romanticizing life
relationships
men
individuals
collectively
stripped

you are no longer what you were meant to be
fulfilling
like a buffet
knowing when not to get overwhelmed with the choices
but be humbled
and honest
to tell yourself what you know you really want
what you really need
what's
satisfying.

now i'm not trying to make men analogous to food
but i guess i am.
my meal
doesn't serve the purpose of leaving the table
with my stomach bursting at the seams
left alone
with a food baby.

my meal
doesn't serve the purpose of not serving a purpose
there just to quench a craving
to lead you in which ever direction because you think you want all of this when
really it's just
you don't know
what you want
what's the purpose?

my meal
is supposed to humble me
serves the purpose of feeding me with a thousand suns of your soul
to warm me
in my mind
and my heart
my meal is relevant
to my context
to your context
it's goldy locks
it's not being afraid to make mistakes
to learn and grow
and change.

my meal is shared with my family
enjoyed and just another
enriching aroma that give us a reason
to be together
not to
"bring us closer than we already thought we were"
we are not
a romantic novel
my meal is not a romantic novel

i know i'm a college student
that meals don't always align correctly
that they are forgotten
but always on my mind
i'm gonna be
honest
honestly
i don't know what my meal should be
where it should come from
why i will choose it
wait
what?

yea,
i'm confused, too.
Gouda.
can i marry you?

maybe if we laced our fingers together and made wings out of our mistakes,
we could fly off together forgetting where we came from

or maybe
if we spoke even
allowing our words to curl around our naive bodies
of uncertainty and happiness
we could go somewhere.

or maybe if time allowed us
we could understand an ounce of how far our souls reached into the universe
eternally

or maybe if we both were ready
or maybe if i was ready
and you tried on more time
(you didn't have to stop after fifty)

or maybe
there's a reason we didn't work out
maybe
it was never a maybe
but a clear
defined
nahhhhhh.

your blood shot eyes
so red and round
their juicy plumpness compels me
to eat my baby tomatoes

the pungent smell
of your ***** second-hand smoke
fills me with desire
for some beef jerky

the sickly sight
of your slimy, greasy hair
leave me desperate with longing
for some succulent string cheese
when you scarf down your food
as if the world was ending
i can feel my partially digested turkey sandwich
make its way back up my throat
and spew out
all over your yogurt
ruining it

calculus.


(co-authored)

i like things in twos
because everyone does things
in threes
and i want to be "different"
makes me
the same

i like two because
it's the number of dashes i put in my facebook status
and not to mention the number of ellipses that end all my sentences
in twos

i like things in twos
because
it's not things in threes
because
things in three come from
the holy trinity
and the bible
and i'm sorry, but
i wasn't born christian like
99% of those who surround me

my feet move
in beats
of twos
when i walk
knowing that
i'm strong all by myself
don't need  NO man
to stand on my two
feet.

i like things in twos
because
i feel like my family has never been together long enough to be called four
or three
and not it's two
but soon to be one

i like things in two because
two is short
like the time i had with you
like the memories i have of you
like my memory of you
are short
father

two is
the number of eyes that look at me
and speak minutes of words
with one glance
the ones that
have watched me grow
and don't judge me
and
give me the space to be
not like her
or him
but me
even though i am both

those two eyes that sacrifice ten more minutes of sleep
to sit with me
on the couch
watching garbage television that she doesn't even like
but it means to
be next to me
and to remind me
that there will always be 2

because 1 and 1 is two
because two is just as lonely as one
because life still goes on
because i'm scared of one
yes,
i'm scared of one
because two is the number of seconds my heart beats before i realize i still need you
and two is the number of beats
that were two too many to be away from you
mother

i like two because
one is lonely
and i've felt lonely
but,
only the lonely you feel when you realize that
everyone
is lovely

breathe.

**** those twos.

sometimes i get lost in thoughts of you
don't exist.

i can't write a poem about you
not because i don't want to
but because
inevitably i will write a poem about me
i'm selfish
i don't want to get walked on
but all i want to do it give
and listen
and tell you about me so you'll see that i really do trust you
i just don't think you care sometimes
okay, most of the time
but i'm selfish
i like that you are distant a little
you seemed not to be attached
except i think you act how you feel
i, on the other hand
will bring it back to myself
selfishly lock up my instinctual expressions and phrases so i don't seem too attached, or clingy
and i'm not
only when i'm feeling vulnerable
but i don't want to let you walk all over me
like men apparently always do
even though i know better
walking together in relationship stance makes it look so easy
am i coming on too strong?
would you prefer i wasn't a groupie
i refuse to be a groupie
you're good at talking about you
once upon a time you asked about me and said little phrases to get my attention
are we beyond flirting?
did i not respond?
are you beyond that thought?
or are you realizing that doesn't woo me anymore than spending time conversing with me
am i being impatient?
things are fine
this is the long run
but it no longer feels like it
one interaction determines little
we're growing together
but sparks aren't flying
is that a problem?
if this is a kevin scenario
i'd wince
not cry
don't worry
you'll grow from here

i don't want to be another one of your messes that your best friend needs to clean up for you
i'd much rather be your friend

silently he snored
i noticed him laying
crampt
in the corner
full beard
tattered soul
the lights of the subway moving across his face to a steady rhythm
thump, thump
thump, thump
i was a visitor in his bedroom
his blanket of air wrapped him tightly
to wall his pillow
and my eyes a melody
of empathy
but not
of respect
of hope he'd find something better tomorrow
of a naive visitor
i was just a visitor

as the muffled fdsalg of the conductor slightly ruffled his blanket
we stopped moving
doors closed
still
it's cold
good midnight
the smell crept up to him and woke him of burning rubber
and i'm fearful
for you
for me
for us
this subway is a vessel
it shows no discrimination
and death would hit us all equally
but i'd want you to be alive
this is your home
not mine
i'm merely a visitor

i'm merely a visitor
judging you
writing your story for you
reading your feeling from your tired fact as if i know you
as if we go back to five minutes ago
without you speaking for you
i don't see you
i see your salt and peppa beard
your tattered clothes
your upgrade from pillow of wall to arm
your dark worn out skin
your eyes
i see
your eyes and they say
this is just another day

thump, thump
we move
to the rhythm of your breath
you blanketed me
thank you for warming me in your heart
involuntarily
i would give you a gift
but all i have is my complacency in my seat and the comfort of my hotel room at the next stop

but also because i'm a stranger
judging you
writing your life for you
reading your eyes
from mine
you have a voice
i'm just you observation
a stranger
meaningless
my pity would not last you more than second
it would hurt me to hear your
no, thank you
thank you for reminding me
there's life on the train ride
and it doesn't wear a coat of judgement
or lover's holding hands