Sometimes,
I think my conversations with You
pick up
when I put down the pen.
Other times,
I think You only communicate
through spitballs and passed notes.
I squiggle tick boxes
on college ruled lines to check
“yes” or “no,”
but You always end up eating the answer
when the Teacher is in ear shot because
sound carries faster than my sideway glances.
You say Your notes
are too loud for me to copy off of,
but I still can’t hear Your message
when we’re playing telephone at recess.
You avoided me on
the playground in grade school,
the hallways in junior high and
the cafeteria in high school,
so You can imagine my shock
when You asked to move into a one bedroom
with me in a concrete jungle gym
several miles away after graduation.
I have a four-year lease for this new place of mine
and You used to have a tendency to not stick around
when I needed You there the most,
but here You are now,
waiting patiently on the couch
holding two cups of coffee every morning
and two cups of wine every night.
You have left me with questions
that my tuition can’t cover and
that rent can’t afford,
so please understand that when I kick You out,
it’s not because You ate my groceries
or didn’t clean the bathroom;
it’s because the mess You made
for my parents to clean up
was too big to incorporate
in the chore list I left behind
when I used to live in blanket forts.
This is all hindsight,
but my vision gets checked annually
and optometrists say I’m going to be blind by thirty
if I keep wearing my contacts
during Marco Polo.
I keep telling them it’s impossible
to match where the sound
of Your voice is coming from,
so I keep my eyes shut
and my arms stretched out wide before me
to feel for Your presence.
They say that
keeping my eyes closed for too long isn’t safe
and that I should invest in glasses,
but my insurance doesn’t cover
another lens between Us
and I can’t afford to be separated
from You any longer.
Maybe someday,
You will gargle up all those
chewed up love notes
and questions
and I’ll find them below my tax returns.
Maybe someday,
You will pay me back
with more
than just a book fine.
Maybe someday,
I won’t need your change
to feel like
I’m worth something.
But, for now, I wait patiently,
writing with a pen
that ran out of ink
since the day You gave me hope
with a hushed
*“maybe.”

tomorrow is my mother's birthday
and i can't remember the last time
we spoke about much more
than what i'm doing for a living
or how the weather has been
or when i'm quitting smoking
or collecting tattoos on body
or getting a real job
so it doesn't seem appropriate to call
and wish her a happy birthday
when i haven't been in her life
as she hasn't in mine
her contact name has been
KATHLEEN
ever since i was eighteen
our distance isn't anything new
but it feels heavier this time around
that weight is getting harder to carry
life is getting so weird
and i hate to disappoint her
but i have been disappointing myself
for far too long
living in the shadows of those
claiming to be
wiser
smarter
luckier
successful
stability is not a desk job
finding myself does not include
her telling me to sit down
i refuse to stay still
honesty is not easy
living is not easy
happiness is not easy
love is not easy
i can't continue
being torn apart
by her judgment
overstepping boundaries
letting her break my heart
is not a good birthday gift
so maybe i'll call her
but i probably won't

Feet are the best place to look in a crowd
because,
even if they aren’t painted,
toenails offer a reflective surface
that reassures our presence,
no matter the floor we walk on.
I look down so often
that I forget I have that identical shell
on my fingers too.
They shine the sun in your eyes
when I blindly fix my hair behind my ear.
I know it disgusts you,
but I bite away,
in fact,
I chew that casing away
from my forgiving palms
and tuck them safely in my nail beds
where I drip bedtime stories from my gums
like a blanket fort of crimson comfort.
My stories get so crusted
on the nights when
you’re not here
that scar tissue
becomes less than something I blow my nose with.
I long for you
to tell me your stories
and let them faint into my wrists
so then I can carry your pulse
through my veins and feel alive again.
Let your heartbeat
guide my wandering hands
down your ventricles
and let me be the reason you stir at night.
Let me shake your bones
until the birds trapped in your rib cage
start singing again.
Let me be the cool tongue that
laps your broken heart back together.
Let me be something more than debris
hanging loosely from flesh,
but less than a bomb nestled
between the hollowness in your skull.
I hope you look down
and feel the weight of my lips from last night’s goodbye
pressed against your forehead
and realize
no matter how lost you get
in a swarm of shoes,
you’ll always have my bare feet
next to yours.

This is what it feels like
on the days that feel like
lonely summer nights without you.

I wake groggily to the rays of light
seeping through your cupped hands
that play peek-a-boo with my broken windowsill.
The wind exhales chills down my spine
that inhale me to into the mattress
until midafternoon
when I can finally gasp for a drink.
When I’ve had my fill of toxins,
I can poison people in the hallways of my complex
with venomous small talk that produces
half glazed stare simplicity.
You know the one I’m talking about;
the kind of look that hangs on people
thinking about what to say
while you’re going on about
some nonsense you heard at
some place from
some pretty person.
They have a certain finish over their attention
that doesn’t quite compare to the varnish of your absence.

This is what it feels like
when summer rolls over the hills
like the ongoing thread of my oversized sweaters
on seventy-degree days
because I was always a little too good
at playing hide and seek growing up.

I feel like I get stuck in a loop sometimes.

I heard
somewhere from
some pretty person that
children don’t see scars on adults
because those people
never quite make it past getting their GED,
but here I am as an undergraduate student
mocking what little authority is left over my existence.
At the age of nineteen,
I understand that solitude is the most fulfilling companionship
I will ever browse for,
but I’ll never be able to buy us matching necklaces
at self checkout.

This is what it feels like
to cry in the middle of the day
when you haven’t paid the water bill in two months.
When I put my clothes on,
you aren’t there to watch me leave anymore
and I can’t turn around to grab your neck
and mount you again.
My lips started parting for a cigarette
when I was sixteen
and started parting for you
when I was eighteen
and now they are parting for a finger gun
aimed at the back of my throat after a meal.

I feel like I get stuck in a loop sometimes.

I heard
somewhere from
some pretty person that
I needed to be a size zero
to wrap my legs around you
and still be able to leave some room
for your opposition
when I’ve drank too much whiskey
on a Wednesday night,
but here I am as a size six
and I’m happily tipsy off your rejection
when I’m sober.

This is what it feels like
to exist off of your own
self-destruction.

i would have thought the universe spat in my face
while getting gas after leaving your place
caught up in a brief interval of violent downpour
living in the shadow of shelter built for me
clouds drool for several minutes afterwards
i am dry beneath manmade canopies
you are stretching across the sky
free from conformity
fondling with branches dangling loose
jealousy writhes in my sturdy upbringing
if it were not for my pact with the universe
i would have taken this as a sign to leave
how infatuated trees are with you
how the sky cries for you
how roots untangle themselves for you
but i understand that when sun showers occur
the universe is with me more than ever
tangling herself with my emotions
bright and weeping
all at once
colliding in ways that neglect to care for one another
you are too fearful of things you cannot see
unknown territory primarily causing you concern
i drive miles for you on a daily basis in the dark
but what is distance if you have the sky at your fingertips
grasping for what is left of your horizon
i am merely stuck admiring sunrises for the time being
until the storm passes in front of me
unfaltering repetition in your unsteady breath at night
beauty held inconsistently in consistent
chaos

Put a child lock
on the liquor cabinets,
and fasten me
to your kitchen sink.

Watch me drift slowly down the drain.

Watch shattered wine glass
stick between fragments of me
in the garbage disposal blades.

Watch broken sentences
arch over our faulty plumbing lines.

Watch pieces of you stick strictly to silver spoons.

Take the skin of your Cuban
and roll a noose around my neck
to yank the blaze from my throat
into the bile of my slip-ups
that pool on the kitchen floor
from an unattached pipe
that just can’t seem to keep
her pretty little mouth shut.

Penetrate my thoughts from behind
and throw plates at the walls
of my shoulder blades
when you need to hear the question again
because it doesn’t matter what she thinks
if her face is nothing but
a cracked serving platter.

Force your hands
onto the authority of my hipbones.

Pierce your wedding ring
through my belly button for safekeeping.

Decorate my body
with super glue
so your words can stick to me.

Sort me in
with the pots and pans
so your voice
doesn’t have to clang against
my eardrums anymore.

Reorganize me
again and again
until you can’t wash the stain
out of my bottom lip anymore.

Pour me a drink
while I drip Taps into the sink
because when I realize
water isn’t strong enough
to make me forget how blood
runs so much thicker over my skin,
tears begin to slip so easily off my eyelashes.

Let my death
be a pail
brimmed with ex-lovers’
cries for attention.

Let me kick the bucket
this time
when they begin to drown out
the sound of my own.

Let me be a reminder
that not all channels
you lose yourself down
have to be man made.

I wish you looked at me
in The Gentle Light peaking midday
through the Japanese dogwood leaves
your dark honey iridescence encompassing emerald
cradling gold spun with pollen on the porch
silent stares sweeping nothing under the rug -

in The Gentle Light you are tracing my shadow
with dull flint outlining the reminiscence of our spark
when the sun sets we burn too slowly
candle smoke traps itself in jars
our emotions capped for safe keeping -

there is a leak in the sky come sunrise
dripping down dogwood
the morning hung like fly traps
you hover near the front door before coffee
transparency being the obstacle for you -

and how could it not be?

when a cigarette habit clouds your heart
reasoning closure with excuses in the ashtray
butts filling the hole you have dug for yourself
how could you fit in with the flies
when you center yourself with cockroaches  
feeding off the misery of death
greedily hunting in the dark corners of depression -

leaves continue to bud and fall in your absence
ignorant of the pretenses in The Gentle Light
when they perish beneath my feet
then you will come back hungry -

but I will not be beneath the dogwood
looking for nectar in hollow places
the luminescence of augmented love has lost its glow
rose-tints begin to neutralize in the hum of authenticity
and now I am basking happily in a monotone existence

having a savior complex as a defense mechanism
only proves your naïve nature to be in bloom
do not sacrifice yourself to assist my growth
if you have been choking buds from blossoming
desirable only under your own timing
strategically planning how to keep me -

to escape your cruelty would be my first destination
along the roadmap: "Putting My Heart Back Together"
stop basking in your anger
quit trembling in your wake
halt feeding our flame you so desperately yearn to keep alive
as if your flicker could burn down mountains
I have built around myself -

season's change will wither your mal-intent
revenge budding with debris and pests
vermin desperately seeking attention
temptation licking at my ankles
keeping my eyes forwards
this being no trip for me in any regard
but an unpleasant stop along the way -

these hornets I have mistaken for bees
thorns thought to be flowers
at first being destructive in the face of opposition
now I offer honey instead of vinegar
this time I will not suffer lonely -

feeding into trembles in my pulse,
letting your words stain blood
coursing through my veins,
too easily I give in to the silence between beats,
my heartbeat -

oh! my poor heart,
this tired thing that won’t stop me
using my soul as a guiding light
instead of fires you set forth
can be a tiring task
but well worth the hassle
even while traveling alone.

dreamcatchers are a hoax
as if nightmares could be filtered
or dreams could be altered
flashbacks too strong to wake
stuck to a bed unfamiliar with my space
cold sweat turns **** warm
there is medication for that
but no remedy for peace of mind

therapists are a joke
as if someone could solve you
or memories could be erased
bonds too weak to mend
forgiveness being a foreign concept
cold nights scatter my thoughts
there is medication for that
but no remedy for closure

lovers are a hoax
as if someone could adore you
or make you feel whole again
issues too complex to solve
location unknown
your side of the bed is cold
there is no medication for that
there is no
****

I HATE NICE PEOPLE
their small talk
their half empty smiles
their exaggerated cackles
their silent judgement
I HATE MEAN PEOPLE
their simmering rage
their quick temper
their sideways glances
their blissful ignorance
I HATE PEOPLE
their stubborn ways
their bad habits
their herd mentality
their inconsistencies
I LOVE HUMANITY
their goodness
their rebellion
their resiliency
their power to overcome

flowers you gave her
starting to wilt
first daises
depraving innocence
then a lonely rose
pink petals swelling
under pressure
living off artificial sweeteners
suffocating wildflowers
does not tame her
drawn out death
begging for life
souls need sun to thrive
not sugar to borrow
bouquets only live
dying for replacement  
another petal falls
leaves are always last
clutching thorns on stems
holding everything upright
time sensitivity quickens
containing beauty consistently
cutting herself short
viscously controlling
how long you get to see
the illusion
weeping alone
hoarding tears
neglecting to refill
vases left to rot
turning vases into jars
depositing wax at her expense
candles illuminating scarlet letters
ignites inescapable fires
killing her spirit
she too dies slowly

i wouldn't say i'm the jealous type
i would say i'm a writer
no one's muse
admiring from afar
hugging walls like close friends
more familiar with the architecture
of disappointing myself
than laughing with others

i wouldn't say i'm the jealous type
i would say i'm a work in progress
withheld on a canvas
half-finished strokes
vibrant in places that matter
dull smudges in spaces
unsure where to go next
traffic jams in my cerebral
creator and destroyer

i wouldn't say i'm the jealous type
i would say i'm an artist
expressing myself in ways
that others can't quite comprehend
but speak volumes of my soul
through more than
[words]
phrases things pronouns
breathing is painful
without creating
[controlling]
emotion
becoming vulnerable
in a comfort zone
people don't understand
[me]
stepping outside of my art
is painful and draining

i wouldn't say i'm the jealous type
i would say i'm ******* tired

I can sleep with you,
but I can’t be asleep with you.
I can drive you mad
bent over the headboard
of your expectations,
but I can’t meet them.
What you are looking for
does not hide between my legs
panting for salvation;
it hides trembling in the bend of an elbow,
tucked away in tracks that mark the spot.
Treasure coves lie in the hollowness
of my sunken eyes
and under the thickness
of my bitten tongue
until the only thing I can taste is
the bitterness of my laughter
like a hangover
from too much sweet talk the night before.
Some nights,
the holes in our conversations
"with the lights on"
leave me crucified between
two lines I should have never crossed to begin with.
Other nights,
I am stretched out across the entire room
and your eyes touch nothing
but the bathroom floor we grouted together
with our spines.
The backbone for this poem
isn’t your unattached vertebrate,
but the committed soft spot
behind my promising kneecaps
that give out each time
you ask me
when I’m coming to bed
because a mattress
may be the sole platform for this love,
but your sheets
can’t cover the indifference in my touch.

over my waist stillness softens stares
much like in the thicket of an unkempt trail
he covers what he can and leaves
such a diligence departing death
before planting himself so deeply in my roots rupturing
various vines over walls to sway serenading
interior articulations hushing hollow hips
him sinking beneath my weight willingly
we intertwine beneath his ceiling fan
a canopy masking moonlight molding
our framework born beneath bedsheets
bashful in silence an appreciation arises amid
my dull heartbeat haunting how I turn
down the path where we wander
aimlessly away from my boundaries breaking
backbones for confirmation concealing inconspicuous
ivy inadvertently returning to shade solemn secrets
hidden beneath my kneecaps knowing knots
will return in the tree trunks towering
poison slobbering over your fingertip torrent
tracing rivulets from my hipbones hoping
home won't be too far down the river remade reminiscing
over my delicate bones beneath bellows
of his overpowering existence endlessly embedding
himself in a body that is made more
mine than anybody anticipates after
seeing me naked near noon
because staying still settles
a reckless act with a man
who clarifies character concluding
dismissal of his own
while i am patiently protesting parameters
to keep my heart safe so someone
doesn't come along to grieve grounds
gracefully forgiven for my mistaken mayhem
left behind by bare
hands and apprehensive apologies

I want to be
wrapped in your arms
how the tree's branches
intermingle with the wind;
how the peaks of the hills
tumble over
one another's shadow at dusk;
how mist clings to dew
on grass wisps
whistling a good morning tune
back to the roosters' song at dawn,
the silent clap of two hearts
high-fiving
amidst the storm's handshake
with forest fingertips,
complimenting eyelash bats
and butterfly kisses
under the Moon's pupil;
how the stars trip
over their two left feet
and come crashing down
into your atmosphere
intertwined with mine.

evolution is the culprit for many setbacks
one being how much i crave him
the other being how many carcasses caress his floor
counterfeit intimacy plagues pests plenty
love becomes more of a noun than a feeling
his hands on my curves
palms on my shoulders
grip on my neck
fingers trace an apology down my backbone
before i can resist repulsive recollections
death recoils at the base of my spine
tolerance becomes our safe word
there was a hesitation in the love of turning away from him
though i am incapable of comprehending spaces he left
i stop opening doors for others when i start locking my own
paying back the universe with
our severed ties
their open arms
my slow progression
returns with a participation award for living
as if existing without him is an accomplishment
before learning to live for myself ever could be

inherently i understand that i am enough
but i wish i wasn't as easily disposable
as most people make me out to be
my time equating to nothing more than a block
hiding in corners to protect my back
fearful of concealed knives and sweet smiles
i wish for nothing more than visible venom
please conceal yourself clearly in a syringe
fill my veins with nothing more than permanence
a certain vacancy awaits your half-hearted arrival
during my downfalls into despair
crying alone under the eye of the moon
poison of my own choosing infiltrates my lungs
some nights my liver as well
weighing down what you toss in the air so freely
hoping for something concrete to return to your hands
but forgetting that gravity has its' own laws
no matter how much alteration we convince ourselves
we are capable of
prayer does not tie together loose ends
hope does not resolve hostility
i cannot mold myself to easily accept authentic feelings
anymore than you can do to reject that
of your own

there are some days that I cannot fathom
the anguish another individual must feel
to openly hurt the ones he loves for attention
when we sit here (cowards)
denying our own reality to make ourselves
feel better lying down next to strangers
fading away my heartbeat ceases
until i can comprehend something other than
mistakes painted in opposition to the universe
or how i miss your touch most days
feathering blushing hues fading fast
in the sunlight these are the days
i miss you most when the memories i hold dear
pigment themselves vivid in my pastel routine
my easel is no longer in a home
my art is no longer stagnant on a wall
it is
walking
(talking)
breathing
crying right in front of me
walking away from me
in the distance now
those days i do not understand us
or what we have become
i reflect on how seasons transition flawlessly
without any form of communication
other than knowing of the passage of time
and that right now is time for change
(it is time)

if our lives could reshape  
i would choose to fight than crawl
heroes don't need a cape
however some days i feel small
wearing armor as a shawl
thinking he will never know
anticipating to fall
where rivers never flow

you can't make a bandage with tape
heavy emotions might stall
comparing a scar to a scrape
burdens will be there to haul
pack lightly if you bring back all
what you can't manage you'll owe
seeking more comfort and less mal
where rivers never flow

endlessly longing to escape
my writing becomes a scrawl
yearning for a new landscape
ignoring your late night call
feeling like a strung out puppet doll
our love could never grow
through a UV lit concrete hall
where rivers never flow

wicked storms begin to sprawl
shady groves and forest below
searching for a waterfall
where rivers never flow

moths fly into fire
without knowledge of death
only guided by instinct
they must have light
no matter the cost

people betray trust
without being given a reason
only guided by instinct
they must keep making bad choices
no matter the cost

spiders weave webs
without thought of placement
only guided by instinct
they must create a home
no matter the cost

lovers lie to each other
without thinking twice
only guided by instinct
they must keep stability
no matter the cost

hornets sting people
without a purpose
only guided by instinct
they must hurt
no matter the cost

parents abuse children
without understanding repercussions
only guided by instinct
they must control something
no matter the cost

snakes eat rodents
without fearful consciences
only guided by instinct
they must eat
no matter the cost

alcoholics drink recklessly
without responsibility for themselves
only guided by instinct
they must be drunk
no matter the cost

the differences between
animals and people
aren't as abstract
as we would like to believe
they are

there is a disconnect
in the ways we choose
to embrace one another
simple acts turn to favors
debts become ultimatums
promises loosen their tie
full undressed lies
love is nothing more
than pity on the emptiness
our souls post for rent
always looking
constantly searching
never finding quite
what we're looking for
never knowing what
to look for to begin with
simply put
we have a longing for more
than what society
has wired us to do
and a small belief
that unconditional love
isn't an oxymoron

she utters her existence with a cry for help
muffling her sorrow as she ages
fine wine overheating in the garden of evil
hourglass woman pouring herself out
white eyes most vulnerable to camera light
flashes of happiness escape outside sobriety
inside the territory of the boundaries set for her
she exists when we speak her name
water mixes with her blood
deluding illusions made by us
merlot no longer holds pigment
without her eyes to cry cups half empty
she lives when her name is written
meaning she will live forever
her pen a megaphone between fingers
screaming back to her roots
silent when she drinks midday
closing her door to trap her thoughts
paper being her platform
she is home when she can be loud again

this restless beast
i need to tame
gnawing at my stomach
setting fires to my cerebral
chewing at my throat
begging for attention
this restless beast
always rejects obedience
howling for affection
like a ******* mongrel
if it's voice becomes a whimper
can it be feminine again
i want my makeup to wash off
as more than war paint
i want to feel beautiful
without seeking validation
i want to shake
this restless beast
ruining my relationships
entertaining wicked thoughts
wrecking my sleep schedule
stepping on my neck
i never asked to own
this worn out excuse for a companion
but if it doesn't get lost soon
i'll ******* **** it

do not name that thing you wish to know
take such a weighted title
make a security blanket of that thing
sleep in a mirage and lie
down in bedsheets other than your own -
if you wake up in the morning after
covering up lies with that thing
you will not put your demons to rest
do not think if that thing feels safe
you love that thing recklessly -
it is in our nature to yearn
for that thing to have our back
infatuation being our downfall
lustful happenings disrupting
the consistency you want to name -
do not name that thing
because a title can never change character
and that thing is always
stubborn

discomfort in fulfilling our hopes
hesitance in facing our fears
where do we draw the line
between living and being alive
if our actions speak louder than our words
how do we measure sound
in the face of death
why do we let her down
in knowing that we never settled
bets with our hearts
gambling our existence away
basing our worth in cards
dealt by someone else
concrete in our stubborn ways
when do we realize
changing habits has no price
yet the highest cost
but we still refuse to pay
for debts we acquire
and complain about the weather
until our bodies collapse

tell me how you want me to love you
in the ways you cannot love yourself enough
pressing my ear closer to your mattress
restless under your pillowcase
my teeth become something disposable by morning
your mouth begs to be fed before sunrise
lips parting for stale air between lulls in our interactions
as if saying something could make me breathe easier
knowing i will respond before i simply can't
i am expectant in the ways you clear my lungs
before lying in the bed you've made for us
tell me again how you want me to love you
in the ways i cannot love myself
to fill a void made for no one in particular
folding corners of my blanket back over each other
there is safekeeping in barricading thread count
fingers numb from pressing us together for too long
losing my grip on what reality i have succumbed myself to
tell me again how i have done this to myself
in the ways of tolerating your recklessness
pillows becoming somewhat of a buffer
for noise that concerns the neighbor at night
what good will yelling do if your body constantly screams
shouting for someone who left awhile ago
slipping out of your window at night
tell me how you want me to leave
in the ways you cannot tell me to
too afraid to make noise in a silent ballet
tiptoeing around uncomfortable conversations
dancing over select words in exchange
with the rhythm of my accelerated heartbeat
listening

You are the sun and you are the moon;
I hold you to the highest regard
at every wake and at every sleep.
I miss you on the days I don’t rise,
but you always rise,
regardless of the weather.
I solely like rain.
I like the way your condensation
pours over me
when we are in between the sheets,
the madness of the storm between your pelvis,
thrusting thunder and lightning bolts into my bones
and I’m ignited with the blaze
you course through my body.
Your touch leaves me with
burn marks
trailing my thighs
to follow back into the bed
where we lay together
and it reminds me
I need the rain to so desperately put me out
when you set over the hills
and run away from me again.
You’re so different at night.
You’re cool and quiet, but you’re so cool.
You have the stars
and the comets
and the constellations
and the Milky Way,
but you choose my terrestrial body
every single time
you come out.
You remove clouds
and whisper through the stillness in the sunset
to bask in your luminescence with you,
just one more time,
the last time,
tonight.
With a sliver under my nose and above my chin,
I watch
the stars dance on you,
the comets open their legs for you,
the constellations bend over for you,
the Milky Way wrap her arms around you,
but you,
you are a constant and never move.
We hold our stare like the lights will go out
and I stand in the moon light with you
just to cringe in the sun with you
the next day
and the next day
and the next day
and the next day.
And we do this
and I keep a part of you
hanging on my lips,
the crescent that never fades.