have you ever noticed
the way county roads
glitter, a thousand rocks
or beetle backs shimmering
not unlike stars, we've been
driving on milky ways, on
stretches of stars, maybe not
all things that shine, shine all
the time, they're there all days
all ways, maybe not all things
that shine, shine all the time.

and it's because
you break through
this layered iridescent
medium that I keep
slathering on, I'm
almost done
trying.

I'm still trying to
be supportive over
the strangest things
as if I am indebted
to you for the way
i acted, still think
it's my duty to
unconditionally
love you and
defend your
place to be
yourself but
it's not. It's
not, It's not.

but even so
but to be honest
but in spite of this
but really, chris


T'es toujours fâché contre moi?

waiting to be
beautiful like
a dry town
waits for
rain.

walked into his
mom's store and
he said my name
so sweetly, gave my
name more syllables
and my name only
has
one

I drew you on
the back of my
work schedule
and left it on
the counter
when I
clocked
out.

I saw me
in that. I
wonder
if your
pencil
still
draws
the curves
of my lips
and if it
does I
hope
you erase
in vain,
that you
can't deviate
from the way
my
philtrum
caught all
the shadows

I will be okay
and I'm still
patient just
so you know
I'm still waiting
for you.

the thing about
Alastair is that
there are so many
things about him
that you will never
understand, growth
you will never witness
and a simple text saying
he's thinking about me
hope you're well
made me realize
that a lot of people
probably think
about me

for once I want to
dream of me in your
head get trapped in
your nets, see you
pull me from the
seas with your hands
your eyes, your mind
see me, see me, am I
a siren in your thoughts
a beautiful thing in your eyes
caught in your hands, your
mind , see me,
see me.

I like your skin, the rough parts and the soft parts. The moles, bumps and other miscellaneous textures omitted to living on your arms like aliens. I like your back and how different it is, thin and lean with no fat, sometimes I can feel your bones under my fingers, and I’m afraid that during moments of various passions I will peel away what’s left.
I like your legs and how pale they are, how you sweat and recoil from my touch when you’ve napped and soaked my blankets.  I like the way you fumble for your glasses and fix your hair when it’s not even messy, the way your stomach heaves when you need to cough but won’t.  Just cough.
I like the way your earlobes connect and how sparse your beard is, how you threaten to shave it as if my compliments burn.  All my compliments burn you, in some shape or form.  But I give them out freely because they are true, and I want them to live in your heart forever.  In some cases you will not believe a bit of what I say, and I appreciate this as well.  However, I would like to know why, and how and when you came to these conclusions and why you settle there.    
I enjoy hearing you play guitar, when it’s not Zee Avi and you’re not gushing about how you saw her in concert.  I like that I am jealous of you, and you are never jealous of me. A trait that could pass over, but won’t. I like your capacity for apologies, sorry before, sorry after.  You are most sorry for everything that you do, and I am the one that put you there.   Should you ever become entirely mad at me some day, I shouldn’t be able to retaliate because you will have had good reason to be so.
When you speak, I like your voice. Deep and solid as if something inside you churns warmly.  A heavy bellied mammal, a trumpet of some sort. I can hear its footsteps when my head is on your chest, beneath your arm, under the blankets.  I like the gestures you used to describe things, and the high pitched sounds you make when I tickle you.  
I like the way you hide behind your arms when you’re naked, your knees, like magnets stuck together and your lips pulled thin in shame. As if I don’t like your body, you shield yourself.  But your defenses are weak and I love the parts you dare not to show. The red on your cheeks, a permanent stain, like your teeth kaleidoscoped white and the scars registered on your stomach.

I like the way you don’t let me love you, because I do.

Candace said:
all it takes is
one comment
one look in the
mirror, bending
over and feeling a
fold and i thought
maybe I am her and
she is me. And why
does it take a freaking
army for me to love
my body, in all it's
states and seasons
in the minutes that
it exists. If I am really
something like star
dust, valleys and
mountains then
why can't I
love myself
why can't
I love
my     self

You're an old receipt
from teavana that I
keep in a Legend of
Zelda Lunchbox on
the top shelf in my
closet, faded and
barely visible, you
can still see the date
and the date is what
stills me.

I only like myself
in the dim mornings
in the shade, in the soft
blues, when there's no
mirrors and I feel my
skin for what it is

I didn't admit this to myself until
now but the last night I was half
asleep while we were watching
Harry Potter on my laptop, you
tried to kiss me while i recorded
the pattern in your the way your
chest rose and fell but I pushed
you away because my breath
smelled bad. I can't tell if that
simple act of self-preservation
  was really that---
preservation or self...ish.

I thought back to when
I apologized to Jennifer
and she started her
response with the
fact that she did
not accept my
apology, but
i should not
have to apologize
for stumbling, for
tripping on myself
for losing my footing
for a while, for hours
for six months.

No. Jennifer. I am not sorry.

his name meant
carrier of Christ
and I looked too
far into that. how
could such a beautiful
name, how could such a
beautiful name
how could
such a
beautiful
name.

what if each
road were just
a foggy path
to heaven? I
was hoping
the fog would
play tricks and
get me lost, I
was hoping it
would let me
cross the border
and see God.

i don't know
what he's thinking
but it isn't of me and I
shouldn't of him. He said
i have no preference
and I apologized when
I should not have because
the truth is I can't be sorry
forever for the  things I did or
said. I have to forgive myself
at some point.

in this dream I was running down
a thinning subway and the people
grew in numbers, inflating until I
was pressed against the wet brick
when I climbed out and lost my
shoe, stood atop the winding
corridor and realized that
they were all people I
knew, each of them a
stacked book lining a
spiral all the way  
down, going no
where in
particular.

I don't want to see
you the same way
chaz wanted to see
me for three years
so we could mutually
brag and brazenly
wave our accomplishments
at one another, I don't know
why I want to see you, maybe
just to hear you talk, watch
your fingers look moist like
they usually did, take notice
of how many times you blink

is this how our love was different?

why
can't
I find
your
hands
in anything?

I had this dream
where I walked in
on you erasing a
giant whiteboard
with every word
I'd ever spoken
to you ill-timed
or not and then
you were behind
glass and I was
watching you
as if you were
some kind of
museum
exhibit.

let me
wear
your
shirt

someday you'll know
how beautiful I think
you are even when I
hated you, (I remember)
how hurt you must have
been, and i know I've
apologized and I know
I haven't held your
hand in so long and
I know you cried in
my lap and I had
no idea what to do
I'm so sorry you
loved me then
I'm so sorry
you loved
me then.

this is not a false
happiness, my
pores open and
drink the sun

this feeling is familiar
why i haven't responded
how i romanticized the
notion of kissing you
but there it is, I've
locked it down,
I've had you
before.

it's been a
year since
it all went
to ****.

god pulls me
prematurely

a skyscraper counted down
the red seconds until I woke
up and i stood naked on the
streets of a dream waiting for
my alarm to go off.

i drink my weight in
stress relief tea, although
i'm not sure how cinnamon
relieves that and i've spent
at least two days watching
Korean dramas on Netflix
fighting in my sleep and
trying desperately to figure
out what exactly it is that I want
and would i be happy with this
want because I feel the way
soft baby tomatoes do at the
bottom of the bowl

there are a lot
of flesh memories
(one that makes
me feel like a sea
anemone) but in
particular, the last
night we were together
and you told me to make
a video of myself to take
with you, but instead I
downloaded songs to
your itunes and just
now, secretly, I hoped
that you still had them
especially that one
by My Brightest Diamond
singing about how she has
never loved someone they
way I loved you.

she took one look
at my self-portrait
and said it doesn't
even look like you
and I tripped on
the fourth step
up the stairs
but turned
around
and said
**exactly