I’m scratching my cheekbones
Gripping at cavities
And white noise

Scorched pavement would hold on to day
light. The concrete,
still warm, would kiss my barefoot feet.

Until dark I
would roam on summer nights, tasting
freedom in my

midnight curfew. When autumn came,
dancing in like
blown leaves skinned off weary trees, the

sumac flushed red
as cardinals wings blanketing
the landscape and

reminding me that winter comes
with a heavy
hand. Bitter green apples fall from

the backyard tree,
does and fawns passing through to eat
the fallen fruit

are startled by me and dart back
to the swamp where
the fog rises up every night.

Poplar trees stood tall while their leaves
made the final
kamikaze plunging fall. New

Converse shoes made
their debut on the way to school,
briefly, happy.

Winter brought isolation and
dreams of still warm
city streets under wandering

feet. Holding out
through cold purple glow, I wait for
spring’s warmer air.

You ever have those days when you'd rather take the long way home?
With headphones on
Ignoring your heart beat
Trying not to crack like promises and iphone screens...
Well honestly,
You ripped the spine off of my notebook paper skeleton and crumpled it into the shape of your fists until it was nothing but a broken haiku:

What is love without
Lighting matches in the dark
Drenched in gasoline

You wear the whites of your eyes like flags when we touch
Like giving up is an option
And I'm trying to rewind the cassette tape memories to the beginning when smiles decorated our faces and I didn't know your full name or that you love orange juice and comic books
We're just kids in love with following fault lines to their breaking points and drawing assumptions on sidewalks while it rains. Raised on etch a sketch commitments that fade when shaken
We have no connection to the word 'stay'
**** the Christmas lights in your eyes, they don't stay up all year like I had hoped and I wore red lipstick to stop myself from kissing you and you stopped gelling your hair back like permission for me to massage your aching head, knead out any leftover thoughts of 'slow down'
But that was centuries ago and by centuries I mean lifetimes ago and maybe our souls have agreed to meet in some silent studio where you paint me abstract on subservient canvases and you'd feel like Salvador Dali as you melt clocks on my wrist to leave our moments up for interpretation...
We will not touch again, we had our last hug and the bass of our pulse has weakened so the memories don't keep us up at night
They have become elevator music in the back of our minds because we don't want to forget the sound of 'I love you'
Like astronomers falling in love with a blank sky, darling, it's in our nature to chase after the stars that chase after the moon that chases after the sun that chases after the world that chases after this idea of love.
Lets fold our empty spaces into intricate origami haikus like...

We ran out of glue
Stationary paper cranes
We burn down in flames

I fell for the sparkle in your eye
you gave me ambition,
a new thing I was willing to try.


I fell for the life in your eye
I felt alive again,
no longer would I need to die.


I fell for the love in your eye
my heart was no longer leaking,
you soaked it dry.

371

A precious—mouldering pleasure—’tis—
To meet an Antique Book—
In just the Dress his Century wore—
A privilege—I think—

His venerable Hand to take—
And warming in our own—
A passage back—or two—to make—
To Times when he—was young—

His quaint opinions—to inspect—
His thought to ascertain
On Themes concern our mutual mind—
The Literature of Man—

What interested Scholars—most—
What Competitions ran—
When Plato—was a Certainty—
And Sophocles—a Man—

When Sappho—was a living Girl—
And Beatrice wore
The Gown that Dante—deified—
Facts Centuries before

He traverses—familiar—
As One should come to Town—
And tell you all your Dreams—were true—
He lived—where Dreams were born—

His presence is Enchantment—
You beg him not to go—
Old Volume shake their Vellum Heads
And tantalize—just so—

I fear no living thing, nor dead.
No monsters hide beneath my bed.
I've heard and seen my share
Of ghosts. I find them harmless;

More than most of all that
Walks and thinks and breathes,
That carries blades or guns, and
Bleeds. But all I find a fright to be

Is resting deep inside of me.
There's Weakness there, it's hiding
Well, it's cunning, slippery, strong
As hell. There's Fury too; a

Juggernaut -awakened by a single
Thought. But enemy to them is Soul,  
Its agent's name is Self Control.
It cages them with Love and Care,

And ties them down with
Self-Aware.

You. You were
never better than when
you
wore that cologne
that smelled like Havana nights and
fresh cinnamon spice.
Your
scent keeps haunting me through
days and nights.

What is it
about sensory types
of
memories? I
can't shake you from my five senses
no matter how
hard
I've tried. Will you forget
about mine?

"I am not going to be the person
I am expected to be anymore"

I heard this thought and was
kind of blown away
Making me question
all sorts of things
like....

Who do I expect me to be?
Who do others expect me to be?
Am I
   daughter
      wife
         lover
Do I even care?
What do these labels even mean?
Why can I not label me Friend?
Is there anything expected of
    an acquaintance?
I am trying on new labels
    Poet
       Writer
Whatever the label
   poet, daughter, wife; maybe even friend
These masks sit uncomfortably upon me
And
What of the unspoken and often unseen labels
     Broken
          Weird
              Crazy
Do these fit me any better? --
I don't think I have ever been
The person others expected,
Certainly not myself

How extraordinary!
"I am not going to be the person
I am expected to be anymore"