I like the way the sky smells in the summer
And your hand in my hair
I like coffee and cigarettes
And how the ashtray fills with our secrets
I like it rough
And every end of a good book
I like the greener side of happiness
And the way it was
I like a mystic sense of humor
And magic

I am from nowhere special.
I am from a small place.
I am from bonfires and intoxication.
I am from my parents.
I am from their love.
I am from their hate.
I am from a womb that later housed two others.
I am from lonliness and self-mutilation.
I am from Ramen and frozen pizzas.
I am from mental illness.
I am from coffee and cigarettes.
I am from Grandma's biscuits.
I am from laughter and too many tears.
I am from getting high on the roof.
I am from an altered state of mind.
I am from my mother.
I am from seeing the sky.
I am from hope of better things.
I am from the search of soul mates.
I am from me.

I can bottle up some sunshine
to better light your purgatory.  
I can write a happy ending
if you need one for your story.
I can offer a tender moment
and a chest to rest your head.
Or a gentle reassurance
that someone hears what you have said.
I could do more...
If you'd ask.

When I was in second grade a boy punched me
and I punched him back
until his nose bled on mulch

and ever since then I don’t chase boys
and I do not care for blonde hair anymore

when I was in second grade I would make
homes for fairies in the dirt using
moss and leaves and dandelion stems

when I was in second grade I had a house I could rattle around in
I could sulk like an angry ghost in a house built in 1867

I would wander around in the forest with two boys
I convinced them we should break into old houses
and our neighbors sheds

We created a world of green and vine and stumps
For Christmas one year we decorated a tree

We were the little ones who never wanted to go home
We called ourselves Peter Pan
Because we were never growing up

That was all before I moved
And the last day with them they crowned me Queen

I would climb on the roof at night
and feel the warmth of the sun still lingering there
and that was back when I was scared of what was in my closet

but since then I’ve befriended it

You know, I almost called the other night.
Almost.
I’d like to think that
you would’ve almost picked up,
and I would’ve almost said something.
It’s a good thing I’ve almost lost your number;
I could get lonely someday
and forget that you almost wanted to stay.
I forget a lot nowadays.
I almost called the other night, you know.
But I’ve learned that “almost”
only counts in “I love you’s”
and “goodbye’s”.
Maybe I’ll almost sleep tonight.
It’s strange that I keep dreaming
about the night we walked around the city.
I always end up on the park bench
by your house,
waiting.
I’ve almost stopped wishing you’d show up.