover your longings, what your heart would sing for, what you didn't know you wanted all along.
I hope you get up and chase it.

the moon’s a cradle
for lonely souls. gracious night,
slightly cold. the stars
are hung for all the children
who need to find a way home.

all i know of debt
is that my sins have
been paid for

and guilt
is a heavy burden

when i look
at my empty hands,
i do not know
what to give back

when i look
at the world, i marvel
at the magnitude
of what i owe

so much so
that i kneel

before you
and forget
how to stand

you make me wish
i weren't this sad,
this empty.

you make me feel
like i could have loved,
i could have laughed,
i could have smiled
like you in the sunshine.

you make me wish
i weren't made
of pastel browns
and muted blues.

so i could
fit into your
technicolor life
with you.

you make me believe
i can step into your world
when you take my hand.

you make me
forget my chains.

but i'm ******* anyway.

i'd drive you wherever you want to go, take you out to see sunsets on the open road. bring along your favorite blanket, wrap you in it. start the car and keep going until the gas runs out.

glance over at you, with the wind blowing your hair in your face. my heart skips beats and starts to dance. you look so beautiful and calm. my soul has always ached for yours.

we're stuck at the side of the road, and you laugh, and it's like the first time i've ever heard that. you step out with your bare shoulders and feet, pull me out from the driver's side, and onto the hood of the car.

we sit there comfortably, looking up at the stars. you rest your head against my chest; our bodies are close and i can feel you breathing. i remember the first time we ever dreamed together, how eventually we realized what we wanted was each other.

i let you rest against me like that, thinking you're like one of those precious stars, twinkling above us. i saw how you shined and i swore i'd always protect that light; your bright, iridescent soul.

by pretending I am more than I let on,
to like myself more,
to be able to forgive my weaknesses;
by pretending I am normal;
by pretending I am special;
sometimes there is pain, too much of it.
                sometimes I numb the pain.
                sometimes I worsen it,
                sometimes forget about it.
I smile a lot, even when I don’t feel like it;
by forgetting to cry;
by allowing myself to feel good enough;
by thinking I’m worthy;
by telling others I love them,
                when I am not brave enough,
                caring enough,
                too self-absorbed, to love.
by thinking that I will ever change;
by thinking that I will never change;
by giving up on myself;
by still hoping.
because I cannot lie to myself.
because I do not even know who I am.
because I’m trying
                  to become myself
                  and to get away from myself,
                  always at the same time.

i regret being alive
at seven every morning
on the dot, without a doubt,

when i know
i'm going to be
late for class,

with my english teacher,
who thinks i'm good for nothing;
and my mother

will get called to school,
if it happens
one more time,

and i'm not tired.
i simply want
to tear my hair out,

and
scream,
endlessly.

i regret being alive
when i wake
with a splitting headache,

the million alarms
still ringing
in my head,

all of which i turned off
so i could sleep
through them

without doing
my homework.
and i don't want to cry.

i just want to live in hawaii,
beside the beach,
like a hippie.

another day
of not raising my hand in class,
because i'm shy;

another day
of my grades
getting lower.

i feed the fish
we keep alive
to experiment on.

i see a friend
and we're laughing
in the library.

i water the plants
in our garden
for agriculture class.

sure, i'm tired,
but i'm kind of
happy.

the world gets dark for everybody
i’ve been realizing that these past couple of nights,
walking across the football field, getting into the car,
on the way home.

but since you entered my life,
just this wednesday,
and we’ve been talking and laughing
in the bright kitchen,
sharing apples past midnight,
like we’re not tired of the world,

i realized that i was wrong.

for some people, the lights stay on.

it may not look like it, but i am trying very hard.
you think i’m bad because i’m late to class even though
you don’t know why. look at my essays like you know
what grade they’re going to get, when you haven’t even
read them yet. you think because my quiz scores aren’t
perfect that i don’t understand.

but people have different capabilities;
maybe i’m not where i’m supposed to be,
and i need you to stop judging me for that.
all people ever see is how it looks like;
you’re never going to understand if you don’t try.

i haven’t slept right since school started, trying to solve
math problems which don’t seem to make sense. i read
the textbook before i was asked; did every single thing i
was supposed to. it’s crazy. it meant waking up at dawn
after sleeping at two in the morning.

you don’t know how it feels when your best is never
enough, and you have no idea how hard it is to keep
doing that, to keep trying anyway.
you don’t know how often we break.
i have learned to count myself strong, not because i win my
battles, but just because i face them.

we learn to compromise, sacrifice. i don’t have poems
in my head anymore (it’s a mess in there), and i don’t
have the energy to play sports. i don’t see my friends
except in the corridors, all in a rush to get somewhere.

we get no credit, and all the shame. our stories don’t
get told; they’re not the ones where people clap at the
end. we are neglected, felt sorry for, or hated. we are
spectacular at failing to amaze.

we have learned to cheer for ourselves because no one
else will. learned to act like it’s not a problem, that
coffee is your best friend, and you spend nights
studying, just to get lower scores than the rest of them.

tell yourself you’re not tired even when the minute you
start to rest you feel like you’re collapsing. always feel
like crying but you stop yourself; who cares if you’re
exhausted? you still have to finish those papers; you still
have to answer those tests.

what does any of it mean? why am i graded with a C or
a D? are they telling me i will not lead a good life, that i
am doomed already? my story has not started and no, my
fate will not be decided like this. you cannot pass
judgments on my character based on numbers on a paper.

i am more than all these requirements that never end. i
am the work i put into them. so instead of looking down on
me, let us carry ourselves with some dignity. after all, it’s not
a game; it’s not a race. we’re all stuck in the same place. and
the world is tough for everyone, regardless of our “grades.”

I.** That night, I placed a pillow over my head; I dreamt that I was dead. I had cut my wrists over the bathroom sink. I was laying down on the floor. On the bulge of my stomach, written in blood were the words: "I feel better now." Over by the side, in blood too, the wall proclaimed: "This is my version of okay."

II. I dreamt of going to school on Monday and spending my lunchbreak crying in the bathroom. Hiding in the library when I'm full of tears, showing up to class empty. Seventeen is hard. Life is hard. Tell me what you wish for me. (I don't like going to bed sad.)

III. It's so strange that I still feel so alone, maybe worse than before. I am tired of falling apart; I will try holding myself together. Like a scarecrow, mummy, dandelion puff. I will not fall just so I don't have to pick myself up again.

IV. Give me a reason to surrender, or a viable way out of this mess. I don't want to break my heart, or anyone's. I just want to stop hurting. (I knew it wasn't going to be a good year.)

V. I told you "no promises" because I don't need to promise. I have no control when it comes to you. I'm stuck with this overpowering love. I'd drive myself crazy missing you. I'd forget to be happy in the search for you. I promise I won't stop loving you; I can't promise I'll survive it.

It's been a while since I've tried writing the loneliness out of my soul.
but how do I stop feeling so alone?
can I cage up the feeling somewhere away from my bones
so I can breathe easy again without the voice in my head saying
"you don't deserve to be loved" and "you'll never have anyone to hold"
because it's true, and i feel bad when i look at you,
and when i hold you my hands are full of apologies,
selfishly not wanting to be empty, but in the end we let go.
we always let go and i'm always alone and i want to be free
of wanting to be otherwise. i want to stop being so restless on my own at night,
pleading with whoever's on the moon to give me someone too,
hoping for friends and for something more and for love that will forgive me for wanting it too much,
for desiring what i don't deserve, for a soft voice that will say, "it's okay. i want to love you anyway."
but i'll settle for nights that don't feel so cold; i just want to feel okay on my own,
no tears slipping down my cheeks when all i want is to sleep.
i want to stop feeling empty, i wish my bones would know they're home -
i am my own safe place. i want to be alright. at night i clutch a pillow to my chest so tight
it's like i am trying to squeeze my heart numb.

Imagine apologizing for all the ways you were never enough.
Knowing you would never be forgiven.
Imagine the torture.
Imagine the curse.

Having a boy love you.
Wondering when he would tell you it was a lie.
Imagine how the sweetness would make you cry.
Imagine never knowing.

What kind of a life is that?

Consider the blood of people trying to touch.
Consider the cruelty of being different.
Consider the confusion.

Consider everything not said.
Paper airplanes that fly through the air for mere seconds.
Consider people’s hopes.

Consider your heart beating inches from mine.
Consider truth. Consider truth.
Consider what could be between two people. Shudder.

Consider the distance.
Consider the barricades, challenges.
Consider the fear.

Imagine mapping a way
through the heart.

If you remember how it felt
to dream of her at night, then you remember me -
The love you lost and couldn't keep.
The first time you looked into her eyes
and realized you were happy;
to the girl you thought you would marry.

Do you remember how it felt
to have her near, not yours to touch
Do you remember feeling everything so much?
Because first love is always an only.

If you remember how it felt to cry at night,
then you remember me.
You thought nothing could ever hurt you
that deeply. Your heart so brave and clumsy,
so sorry for itself. You belonged to someone else.

And yet look back and remember,
that girl made you less scared. You took risks
and you learned, and you grew,
and it hurt; it was the first -
the love you lost and couldn't forget.

The girl who went and changed
everything, the light of your world,
the love that made you believe
in heaven, 'cause she was an angel on earth

Though in the end she saw you
as nothing more than a friend,
you loved once, and you will love again.

I promise the world isn’t as big as you think; there’s a safe place almost everywhere you go. And if you need to drop anchor, I would be the happiest shore. The sea doesn’t need anymore of your tears, but I would be happy to catch them, in the fabric of my cotton shirt, holding you against me. I love you and I want you to be okay. *Please always know that you can come home.

You are a continental force. You are something to be reckoned with. You are a wild thing. You are a dust storm, made of the ashes after all that’s been said and done. You are a valley of regrets that has learned to laugh.  You are what rose from everything that’s fallen. You were not meant to be left alone.

My darling,
For 2016:

1.)  I hope you know you have nothing to prove.
2.)  Please stop wanting to end life early. Every sunrise is made for you. Realize that every night the moon kisses you good night and the stars ask that you choose to stay.
3.)  I hope you find time to be more grateful.
4.)  I hope the world surprises you with beautiful things in return. I hope what is normal never becomes boring to you, and you always see things with a sense of wonder. I hope you still believe in magic.
5.)  If it’s past midnight and you’re still awake for no reason, go to sleep. Rest. Clear your head. You will have more strength tomorrow.
6.)  Stop hiding behind your sadness. Wipe your tears, let it go. Learn how to be alone without hurting.
7.)  Learn to actually be there for people. You will be amazed how good real companionship feels. Believe me, you don’t appreciate your friends enough. Show them. Share your life with them. Be happy together.
8.)  Cherish that guy. He loves you; stop doubting it. Be there for him, not because he needs you, but because that’s where you want to be. Protect each other.
9.)  I think you already know who you are, deep inside. And it’s not how you think of yourself on a bad day; it’s not how greatly others think of you. You’re confused now but you’re trying. One day you will be greater than all of this, and you won’t even realize it.
10.)  I hope this is the year you become everything you want to be, but with a heart like yours, you will always want more: to do more good in the world; to be better, kinder; love deeper, love truly. Despite your struggle, I hope you realize you’re already all you must be.
11.)  Continue to live in the best way you know how.

'I think I am fine' — repeat as you grow surer and surer.

1.) That the world will not end.
2.) That you will be laughing, if it does.
3.) That you are indeed fine,

even if you are weeping, even if you are sure the inky black sky is about to fall through; this is not the house you grew up in, here are not your parents, and this time you can take care of yourself. Start with empty lungs in an empty bedroom and shaky breaths. Start with uncertain footsteps. I told you, that is not the earth shaking. Not today. Instead, what if i said it was something new growing inside you?  Something green, something leafy. rearranging your insides, finding space. Let the air in, let it rattle your caged heart like a breeze will tussle with an open window. Pause. This is breathing. Next is laughing. Back to crying... but without the shrieks. Start with quickly getting up and move on to slowly getting better. Start with a splash of water, your toes on the sand on the beach again. Touch your tears that taste like saltwater. I am going to be fine, I know. Tomorrow I will be me again (the me i wanna be). Tomorrow. A day in a string of neverending tomorrows.

I

And I don't know what they mean,
by not falling at your feet,
and kissing your wounds
every time, with apologies.

You learned
to run until your legs give,
and they never do.
You're still running.

I've watched you

pick yourself up,
dust yourself off,
and sigh, enough times.
It's just another scratch.

The world can't break you until
it does. God knows
they've had enough chances.

God knows you've been waiting.


II**

You're hardened;
you expect nothing, await
only one thing.

Come out of fights,
doubled up but breathing.

You don't know why your bones
don't break, just as easily
as promises have.

When was the last time
you were offered a hand?
When you stopped looking into
people's eyes

knowing you weren't going to find anything
There's nothing for you here.

And maybe every wound,
brings you that much closer
to leaving.

You make me think of mornings and you remind me of things that I'd lost, without it hurting.*

(A)

She
We sit at coffee tables and look at each other. My gaze on yours is heavy. You never seem as troubled as I feel. If the world were a river, and we stood in the middle, you were the one who went with the flow, and you changed it, to move wherever you wanted to go, knowing all along that you could. I turn my back on the current, weak and shuddering as it rushes towards me, past me. I like the smile on your face, the fact that you want to be my boat.


(B)

He
We sit in the kitchen; it's bathed in the morning glow. Your eyes are gently closed, palms cupping a coffee mug, held to your lips. We are kept warm this moment in time, while the curtain gently flutters in the morning breeze. I don't know what to make of you. The way you always seem suffused with light. You bring me my day and my night; and the brightest I have ever seen the moon is in your eyes.


(C)

She
You're like evening gowns and the words 'nothing to worry about'. Tears of joy when all your life you have been taught to pray, but never with the certainty that your prayers would be granted; tears of joy when after all these years you got what you were looking for anyway. I still kneel at the foot of the bed we joyfully tumble into each night. My lips, so used to smiling, since you came, repeat 'thanks,' softly, certainly.

(D)

He
I think you are the chance I was given to do everything over again. You found me in troubled spirits and I love you in good cheer. We started with nothing, a thousand miles apart, and then I found you (and the other way around) and together we found: this round table made of wood, these throw pillows, a sofa. Our friends say it's a start, but you tuck your head against my chest, with a knowing smile, and whisper: *"It's every happy ending I could have ever imagined."

and maybe this is the way
i’ll learn to love again
through fogged-up glasses,
the secrets the wind tell.

when it’s raining outside
(this month, it has been)
when i’m camped out
on my bedroom floor,
i want to be found, but not now.

not by you.
not when i don’t know what i want to do,
yet.

the secrets the wind carries away.
the lifting of the
weight.

listening to mr brightside feeling really tired
what can i do when we’re falling apart at the seams
again? with loud sighs, collapsing into beds. rag dolls
dancing, in fading yellow light. lying in the dark,
staring at our reflections
in black windows, what are we
coming to. it’ll be okay as long as—in your eyes: me,
in my hands: you. are we just pretending we don’t feel lonely?
i;m scared. you took your needle and your thread and you put it through
my little finger, ‘pinkie promise’ you whispered
ghost from a future nightmare, i’m faithful to you.

softly beating
a soul that refuses to fold
smiles that crumple, smiles
that are too bold

a weak pass, an afternoon
nap, a series of near-collapses

translucent pink curtains

eyelids that don't keep out the light;
eyelids that don't keep in the
dark
night

i practice pulling my bones, at the joints,
little bones out of bigger bones
i practice breaking my knuckles
pulling muscles
pitching forward onto dead earth.

i practice getting myself out of scrapes
even if it leaves me a little less whole
as a person. a ****** laughing mess.
i practice hurtling towards the sun,

i throw myself at you. quickly,
you recoil. you sputter. you spit.
we are flames,
burning out.
we are flames.

the sky is a warm blanket, yet we
are inconsolable. wrapped and untouchable,
cloaked in isolation
desolation; this is not about crying anymore.
this is not about blood.
this is about ragged breaths, open pores,
mudstains. muddied legs wrapped up in pink
and white and flowered sheets. this is
about needing more. this is about
the hopelessness of the
search, despite and because of
the ceaselessness of the fight.

We will not be falling down anymore,
though our limbs turn jelly: this is about iron
spines. This isn't about eyes. This isn't about
weakness. This is about outshining the sun,
about the unflinching--
not wincing in the face of the truth.
This is not about invincibility:
this is
about

invulnerability.

Maybe love is* I wonder who you were when I didn't know you yet. I want to see how you first came to know the world and the ways the world tried to teach you that it loved you. I want to know if it hurt, and how, and how sweet.

I wonder who you will be when you reach your best, a person I haven't met yet. I wonder how you will love, and how you will hurt, and how you will learn. I want to see your sad smile, your tears, your broken heart; the days that feel strange, I want to be a witness to. I want to cry for you; I want to know you that well. I want your hurt to lie closer to my heart than my own. I want my heart to be jumping out of my chest into your hands. I don't need 'safe'. I need right.

And honestly there's no telling what that means.
I want you to lie beside me, in bed at night. I want each of us to think our own hands cruel, for the possibility that one of us might ever hurt the other. I don't trust my hands, my heart, my lips, my body to ever love you right. But let me tell you at my simplest, that I love you with the most truth a human soul can offer.

That when you are near or when you are far, I love you at the center of my being. That I always need you. That everything that hurts, hurts twice more when you aren't there to lift me from it.

Lift me from my reverie, my dizzy spell. That when your hand isn't in mine, I am always waiting for you. But when we are apart, never mind what is going on in my heart... I smile at the thought of your smile, cherish whatever is making you happy. Maybe it's when you're in line with the groceries, or with the sunlight slanting across your face. You are my every joy, my only, my absolute, my everyday prayer.

if you are the first boy to love me* say, i am sorry you didn’t have anyone there when you were young. that the words you always needed to hear were so long in coming. i don’t believe no one wanted to hold you in their arms before, i bet they loved you but couldn’t show it. like you made their breath catch so they left your hands shaking, afraid to love the girl whose emotions ran deep like a well, whose heart was wide and open, who would come to know them better than themselves; afraid to let you in.

You were a girl they weren’t ready for but I, I will not be the same kind of foolish. I’ve been wanting to give you roses for the day you turned sixteen, but I can’t. Maybe in another life if I will be so blessed, younger we will meet again. For now instead I will plant you a whole garden. Am I a godsend? Was I what He intended for you? I have no idea but, you have been alone for so long it’s all your heart remembers. I know you are used to it, but I want to love you, and I will, for as long as you will let me. More than ‘i love you’, you are my life now, and i will plant new flowers every day, and we will water them together.

i.
i don’t want to cry* on my birthday but here we go again, thinking ‘god, it’s a mistake,’ is a mistake. god is a mistake? i’m tired; i come from the far-reaching corners of your heart and in front of you now i have to say, i found i didn’t belong there. the journey has tattered my clothes, and my head hangs low but i’m ready, papa. i’m ready for the next one. journeys that will make me better, better journeys ahead.

ii.
i will be okay; it’s not that hard. i will let my head go under the waves sometimes. i will let my hands fall. i will hold my breath but no one will see the struggle. let me be alone, i will be fine. i want to go deep sea diving with my broken pieces. —i’m lying, i’m not fine. i want to be in danger, i want to be uncertain and laugh.

iii.
tell god i’ve always been wanting to die young. he knows what ive prayed for. pray he knows what he’s doing. don’t want to get into the habit of hurting people but each year the list gets longer and as i grow taller does my heart get smaller to make room for all the stars to grow again. reborn in my lungs in my chest, a supernova. leave me hacking with a cough, heaving. give me the pain i feared when i was small, and when i am broken pour my night sky soul into space.

*give me back the universe.

Wouldn't you love to see
An eagle on a park bench?

He came down because
he didn't want to be alone;
High up in the skies he was alone.
The eagle wept because
he was afraid to fall.
High up in the clouds with everyone below
there would be no one to catch him.
He knew his wings weren't as strong,
as they said. The only thing holding him
together is resolve. Wings break
the same as hearts,
So he would follow his tears down
as they fell.
To the park bench
on a sunny day.

pisces:
stop claiming you are weak. it doesn't come down to strength,
it comes down to self-discipline.it comes down to
there should've been something there (love),, every time he looked
at you, every time he needed you to hold
him. you scorned him, when you were both on the floor but it showed
on his face more. it comes down to
you left

his body wracked with sobs, gasping for breath because he didn't think you
would. everyone believes you when you say you love
them except after a while they don't. he was spellbound and starstruck
and delusional. everyone thinks you are kind. but there are five people
who might be able to tell how you are cruel
and self-absorbed when you are bored. you tire of your toys

and the people who fell for you first got the worst of it. when you know
you;ve got it you don;t want it anymore. so you pretend to cry,
tell everyone youve never been loved back. but get a grip on your head
and your heart, pisces, if you really want everything to stop
falling apart. surrender that cruel magic of yours, have more truth;
puke out the pain you've enjoyed, [give up] the shallow joys for profound
ones. pick your soul up off the floor. beat some sense into it.

go out there with everything in the right place and when you know want
to do, go do it.

(prologue.)

The night was so full of stars that it seemed to hold all the universe. But she knew it didn’t. He did. They walked on a moonlit meadow up above the world and he was a pretty boy and she was empty of breath, all bright eyes and no substance.

If he opened his mouth, galaxies would come spilling out and she would lap it up for want of something in her system, and realize only too late the existence of voids, the presence of black holes. That in all good, there is something not-so. And in all bad, there is reason to laugh.

With his gait graceful and her gaze far, if the observer were to stand on a hill across, they would make for lovely twin fairies. But their footsteps are heavy: feet mired in gravity and carrying weight, heads and minds suspended like heavenly bodies, hearts studded with stars that shine like heaven and burn like hell. Yes, their footsteps are too heavy and everything is real.

                                                                                          
Or is it? This night and this sky—whatever it may be, magnificence or disappointment—does not hold all the universe.

                                                                                                                      
(i.)

The wind rustled the leaves of a nearby tree and the grass came to softly tickle their feet. He was looking hard at her with his soft eyes but saying nothing. She sighed, avoided his gaze, and asked a bit wearily, “What is it? Why the silence?”

“I’m trying to show you,” he said patiently. “You listen to too much music to know that this is magic.” The pale skin of his eyelids closed themselves against his bright green eyes. He stretched out on the grass beside her slumped form and when he was there, felt for where her hand lay, absently pulling at a blade of grass. He ran his thumb along the back of it and said, “I’ll tell you what I’m thinking. The trees, the leaves, the grass, and the wind. The sight of you. The sight of you against the sky. The twinkling silence of a breath being held and the heartbeat that quickens and the stars that give their light just a bit brighter before the second ends. It could last for hours, you know, but when it’s gone, it’ll always feel like just a second.” Her left hand felt cool where his hand had stopped being present. She began to pull at another poor blade of grass. He’d turned to look at her, her back still to him, against which her hair lay, long, a little black mixed in with the colors of the night. “We’ll never have this moment again. You know.”

it’s okay i’ll be
a different me when
tomorrow comes

i’m turning a year older

and here’s to hoping
that the extra number
will mean i’m stronger;
that 40-odd push-ups
won’t make my muscles
ache for much longer

and a shoutout to my blind spot
the weakest muscle
according to my calculations
that it quickens its palpitations
when a boy smiles

but i’m turning fifteen in
fifteen days and in
fifteen ways i will always
be alone

on my own two feet

but here’s to hoping you will
hold my hand and
be a receptacle of hugs
and tired sighs and puppy eyes
that die

i will be 15 and my heart has been
torn since 13.
i will never
get tired of fixing it up
i will never
give myself up

young but not that young
and old
old, old, old

my hands are threaded thickly
with veins
and my eyes are shrouded
with thick lenses
but there is no wall between me and the world
and the thinnest of spaces between
our shoulders
my heart is protected by a plastic bubble

but this will be the year i swim the sea

to give it all my tears
to let the salt in all my wounds
to feel the pain
to know i’m stronger

to not let anything hinder me

i only have old poems & watercolors
and it’s not going to be enough
it wasn’t enough when i had new poems
and your face to paint

i gave you blue eyes to see the world out of
and you spared it a glance
said it wasn’t

your shade

i said i had time to spare
but you had already picked up your handbag

i wrote about everything you said
i didn’t have much to go on

i got myself pastels, and pencils,
and everything in between

you can always come back
they’re all named after you

is my blood
the right shade?

11.09.13; 11:48 PM

The house going to sleep is a matter of sounds fading, tap-dancing one after the other into oblivion. I know it’s just me when gone are the television sounds, the whir of electric fans, fingers tapping on the keyboard when I pass by your room, the air-conditioner hum when I pass by our mother’s, gone are all the reminders of life. The bags under my eyes are unwanted proof. By 12, my nail beds are bleeding and I am blinking at a million open tabs so I don’t think of you. At 1 am, there are gaps in my soul and I can feel the bitterness of a smile that may be mine, or perhaps yours (the one you never gave me), the saltiness of tears that may or may not come out. Last is when at 2 am I think I hear floorboards creaking and there are shadows in the kitchen that cannot be accounted for, my fear is limited where loneliness is not. my soul longs to be gazed upon, for a conversation to be begun, on the topic of truth and the depth of the ocean.

I am selling myself to death because life will not take me.

11.09.13; 11 PM

I just want to make up for all the good I haven’t done and whatever bad I did do while trying to be happy, then I want to disappear. I wish no one would ever have to feel this alone.

When I go, I will find it.

There is nothing to forgive. Things will be better from now on.

09.01.13

I know the likelihood of me getting asked to prom measures up to the likelihood of anyone actually using the white crayon in the Crayola box. I am going to be the girl that’s not even on any guy’s Plan B.

And that would be totally cool except I’m sad.

I am shaking my head at God and how he totally owes me one.

Prom is supposed to be like, the fairytale moment! I’ve been dreaming of princes and ballrooms and dancing and romance and magic and love… probably since I was conceived. How could you even let the dreamer girl who wanted to be a princess nurture five hundred layers of beautiful only to coat her with thick paint in the shade called “ugly”? (Trivia: That drives boys away.)

So maybe I still made believe I was a princess. But often enough, the mirror reflects the facade, when I’m expecting it to hold my heart. It gets to a point that you just have to let go.

I have theories. I used to despair and say that I was in the wrong storybook. What a life for such a girl. But it happens that romantics don’t have anyone to hold. (Thus the teddy bears, I suppose. Do you know how hard I hug those? I am pathetic.) My second theory, is maybe I’ve been looking from the wrong perspective. Maybe my life isn’t going to be a fairytale in the way I expect. How about a modernized version or something?

It’s becoming obvious that I don’t really have any ideas.

Except for one last.
Maybe there’s a plot twist?

Maybe there’s a plot twist.

08.23.13; 1 AM

And do you know, that night I went to bed thinking “What if four years from now I still like him?” The possibility haunts.

It’s been a year and fortysome poems since you. It’s been fiftysome conversations that I wasn’t the one to start. It’s been one birthday. And I carefully avoided greeting you.

You don’t know, you broke my heart. And then you made me trip over it. Maybe I bumped my head and got confused. Maybe I’m still on my knees, picking up pieces. Forty poems since you and only three were written without thought of you; you stained my fingers and you’re always seeping out. Fifty conversations which you began, but you’re always ending them; maybe I still want a thousand more.

I didn’t greet you because you greeted me late… Do you know, that hurt, but I almost understand now that you don’t care. And I cried a lot because you don’t care. I am so stupid though, because, I do. I miss you.

and if through the breath released in smoke
someone’s poison lips let out words that come
to mess up your breathing, if you
grapple with your feelings, don’t look
at your skin until you can brush
the sting of their gazes away:
it won’t last unless you let it
form thunderclouds above your heart
then it will tear you apart

when you pick up that guitar again, or run
your thumb along the grooves of your pen,
pluck a tune, strum a melody
begin a paragraph with ‘I love myself’
and pour it out until you are whole again
do what you love and never stop,
not for or because of any soul, other than your own

and about the people who have hurt you, if they
are around and you feel down and I am not close by:
lift your chin a little ways, and walk up high -
walk straight, keeping your gaze far away
do not act the winner nor the loser,
just close the window on the rain
when you don’t want a damp blanket.
when the rain stops, I will reopen them
and the starlight will fall upon your sleeping figure
(tired lines, thin bones, tiny heart)
one bright light for every time you’ve ever felt alone

we are no good for each other
spamming me "hello" won't get anything done
it's not nearly time to run
away yet, sweetie, you want to die
so do I, but we're going to different places
you don't even believe in the sky
and I have hung myself from it

I am sorry if I draped myself in faerie lights
and in that moment you saw me with your eyes
because I am actually not so bright
instead of brimming and spilling over with love
the layers of my skin is a monster I want to fight
a container I want to break and shatter in the night
I am under the surface, and it is difficult to breathe

meanwhile I am starting to think
you just want to be loved and it grinds on my
conscience that I can't give you that but why

are you so angry? I wanted to fix you and
I had intended to but you don't stay in one place
stop staring at my face like you're going to eat me
don't raise your voice at me, I frighten easily
your eyes are so dark, when I look at you I feel
like I'm trapped and never getting out
why are you so angry? I can't touch you
and not blow up myself, when I say

you make it hard for me to breathe,
that's a bad thing,

and we are no good for each other

can't say if this silence is better than words that hurt
at least then I knew where I stood with myself
now whenever I speak i'm not sure exactly
what's going to come out of these lips
because it transforms somewhere between my head
and the fact that I can't connect with my heart anymore
I hear sounds but where's my voice
I think I've figured out what it's like to be lost

this silence could pass for serenity but i'm tired of that
you know I always thought I could pass for happy
watch it because lying to yourself is pretty tricky
I swear the ground fell out from under my feet
and when I found myself I was staring into the eyes of a monster
and the monster was me
I've found you can run out of love and you can run out of life
when you're running away from it
you can run out of words when you're using them wrong
you can run out of songs when you never really listened
I've been running from darkness since I found out I'm full of it
It's really quiet
and I'm really lost