It's been one hundred and twenty days since you left
But today
I smelled you
Opened up one of your dresser drawers
And smiled at its contents
Realizing
It must have been months since I'd opened this drawer
I pulled out a single blue t-shirt
You left behind
The only one
Out of the dozen others that you own
And stuffed into your seabag
You left this one behind
I held it up and remembered the countless nights I'd spent folding these shirts
Over and over again
I held it up and imagined you wearing it
And of course I had to,
I held it up to my face, closed my eyes, and then something incredible happened
I smelled you
You, not your shampoo or shower gel, not your deodorant or your cologne, not your laundry detergent, not even the boat smell that plagues half your wardrobe
I just smelled you
Something I haven't smelled in one hundred and twenty days
A scent I didn't forget,
But rather a memory I forgot that I remembered
Instantly it brings me back
Back to all the times I hugged you as you wore this very shirt (or the one hundred variations of it)
Back to all the nights I crawled into bed next to you and smelled this
Smelled you
Back to never thinking twice about this smell
Because it was normal, routine
It was you
Which means it was also me
It was nothing to drop to my knees and cry over
Nothing to thank god for
But that was one hundred and twenty days ago
And today
This shirt means everything to me

There are no more bad days.
There are moments
          of ingratitude
          of rage
          of self-pity
          of hatred.
Those do not last.
There are
          friends
          family
          caregivers
          kind strangers.
These are evergreens.
Bad moments need not
become bad days.
The song of life
plays on between them.

she gave me her nudes
she was bare
and naked
and so out
and open
and i willingly
accepted it
because it wasnt the nudes
that showed her body
the physical aspects
that made her beautiful
it was the words
she didnt choose
and the spontaneity
that left her
either from her lips
or her fingers
or ink

she was as bare
as her nudes
and i accepted
her for her.

She paints a pretty picture
she says the nicest things
outside she's always smiling
though demons live within.

She wears the latest fashion
Is surrounded by her friends
She goes to all the parties
but the torment never ends

She always feels so helpless
while alone beneath the stars
She paints a pretty picture
the girl with all the scars.