Growing up,
There was no "newest form of technology," no "stylish clothes," no "little puppy". Never a collection of Barbie dolls.

Realizing
She was surrounded,
a plastic society,
choicelss.
          Simple figures.      Thoughtless taste.
Molded forms.
                 Unseasoned cuisine.  
     Unrealistic ideas.
Unsalted frenchfries.
Styled hair, bright eyes, rosy cheeks.
Growing up normal,
No distinct collar bones, permanent bags, big feet.
Brainwashed
convinced of being un-proportional.
No first picks. No invitations. No turn at princess.
Whispers about "that girl"
Not listening, but hearing
every
word.

Lesson learned
Chained to the plastic society.
Barbie dolls as examples, imbalance of body image expressed.
No "styled hair," no "big eyes".
Chained; foolish concepts.
Attempting to escape the prison worse than death:
alienation.

Bring it on.
Darkest places, broken rules,
done being molded, through being fooled.
Always considered "that girl. Breaking free
from this brainwashed, plastic society.

It’s 12:08 on a Saturday night and I can’t help but notice the stutter in your breaths
as the speedometer ticks 45,
50,
60.
The wind whips across the top of the open Jeep making both of our hair fly as you turn to look at me.
I looked up at the dull constellations in the sky
trying to avoid the stars I knew were in your eyes.
There’s a tickle on my leg and I look down to see your fingertips tracing tiny circles on the skin above my knee.
The pressure on my thigh gets tighter and I look up to see everything
swimming in your eyes mimicking the look you had when we used to talk ourselves in circles.
The car runs over the rumble strips forcing you to look away and quickly becoming my saving grace from the question I knew was coming:
what are you thinking?
Slowing down to 15 below the speed limit, swerving left and right
in a lame attempt to avoid the never ending *** holes on a back road I didn’t even know existed, we sat is silence.
It’s 12:43 as you put the car in park and say you want me
happy, say you’re ready to commit,
that you know things are different now but that’s not good enough reason to quit.
The full moon shines light on the black silhouette in front of me defining your messy hair, nervous look, and everything eyes.
I whisper I want you happy too, but your fear hasn’t died,
and that there’s nothing romantic about a joint suicide.
We’d crash and burn, get lost in our teenage addictions without caring who or what we hurt.
It’s 1:37 and you pull off again except I remember this spot from the summer after junior year.
Unlike now, it was warmer that night we were last here when the crickets echoed our conversations of love, loss, and regret.
With two simple clicks the headlights were off and the world around us seemed to stand still. I could hear your breathing
getting heavier and faster as you gently cradled my face in your hands
duplicating the night we earlier said that we regret.
Taking in your dimly lit face, you pull my forehead to yours as that song comes on talking about how we used to be so young and self assured.
I realized a rush like this doesn’t come from caffeine
because before I knew it,
you were all over me like we were back at 17.

How did we get here
where vitamin water turned into ***** and the power of innocence changed to the courage of
alcohol. The boys no longer opening car doors and the girls trading in t-shirts for crop tops that show off
what they were or weren’t wearing.
Where sneaking a soda after dinner turned into hiding a flask at the family party where we used to play games
like hip-scotch and dodge ball instead of drinking hard whisky and Jack.
The promises made in the D.A.R.E. program about not doing drugs or drinking
were traded in for drunk driving and “just one hit.”
How did we get here
where grape juice turned into white wine and a nervous kiss under the bleachers
at the Friday football game moved to steaming up the windows in the back seat of that car
at the party on Saturday night.
The knocking on your neighbor’s door for them to come out and play moved to texting
in the driveway and hanging out means sitting on your phone
while sitting on the couch next to someone else.
How did we get here,
where root beer turned to Busch lite and being home before dark
switched to struggling to be home before the sun came up.
The parents not knowing their innocent children are making children and kids being too drunk to remember
they promised to go to Church on Sunday morning.
Where asking for forgiveness overpowered asking for permission and sorrys turned into whiskey shots
and make up ***.
How did we get here
with a drink in one hand and the other around my waist while you lean into me too drunk
to stand on your own.
This is the first time we’ve spoken since that day last June and I can’t help but notice why.
How did we get here
where the power of innocence changed to the courage from alcohol?

I'm a prisoner of my own words
trapped inside
thoughts of endless meaning
hidden behind clichés of familiarity.
Another torn memory;
a mistake I can't take back.
Echoes of words said
stuck inside the cell of no return.
I'm living on borrowed time
and, my darling, there's no cure for the endless word rhymes.
The beginning is the end
the enemy of my enemy is my friend.
Never ending
circle of circles.
I'm an inmate of my own mind
haunted by regret and broken dreams
there's no escaping
     no where to hide
I'm a prisoner of what's on
the inside.

Sometimes I wake up in a different room, lying barely covered
in a strange bed with an unfamiliar scent coating the oversized t-shirt blanketing my upper body.
The alarm clock across the room blinked
what I decided was an inaccurate time
based off the amount of sunlight peeking out from behind the corner of the sheet
taped to the top of the window seal in a poor attempt to keep the room in shadows.
The unknown room around me was messy but provided no comfort
like the clothes speckled floor of your apartment once did. Some mornings
I can’t even remember the name of the new, handsome man making breakfast
because you’ve infected my thoughts and clouded my mind
making it so I can’t leave you behind.
The smell of French toast circles through the air above me.
I hated the taste

but only you knew that. I managed to crawl out of that mysterious pile of sheets
and walk to stare in the cracked mirror.
Dazed and unaware of what happened the night before,
I realized I don’t even recognize who I am anymore.

How do I manage to lie awake
long after the sun disappears and the moon and stars light up the darkness surrounding me
just like you used to.
I'm not sure how after all this time
you haunt me more than just in my dream of happier times
like going on car rides for hours or walking aimlessly around your neighborhood
just for something to do.
Instead I have endless thoughts of what didn't happen:
the zoo date that never surfaced,
the cute little surprises you always told me not to tempt you with,
the picking me up at my front door before a big night you promised I would never forget.
I guess you were right about that part; I never did

forget. And as I lie here hopelessly in love with the ideas I still have of what we will be, are, or more like used to be,
I'm haunted more by what wasn't said than what was. Secrets don't make friends
which explains why we turned into enemies.
Or more like frenemies;
not friends and not enemies,
just strangers with a lifetime of memories.

You told me you were leaving because I wouldn't stop drinking.
So I stopped from the fear of losing you forever.
I gathered up the courage and went by your place to tell you
that I broke my bad habit.
Walking up those old, wooden stairs were we used to sit and talk for hours I
peered through the window
and saw your lips pressing against someone new.
The drive back home was lonely and the only thing I pressed to my lips
was the flask from the glove compartment I promised you wasn't mine.
I guess it's time to quit my bad habit.
You.

Chocolate or vanilla?
It depends on if I’m drinking milk or if I’m eating
one of your mom’s double chocolate brownies fresh out of that oven where the paint
is starting to chip off the sides where the door hits the countertop where we eat dinner with your parents
every Saturday night.
Summer or winter?
It depends on if you called me beautiful in the past few days and if had a good workout that day so I actually believed you
or if I’m in the mood to be lazy and lay on your bed
and watch movies all day as we cuddled up with that fleece blanket
eating popcorn and mac & cheese until we were stuffed past our limit.
Dogs or cats?
It depends on if I feel like being jumped on by the dog that looks like the one you lost
but could never fill the emptiness that took over you that night or if I was feeling okay with
occasionally being scratched when the cat who’s as old as you saw a shadow and jumped off my lap.
Early or late?
It depends on if the clouds are low in the sky and covering that spot where we liked to go and say nothing at all
or if the stars are out and we can lay under them talking about the universe and how small
everything around us actually is.
Dark or light?
It depends on if you fell asleep holding me and I woke up the same way or if you went out
and came crawling into bed the next morning smelling like cigarettes and her cheap perfume you tried to mask
by spraying yourself down with the cologne I got you last month.
Past or future?
It depends on if we’re talking about the times we laid together and talked about that little house in the woods
we were going to have or the countless times I was left sitting by that pond trying to decide what I did
to make you change your mind this time.
Do I miss you?
It depends on if we’re talking about the you that moved your schedule around to come watch me dance
up on that stage for the last time
or the you that sent that text and left town too afraid you wouldn't end it in person if you saw the look in my eyes.
Have I moved on?
It depends on if you mean whether or not I stopped thinking about how you signed that birthday card
from the both of us or if I learned how to love myself again.
Will I ever just give you a straight answer?
It depends.

There once was a time when I couldn't fall asleep
without your strong arms around me and your breath on my neck,
but now I despise when you fill that empty space next to me and flop
your now saggy arms across my waist as you move in closer
and the scent of alcohol creeps out of your mouth
to fill the once sweet smell of our room.
It's 11 PM, and I'm laying in that queen size bed trying to decide
if I should let the darkness take over me or turn a light on
because I know you'll be calling in a few hours
to come get you because you're too drunk to drive home.
The front door creeks open then slams shut
as I hear footsteps on those old, wooden stairs you promised me 3 months ago
you would carpet.  The clock reads 11:11 and I make a wish
That it wouldn't be you
stumbling into our room, crawling into bed, and trying
to get lucky.
Waiting for the familiar sound of your jeans hitting the floor, I braced myself
for the unpleasant smell and feeling
that was about to encompass me.
I close my eyes and try to let the darkness overpower me before you get the chance to.

It’s more complicated than just forgetting,
the last time I saw you in that shirt
you had one hand on the steering wheel
and the other on my thigh as we drove down the dirt roads of our small home town
having a destination in mind but not caring when we got there.
It’s not as easy
as singing along to that old rock and roll song your parents played on repeat that weekend we spent with them
in that log cabin in the mountains
where we ate foil packs and slept out underneath the stars every night.
I’m way past remembering who left last because it’s more complicated than counting the butterflies as they fly past
that bush in the front yard
of your grandparents’ house where we spent what seemed like every day
that summer we couldn’t get enough of each  other.
I can’t seem to forget the time you let me give you a haircut
after I had drank an entire bottle of wine
on an empty stomach because I refused to eat the dinner you made
out of fear I’d get fat and you wouldn’t love me anymore.
Now I realize, it didn’t matter if I ate that second cookie,
if I searched the sky for constellations with you,
or dreamed of living in the city because it doesn’t matter. You didn’t love me and I can’t go back

to arguing over whether we wanted  Spongebob or StarWars mac and cheese.
I cant go back to thinking the blankets on your bed will protect me from the monsters in the closet.
Your arms were both a comfort and a weapon as you pulled me closer
grabbing my waist as sweet apologies flooded from your lips as the rain fell around us
coating me in memories and regret.
I wanted to forget tonight and every night
with you.
The pitter patter of rain drops hitting the pavement provided background noise as your hands danced across my body.
The thunder cracked and I realized no amount of blankets could protect me from the monsters in the closet
because they were inside us.
Living,
breathing,
searching for one another.
“Forgive me” you whispered kissing my hand like you did that first night we spent alone

in your room. You said you were sorry
but your green eyes couldn’t be more unapologetic.
The thing is this time I couldn’t just forget.
It wasn’t that easy
because you were more complicated than that.

The sun’s sinking slowly from view in the window behind your head
as we lie on the couch pretending
like their isn’t an elephant in the room.
Your eyes are anxious and heavy but there’s a smile in your voice
as you throw the ball down the hall
again and again laughing as your dog chases after it. Something wasn’t right,
I could see the scar on your chin
from across the room but I pretended that I didn’t see it
or the little indents on your nose
from your glasses you wore until three that afternoon.
You throw the ball my way expecting the result to be different
than throwing it down the hall, but
that’s insanity.
Doing the same thing over and over
but expecting a different result.
I look at you,
my mind flooding with the thought of you bringing out something different in me.
You start mumbling again as the ball bounces off the walls and I try to pretend
that I don’t like who I am when I’m with you. But I can’t; I’m addicted.
Addicted to the cure
that allows me to love myself in the real world rather than just in a land of make believe.
Getting up and walking across the room
ignoring the babbling coming from your lips,
I sit down beside you
watching our shadows now created by the rising moon outside that same window.
Your eyes are full of life and everything I've never known.
You open your mouth to say something, but laying my head on your shoulder, I whisper
“Just shut up and let me pretend it'll be us in the end”

I was naïve,
I used to think love was a disease
but then I found you
and you became my cure.
The illness that became me
started to fade like the sun
we liked to watch set up on that hill
that looked out to the unknown.
The disease began to disappear
with each day we spent together
    every touch
         every kiss
   every embrace.
The remission didn't last for long;
I was naïve,
I never thought the cure could be worse than the disease.

You wrapped your hands around my waist and pulled me in
to contour your body around the curves
of my hips and shoulders as we danced to the pop/rap song in that overly crowded
basement. The bass from those songs were mimicking the people dancing
as it bounced off the ceiling and walls around us. Music so loud
I was having trouble hearing myself think but didn't struggle at all
when it came to catching the little somethings you whispered in my ear as we moved in unison
to the seductive melodies
echoing around us.
The dancing began to fade as the stars lit up the ground we stumbled on
as we ran out the back door of that house when we saw those red and blue lights
flickering through that tiny window that was steamed up from all the


dancing around in my bedroom getting ready for another night out
like that one six months ago when our bodies moved more as one than two.
I hadn't heard from you since we parted ways at that old oak tree
in the center of town as we were trying to stay hidden from the flashing lights
down the street. Flicking off light as I walked out the front door a shadow appeared
under the dim light from the moon. It was
you standing there in the same flannel shirt you wore that night

the stars looked just like they did at that second. I didn't want
to remember that night when your hands danced across my body
as we moved in sync across the floor.
Our eyes met and a million words were shared but only one line was said.
I'm sorry I have not yet forgotten how to find you beautiful.
In that moment, I realized why tongues were caged behind teeth. Like criminals
being trapped in the back of that cop car the night we ran away,
tongues like all vicious creatures
need to be guarded.

I was an oblivious eighteen year old
obsessed with flower crowns and chocolate chip cookie dough
drinking to remember while others drank to forget.
I was ready for change and embraced anything that didn’t resemble
small towns, closed spaces, and my comfort zone.
You were a taste of spontaneity, caramel candy drops, and daisies
in a never ending field of possibilities. Five minutes with you
soon brought me more excitement than friendship bracelets and SpongeBob shaped mac and cheese.
You were everything
but predictable. That first night alone,
candles burning all around us,
       you touched me
without using your hands. I’d never felt anything
like the invisible ink you used to write all over me,
covering every crease and crevice without even trying.
Being a naïve, ******* girl I fell
for what I thought would forever be my favorite one night stand
that instead turned into almost every night as the hot summer air turned to chilly afternoons
with colorful leaves falling around us.
Looking up at the stars I thought I’d never have to be alone in the darkness again until
the invisible ink started to transform
into bruises from too much Bacardi and scars
from the flames you used to light those candles
the night you first said I love you.
I’ll never be able to forget the soft sound of your breathing
as I lied there
          uncovered,
     unsure
of what those nights meant
to me, to you
for us.

Lost in my make-up bag in the second drawer of my dresser
is that pale pink lipstick I forgot and made you turn around for the night of your friend’s wedding
where we showed up after the bride had already walked down the isle.
Somewhere in the depths of my car hidden
under countless grass stained blankets and empty bottles is that shirt you let me wear
that I forgot to give back after your best friend tripped
and covered me in a mix of Vlad and Red Bull only an hour after we got to the party.
Behind the first door to the left on the third shelf in the bathroom closet
is an extra toothbrush you keep for me to use when I forget mine every Saturday night.
Buried in your wallet underneath your driver’s license in a secret pocket
is a $20 bill you keep for unplanned trips to that little ice cream shop
that doesn’t accept credit cards to pay for my brownie sundae because I forgot
my wristlet back  at your apartment.
Concealed in one of the basement cabinets of my parents’ house
is the anniversary present I spent more than a weeks-worth of late nights up working on
but forgot to give you because we spent that whole day in the hospital
with your grandfather who died a month later.
Locked on my computer behind multiple different passwords and codes
disguised in folders and files with ordinary but unrelated names are hundreds of snip-its
jammed with emotions of regret, lust, and jealousy
that I forgot to send because you always bought me daisies from that tiny flower shop
you knew I loved.
Laying in your bed late at night wrapped in just that fleece blanket I gave you
waiting for you to get out of the shower is the girl you forgot to tell me about.

It’s 9 AM and I’ve been drinking
since before the sun came up.
The sound of the rain outside hitting that patched up window is nothing but an echo
of the liquor splashing its liquid into a never ending glass
until yet another empty bottle clicks and clanks in the trash.
It’s 12 PM and I’ve been drinking
since before the rain stopped.
The light from the warm sun peaks through the cracks in that window that broke
the last time I drank and reminds me of the day
leading up to that big fight when everything changed.
It’s 3 PM and I’ve been drinking
since that night two weeks ago when you screamed about me buying that new sofa
and walked out on the only thing that was keeping me
happy, alive, and sane.
It’s 6 PM and I’ve been drinking
since after the door slammed and you walked out
on me, on the little country house in the woods, and the little family we’d been
planning late at night after the sun set over the tree tops.
It’s 9 PM and I’ve been drinking
since before the sun traded places with the moon and illuminated the outline of the scar
on my left arm from the night we drank too much and drove too fast
on those road we didn’t know were dead ends.
It’s midnight and I’ve been drinking
since I knew where those roads took us.
All the twist and turns I thought were just part of the fun
ended up destroying us like they did that car when we hit the tree because we didn’t see the ice
below the new blanket of snow that was only interrupted
by the wavy tire tracks from what we thought was just innocent fun.
It’s 3 AM and I’ve been drinking
since I learned that being innocent and having that kind of fun is nothing more than a joke.
It’s 4 AM and I’ve been drinking
since I realized that the rain leaking in through that smashed window won’t ever wash away the things that we’ve done
or the regrets I can never take back.
It’s 5 o’clock somewhere and I’ve been drinking
but I’ve never felt more sober.

You don’t need a gun
to be shot.
I know this
       because the morning after
you left, I found a bullet hole in my chest,
that sadness from that Sunday overflowed to
    massive amounts of
pain in Monday’s mayhem.
The next thing I knew,
I had blood trickling from the
stab wounds in my back.
My weakness on Wednesday echoed the
      innocence of my thoughts;
you don’t need a knife to be
   stabbed.
The flashbacks on Friday were bearable
until my skin started to peal from the burn
during the sunset on Saturday night.
The warmth reminded me of the butterflies that used to flood my stomach when you smiled.
But they’re gone now
just like the warmth of your touch on my skin that’s
now just a bare surface.
I guess you don’t need fire to burn either.
The bullet hole will close, the stab
wounds will heal, the skin
will grow back.
The morning after
I saw you with her
I learned the biggest lesson of my life;
You don’t need water to
                                             drown.

I'm not one for small talk
because if we're being honest no one really cares
about how you're doing and are just asking to be polite.
But you knew that.
I'm not a fan of being the center of attention
even though I often have the desire to be held and feel wanted
because I'm constantly working on my self-confidence.
But you knew that.
I don't like the dark
because it envelopes me when I can't sleep
and I go over that night when he left and you remained the one person
I could count on.
But you know that.
Five years ago there weren't empty words
we both cared more about the other than ourselves,
we smiled so much our faces hurt.
Looking up at the stars knowing I never had to be alone in the darkness
that surrounded me.
You'll never know how much all that meant
to me; how you loved me unconditionally.
But I have a secret that was never shared. I regret
walking away. I never stopped loving you.
And now you know that too.

I’ll never forget how you called me beautiful
when I climbed off the back of that quad covered in mud and took my helmet off
to reveal matted hair sticking to random places
on my head. When I woke up next to you
and had those crusty things in the corners of my eyes that partnered with
the gross smell of morning breath that you still kissed me when I had.
I’ll never forget how you called me beautiful
when I walked down the stairs into the living room and you saw me in that dress
you said you’d been imagining me in since you asked me to prom
more than a month ago. When I started to ramble on and on
about something I read or saw online that was completely irrelevant to anything that was said
all day.
I’ll never forget how you called me beautiful
like it was my name
every morning when you kissed me goodbye before leaving for work, every night when we were arguing
over what movie to watch and how many bags of popcorn to make, at random times
like during dinner at that little diner when I had just taken a big bite of pasta or when you surprised me at work
with my hair up and covered in three different kinds of fudge.
You called me beautiful every day until one day it turned into
darling, you’re beautiful, but…

I woke up in yet another mess of bed sheets
with your bare chest up against my back
and my legs tangled up with yours underneath those flannel sheets
that haven’t been washed in weeks. The candle beside the bed still flickering
from the night before.
You loosened your grip as I crawled from that queen size bed
searching for that baby blue blouse that I dropped onto the floor
last night after we were done talking in circles.
I slid into it in a lame attempt to hide the not so invisible ink of our past
that speckled my upper body like freckles across my face
after a hot, summer's day.
Steam filled the small apartment,
leaking out of the bathroom door after you managed to roll out of bed
and into the shower. As the hot water hit the bottom of the tub
we spent hours in over the past year laughing until our fingers turned pruney,
I striped the bed
getting rid of the *****, wax stained sheets we used to sleep in
with the hopes of this time leaving behind the people we once were.

We used to run outside when we heard the thunder crack
across the sky just so we could feel the rain on our skin
as it fell from the sky just like we fell in love.
We used to drive around for hours not knowing
where we would end up and not caring
about the price of gas as we wasted tank after tank
only stopping the car when we were running

on fumes. Now my tank is full and I'm making the drive
on the interstate away from those familiar back roads
where we wasted countless hours with music blaring
through the speakers as my hand rested in yours
like the sun seemed to rest behind that tree line

at the place were we always seemed to end up
on those long drives to no where.
I'm watching the mile markers fly by as you start to cloud my mind like the storm
that's starting to take shape over me.
The lightning flashes in the darkness and I'm taken back
to all the days we smiled for our flashing phone cameras
until our faces hurt. But that was the good kind

of pain. Tonight, as I'm reminded
with each passing
road sign that I'm getting further and further away
from those open fields and dirt roads;
I realize I'm getting further away from those wasted nights eating
too much ice cream and staying up too late.
The little light by my gas gauge flicks on as another bolt
strikes the sky.
The all too familiar sensation takes over
as I take the next exit.
I fill up to capacity but get back on the interstate to realize I'm everything but full.
I'm missing you.

The headlights from passing cars on the not so distant highway let off just enough glow
for me to see the rings float away from your lips and fill the car
I would have to air out later before my parents discovered I didn’t actually go to Denny’s
for the late-night pancake special. I didn’t care
that I would have to stay up once I got home to wash my clothes because you had never looked as ****
as you did in that moment. I was staring at the tattoo
peeking out from underneath the sleeve of your favorite grey shirt when you started to laugh.
         What, I whispered
anxious about the sudden interruption of silence.
           You’re so high, escaped your lips
in-between another hit. I joined in your laughter.
What you said was true,
but it wasn’t off of THC
        it was off of you.

The snow outside my small window had just started to fall again
coating the frozen grass with a fresh white blanket that only encouraged me to stay snuggled up in my bed
under layers of fuzzy fabric. The sounds outside that condensation covered window
started to fade as my alarm clock ticked to another early hour of the morning.
        I should be sleeping
but instead I'm trying to study notecards for my anatomy exam in-between checking my phone
hoping you responded to that message
I sent a thirty seconds ago.
            One minute,
      two,
                   four
minutes later I’m struggling to remember where a protein is made
because I can’t drag my eyes away from the same, black screen that’s been staring back at me
since I sent that message five and a half minutes ago.
I give up on memorizing the functions of an organelle and turn out my light
trying not to focus in on how your hair would look
with little white flakes speckling it.
            Eight minutes
after I was picturing the outline of your face, imagining the perfection in every curve and line
I’m comforted by the faint scent of cigarettes on your skin and your hands grabbing my hips
as your body pushes against mine. I forget all about the snow
coming in through the opened window beside where we were
whispering back and forth in the dark room only illuminated by a random car passing by the building.
Breathing in deeply attempting to flood my brain with what I was feeling,
kissing the nicotine seeping up through your skin, praying it circulates through my blood
      and holds me over until the next time the snow comes down
and you blanket me like the white powder covering the frozen ground outside.

We’ve been here before: confusions high, tempers boiling, and the pressing question of whether or not we should be here.
I watch as your knuckles start to turn white as your grasp on the steering wheel gets tighter and tighter.
“I hate it. You gotta quit saying that” slips out of your mouth in a hushed tone.
I turn my body and look the other way trying to avoid your stare but still feeling every ounce of its
intensity on my back. Exhaling through my mouth
I gather the courage to face you again.
The sky’s just starting to turn dark and the only thing allowing me to see the complexity on your face
is that stupid street light we carved our initials into by the house three doors down.
The truth is that we’ve been here before and I know that you hate when I say
those stupid little thing that really have no relevance at all. Yet I continue
saying them trying to get a deeper thought from the person in front of me who’s turned into nothing more than a duplicate
of one of the moths swarming the now flickering light down the street.
The silence creeping over us is everything but quiet and I know

what’s coming. A techno melody began to play as we both let out a sigh.
It was 1 AM and we’re right back where we started.
“I hate it. We gotta quit doing this.” The telephone light from three doors down was still flickering
as our legs stayed wrapped up in one another.
We’ve been here before: unsaid thoughts, unanswered questions, uncontrolled confusion.
You always say we gotta quit doing this but night after night you lean in for another kiss.

You said you'll remember her but forget her face
because the blue of her eyes reminds you
of the girl who did everything for you
        but fight.
You said you wanted to forget
how her hair looked when she woke up next to you
as the sun creeped through the cracks in the make-shift blinds
you crafted together the night before.
You wanted your sanity so you strived to forget
the reoccurring image of her
dancing around the kitchen
         wearing only your plaid shirt.
You said you wanted to remember her name but forget her face
because the freckles speckled across her cheeks
created a path to the pattern of the little colored dots
       that decorated her body.
You didn't want to remember the soft sound of her voice
or the heat of her breath
as she whispered the secrets of her past into your ears.
You didn't want to forget that she existed
you just didn't want to remember the sight of her
trying to cry out the hurt that took over
       the night you said goodbye.


Two years and seven months later,
you held the door open for that blue eyed, freckled-faced girl.
A genuine smile formed across your mouth as I walked through the door frame.
A sincere thank you followed by your name escaped
my rosy pink lips that used to kiss you goodnight.
The smile disappeared from your face when you heard
the soft voice that once whispered secrets of the past into your ears
as the night turned to day.
You always said you wanted to remember me but forget my face.
Looks like you never did.

That girl
with the auburn hair
pale skin and
butterfly tattoo;
that one patterned with
sun spots and burnt brown eyes
topped with faint baby pink lips;
          that girl is me.
That girl that’s captain of
the team and president of every club,
the one who can’t say no to anyone especially the dusty haired
boy with green eyes that loved the
girl she was,
           or at least pretended to be.
That girl is me.
That girl that was always the savior,
Wonder Woman in regular clothes,
the one that gets along with everybody because
she can’t say no to anyone especially
that boy who told her everything would be okay;
that she would be safe;
     that no one would find out.
That girl is me.

          or at least who I used to be.

Hair’s now blond
skin’s sun kissd
tattoo removed
bright red lips accenting burnt brown eyes that learned
to say no to everyone especially
the tall boy with freckles and a voice that resembled an angel’s.
No longer Wonder Woman because
everything wasn’t okay;
she wasn’t safe;
and everyone found out.
The one I used to be,
   that girl
            is no longer me.

The dark had just started to set in the sky
when your car made its way down the gravel drive a little faster
than any of us would have dared.
Shouting as soon as you opened the car door I couldn't help
but notice the already half empty bottle of liquor
you almost dropped twice on your way into the kitchen.
I just swallowed a Jell-O shot
when you grabbed my arm. "Can we be friends?" You slurred out
in between the shot and the chaser. "Sure" I said seeing just how drunk you were and knowing you wouldn't remember anything

in the morning. The heat from the fire that was scorching my skin didn't burn
half as much as the shots all of us were taking
out of that dusty, old bottle we found hidden in the back of my dad's closet. Log after log was put onto the fire
trying to get the new logs to spark from the hot ambers that still remained. You sat down
next to me bringing up things

we used to have in common thinking the memories of hot days
in the sun and late night ice cream pig outs would comfort me
like you did the cold night that boy lost control.
The aroma of the liquor from the now empty bottle swirled in the air
as you downed the last three gulps like it was water
from that green bottle you used to carry around

with you. Mumbling something
about needing another drink you stumbled back to the camp.
A piece of ash the size of the quarters we flicked
into that pretty wishing fountain more than two years ago
fell onto the dirt in front of me.
I sat there as I watched it extinguish
before my eyes just like our friendship had
those many nights ago.

I’ve gotten use to broken promises
from the girls who used to pass notes  with me in fourth period geometry
when the teacher wasn’t looking. The crumbled up pieces of notebook paper
coated in scribbled words disguising the secret nicknames
we gave to the guys we didn’t want anyone else to know about still lay scattered
throughout random, dust covered boxes

in my bedroom. I’ve gotten used to the whispers
from those in passing who claimed to only wanted the best for me
as long as that meant proofreading their papers and being available whenever they needed something. Holding their hair back from the after effects of the bonfire Saturday night
knowing they wouldn’t even remember

I was there come the morning light.
I’ve gotten used to being second
compared to those who have more. The red ribbons
and second place certificates coat the walls of my house
serving as a constant reminder to push harder
but know there’ll always someone else

better. I’ve gotten used to lustful words from the boys who claim to love me
as long as my leggings and white t-shirt are lying on the floor
of their bedroom come Friday night.
The radio always seeming to play

the same song which you sang to me that first day.
You reminded me that I was more than whispers in the silence,
broken promises,
and love shown through violence.

I drive past the road leading to your house
signing the same song about how I’m doing just fine
but this empty bed is something I’ll never get used to.
It lacks the warmth of your body filling the vacant spots
mine weren’t touching. It’s missing your extra pillows
that used to speckle the sheets like raindrops
on the pavement outside.
I’ve gotten used to the winds
and the sky not always being blue, but I could never get use to
how I lost you.

I’ve been watching you since that first hit
four and a half cigarettes ago. I haven’t taken my eyes off you since you moved
down two seats closer to me and ordered another drink.
Three drinks later my eyes still hadn’t moved away from that deep red-colored flannel.
I couldn’t taste what I was drinking any more. I would regret it in the morning
but I didn’t care. I would keep drinking as long as you were
there. You finished your eighth cigarette and slipped
out of that flannel to reveal a white V-neck that stretched over your strong arms
you’d probably deny you worked hard for. Another drink

was placed in front of me. Looking at the bartender
he pointed to you.
For the pretty lady that cost me more than half a pack of cigarettes and six drinks.
Raising his drink, we clanked glasses and I took another sip of what I swore tasted just like I imagined
Your lips would taste. I woke up
the next morning with a folded piece of paper
lying in the empty, wrinkled sheets beside me.
See you next Friday. It was then I realized
he'd forever be my favorite hangover.

I can force myself to stop thinking about what's happened but I can't
make myself to stop feeling the twisting and squeezing of everything in my tummy.
I won't be coming home to find you laying on the couch watching some stupid show
you already know all the words to
or get to joke around with you before bed as we taunt one another about
that big test we knew we were gonna fail so didn't bother to study for.
I won't get to see your smiling face cheering for me in the crowd
when I'm doing what I love
or slap the cheater that broke your heart
for the one that always went back on their word.
I won't get to see the look on your face when you hold your nieces and nephews
for the first time
or get to see you spoil that dog you loved more than anything.
I won't get to sneak those pictures onto your phone or stay up all night
talking with you
on the porch swing on the back deck that creaked every time it moved.
I don't understand why bad things happen to good people.
I never understood why the good people go too young.
Then tonight I realized that when you're walking in a garden
you always pick the prettiest flowers first.

My throat's burning like I just took five shots but I've been sober
for weeks. The world around me is becoming fuzzy and my eye lids
are heavy on my face because I haven't
slept for days.
This isn't how it's supposed to be. The sky's
bright blue but it's raining and we're
just chasing

shadows, wondering aimlessly around, protecting ourselves
from the rain with broken black umbrellas and half smiles that mimic
the supposedly happy lives we tell everyone
we're living.
I don't recognize my surroundings.
I feel like a stranger

in my own bed
I'm homesick for a place that doesn't even exist. The burning in my throat
has developed into a throbbing
as if the thunder from the rain storm
was only inside my chest.
There's no sign of a cease

fire. No one should control every thought that runs through your mind taking over every empty space
that used to be filled with images of what used to be. The throbbing sinks lower to my stomach

that used to be filled with butterflies but now just twists into knots that I feel like will never get to replicate
the pretzel we would share at that carnival across town. We live with

the scars we chose and I'm choosing you. Not to be a permanent mark on my body but to help me forget
all the ones I already have, whether they're stupid decisions like taking too many shots I can't feel the burn anymore,
walking around dripping wet from puddle jumping in a thunderstorm not worried about being shaken
by the thunder, or eating so much
I throw up. It might still
be raining, but I'm still choosing you.

The room starts to shrink as the lights dim to only the small flicker
of the candle flame. The water won’t seem to go
hot enough even as the temperature continues to
increase until it’s hotter than the fire burning the wax.
    I stand there trying to convince
myself that the water will wash away
the circles under my eyes as the water
        turns cold.
But it’s a lie.
       The water won’t do anything but
cause my fingers to go wrinkly.
I take a deep breath and exhale as the candle flame
      disappears.
With nothing visible,
the water finally turns cold as it continues to drip
from my fingertips.
The circles won’t disappear like the flame did;
         the water won’t turn hot again.
As the light diminished from the wick,
the sparkle vanished from your eyes.
The glimmer of hope from the flame evaporated
    into the atmosphere.
The lights went out and I realized that we’re always going to be stuck
                    in the same darkness.

I rode the merry-go round,
I've been through the revolving door,
but I always seem to go back
to where I was before.
Times of endless word rhymes
still echo in my head
as I cry into one of the handfuls of teddy bear toys
you've given me.
Then I realize
they're just like me,
        taking                up              space,
not really having any meaning;

sort of like that retro painting in my room we hung up to try and hide
the hole I punched in the wall in the life we painted together.
I forced my knuckles through the plaster until I knew
the blood stains in the white carpet would never come out.
We've rode the merry-go round,
we've spent time in the revolving door,
but I don't think my heart can take
going back to where we were before.

I can’t stand it; the echoing of your voice rings
in my ears like the thunder rolled off those hills behind your apartment as we ran inside
trying to gain shelter before the rain poured down on us and all we thought
we were. We sat there on your bed
holding each other as the storm shook the world outside. The flash of lightening lit up
your face and I realized that something changed;
I didn’t feel right in your arms. Looking into your eyes
I noticed I was hanging onto every word
that flowed out of your mouth even though I knew everything was a lie.
You kissed my forehead and my stomach didn’t fill with butterflies.
I got up and walked out that door that always stuck only to be instantly drenched

by the rain. It was then that my stomach turned, my eyes opened.
My clothes were soaked and sticking to my body but I’d never felt more unconstricted.
I became so accustomed to hiding from the rain, standing under shelters to protect myself
from the unknown.  But you’re no longer my bridge. I don’t need you

there to keep me warm and dry. I’m not just going to fly like the butterflies
that used to crowd my stomach. I’m going to conquer.
I don’t need you to save me.
I’m going to soar.

The taste of gin
lingers in my mouth as I take yet another sip of you.
The world around me is spinning
I can't walk a straight line, yet
I wouldn't want it any other way.
Your hands trace the contour of my body
drawing small circles on the bare skin of my back
I fell back into you and everything that ever was.
I let go.
I grabbed you.
My hands around your neck
we danced as you moved my hips round in circles as the minutes turned to hours.
Your hot breath on my neck mixed with
the possibility of sin dripping down my back
like blood from the scar
that never healed.
The song changed but our movements never stopped.
The familiarity of your rough hands wondered
from my tangled hair
to the soft lace barely covering anything it should.
    The gin turned to whiskey.
         The world spun faster.
    The dancing never ceased.
Midnight turned to 2 AM
which disappeared faster than it came.
4:30
your hands still making their way
your breath turning hotter than the shot I just took.
The sun came up and I was burned
by something other than your kiss;
regret.


The temperature turned cold but I continued to stand there
water dripping over my bare skin
like your hands were doing a few hours before.
I was being drown by the feeling of my past mistakes.
I guess they were right.
I've turned into the girl that spent hours in the shower trying to wash everything away,
      yet still came out *****.
You took away my innocence.

Free spirited, opened minded, and an adrenaline ******,
you never took no for an answer,
always suggesting
something outrageous to outdo the time before.
You encouraged me to push the envelope
when I begged you to play it safe.
I was sipping my second Shirley Temple when you swallowed
the last mouthful of your twelfth glass Busch.
You spent the night mumbling snide remarks
about the shirt I was wearing to your friends
across the table while I sat there biting my tongue remembering
I still had ink healing from our last "adventure"
a few weeks ago.
Leaving hours later, I helped you
stumble into your apartment and land on the bed.
I slipped out of my blouse and walked
away trying to ignore your comments while my throat burned.
I couldn’t take the accusations.
      I hated getting to this point,
yelling at each other from across the room until the sun peaked through
the pane of that little kitchen window.
Talking in circles even though we knew
neither of us were going to win.
This time, I assumed would be like any other, ending in
the innocent, small town girl getting sick
from the constant the back and forth
          but you got up.
Walking in my direction, lighting
candles as you went,
creasing my face and pulling me in
you whispered in the voice I hadn’t heard since that first I love you:
I’d rather fight with you than make love with anyone else
    and at the end of the day
I realized that was all that mattered.

There was no way I fell
in love. I couldn't have been
happy. I wasn't
smiling. The truth had to be a
lie. I knew it because
it was impossible
to have this much fun

      s.   o.   b.   e.   r.  

The truth is, I'm not the original
owner of your heart. I'm living on
borrowed time. Tick,
     tock, the mouse
            ran up
                the clock.
But the clock struck one, and our love was done.
They say only fools fall in love, so darling,
they must be talking about us because
we didn't fall in love,
        we drown in it.

You left
but seeing the blue of your eyes mirrored in the sky
on a hot August day takes me back
to that first summer when the freckles on my skin were as prominent as the seeds in the middle of the sunflowers
your neighbor planted next door a few months back.
The rain hitting the cracked pavement outside the window of my favorite coffee shop
is a constant reminder of the day you told me about heartache
that would never stop hurting no matter how many ice cream cones we ate
in that old tree house we build in the 8th grade.
Seeing waves crash into one another with my toes in the sand
sends flashbacks of that cold, January trip where the wind was so strong
you didn’t even want to get out of the car to show me the spot you ran to
when life was becoming too much to just nod and smile through.
Running the paths along the river where the railroad tracks used to be
makes my muscles ache just like they did that day we avoided all responsibilities
and decided to climb the rock wall because we were too lazy to hike an actual trail
but too ambitious to stay inside and watch a rerun of Saturday Night Live.
Sitting in my car waiting for the train to clear the tracks reminds me of the countless September nights
we spent sitting on my porch snacking and listening to the train three blocks over
wondering and wishing it would pick us up and take us anywhere else.
Bubble gum popping is echos the memory when you popped my huge hubba bubba bubble
at the drive in the night you bribed me into seeing that action movie
you knew I didn’t want to see, but insisted on anyway.
Clowns at the Memorial day parade tossing candy to the kids lining the street
mimic the Skittles you threw at me as you screamed “I told you so”
when I finally admitted to liking that rapper you never shut up about.
Any scary movie haunts me like the Mexican restaurant off the corner of West Main Street
because it was there you told me you were leaving.
I’m sitting here considering burning  my favorite blue and white stripped sweater
you gave me for my 21st birthday because it was the last time
you told me everything was going to be alright.
It didn’t matter that I moved away
because I saw you in the face of strangers passing on the street.
I’ll never get to send you off or give you away
things have changed and both of us have grown
but we live in a world made of each other
so we’ll never be alone.

The heat seeps over me like a fire
coming up from the floor boards of the house we built together,
burning more than the cherry colored wood
we worked together to install.
The anger in your blue eyes flickering
like the center of the flames
that now broke through the surface
        like you broke me.
It wasn't always like this;
the floor being hotter than the passion.
The only heat I used to feel was your breath
on my forehead every morning
when you kissed me goodbye
          before leaving for work.
Or the hot cocoa that burned my tongue
when I didn't wait to drink it
         like you told me to.
The steam from the hot showers moved from the bathroom
to the cracks between the the trim and the floor
you've been meaning to fix for weeks.
I stopped.
         Everything stopped.
You said what I'd been waiting to hear.
The flames in your eyes were burning brighter than ever.
I went numb as the fire burnt the soles of my feet.
The heat seeped up my body
but I was as frozen as the day you tried to teach me how to ski.
The heat became too much and
I collapsed onto the floor as I was enveloped by the flames
that broke through those cherry colored floor boards
         just like you broke me.

This can't work
if you don't treat me
as good as you treat her.
We can't be together
if you don't talk to me
when you're with her
even though your phone never leaves your hand
when you're with me.
You can't expect me to be okay
with you spending all that time with her
and not telling me where you are.
This can't work
if you're not completely for it.
We can't be together
if you're not over her.
You can't expect me to be okay
or just tell me that's not how it's gonna be,
when you love her
and you love me.

How was I supposed to know
you were preoccupied
in another girl with burnt brown hair
and puppy dog eyes.
You acted ambiguous
never really answering with a conclusion
always leaving your mumbled words up for my interpretation.
How was I supposed to know
you went to see her
when you were supposed to be at home:
Alone.
You never stopped the morning texts
which never ceased to make me smile.
How was I supposed to know
you were sending her the same words
making her smile the same way.
The sleepy time kisses continued,
the cuddling increased,
but it was just pretending
that I was her.
It was all just for show
how was I supposed to know?

Let's cover the walls

plaster them with words we'll never say.

Wash the sheets we'll never sleep in,
and look at the pictures that were never taken.
Let's be blind to what could of been.

I wasn’t good at being alone
with the thoughts of my inability to be cherished
    treasured
  loved,
without his callused hands drawing out shapes on my bare back at two in the morning
after I knocked on his apartment door in tears for the third time this week.
I wasn’t good at fighting off the level of darkness that took over after the sun sunk down
below the top of the trees across the field from our favorite walking trail or when the cool breeze was flooding into the room from the crack in the window
that happened the night we drank too much ***** last July.
I wasn’t good at remembering
to double check and make sure the front door was locked
because you were always the one to turn off the lights and walk up those creaking stairs after me
while I waited curled up in your tshirt
anticipating the warmth your body would bring me.
I wasn’t good at being patient
while I waited for you to get home from going out
after telling me all about it but not inviting me to come along
because I didn’t fit in to your world.
I wasn’t good at speaking my mind
because last time I did I ended up wearing long sleeves when we went to the rope swing too afraid to take it off and expose the sensitive, colored skin underneath.
I wasn’t good at sleeping by myself
because the summer heat clung to my bedroom
and I couldn’t use the blankets to protect me from the monsters
I convinced myself would get me in my sleep
if I didn’t have the cotton fabric protecting me.
I wasn’t good at knowing when to take a hint
that I would never be more than a screenshot in your life
nothing more than a moment in time.
I should have known,
but then again, I guess I’m just now admitting
I was never any good at being alone.

Nothing is the same
yet other things never changed,
I’m still the moth drawn to your flame
waiting for the inevitable burn that will come again.
It’s just like I’m back at 18
crying on the floor in the bathroom at my parent’s house because you haven't respond to the text I sent
10,
      23,
                47 minutes ago.
The songs we used to scream sing with the window down in that old truck
now echo through my headphones louder than the crickets were the night we lied in the field
watching the moon rise over the mountain tops.
I’m not your Juliet,
that isn’t something new for you to know
I can’t keep biting my tongue
when you’re only my midnight Romeo.
I’m worth more than secret, late night randevus
and early mornings waking up in an empty bed.
I don’t like being sober,
but I’m tired of you leaving me hungover.
You know I would follow you
chasing every sun set as it turns orange and pink from a fading blue,
but I’m tired of only being good enough
for late night hotel room I love yous.

Summer’s coming to an end and even though the sun set hours ago,
there’s still a warmth in the air.
The room is almost dark
only illuminated with a candle and the sparse passing of cars outside the window of that little house.
The smell of caramel vanilla followed her as she walked from the kitchen
where she poured her third glass of wine.
She wasnt drunk
but the world was spinning a little faster than it normally did.
She knew what she was doing
she was fully aware
her eyes met his
and all he could do was stare.

Her body looked soft
like the blanket they lied on in the park
on the Fourth of July when they watched the fireworks bursting with color above their heads.
Tonight wasn’t like that though. There wasn’t any colors
or loud noises.
She was moving like a tiger
stalking its prey
waiting for the perfect moment to go in for the ****.

Three glasses turned into four as she made the trip down the stairs.
Her hips swayed as she walked
leaving a mystery of what was to come.
She stood there in the bedroom
looking out the window onto the dewy lawn
her skin glowed with elegance
but her curves screamed of ecstasy.
The neighbors across the street turned on their porch light
and the window lit up
creating a silhouette of the woman in front of him.
Her curly hair almost touched her waist as she arched her back and ran her fingers across the top of her hair.
She was beautiful,
strong,
powerful,
and full of everything he never knew he wanted.

I thought what we had was perfection
but it was nothing more than a projection
of the happily ever afters I read about
late at night under the soft glow of my phone.

We were full of quiet giggles in the darkness
intermixed with heart to hearts in the dim light of the dawn
but as the sun rose of over the windshield
it’s like all the love I thought we shared was gone.

Always stolen kisses in the shadows
with our hands constantly intertwined
whispering secret promises of tomorrow
but only leaving falsities and lies behind.

I never thought to question your truths
or take them to mean less than they seemed
but the happily ever afters in my books
apparently don’t always turn out like we dreamed.

It’s not supposed to be this way.
the confusion between us
leading me to words I’m afraid you’ll say.
You’re asleep on the couch but further
away then you were the night I drove us home from your favorite bar
two towns over from where you grew up.
Your head isn’t on my lap
with my fingers in your hair, humming a gentle melody
like your best friend played on his guitar the night we all sat in a circle in your mother’s living room.
It’s not supposed to be this way
counting down the hours only to then
actually regret the day.
Your arms holding a little higher on my waist,
our bodies not contouring into each other like they did
the summer we climbed that bridge and looked out
making the promise to never lose the feelings we had right then.
Your hand isn’t in mine
gently stroking your thumb across the top of my finger
like you did that warm September evening five years ago.
It’s not supposed to be this way,
questioning my decisions and thinking
I let you make the wrong choice last May.
As I sit here in silence with a tear starting to fall down my face,
I realize I’ve never been the one to not know what to say,
but all I can help but think is that I know
things weren’t supposed to end this way.

I told my mom that I quit smoking on that rainy Tuesday afternoon after the hurricane hit
because every store seemed to be out of that little white carton with red on the top.
I told my sister I stopped during senior year
because I was drowning in papers and would rather drink away my sorrows with beer.
I told my grandpa I didn’t need any money for cigarettes because I quit after grandma died last July;
I made a promise to her I’d find more natural highs.
I told my neighbor he didn’t have to worry about the butts in the drive way any more
because I swore to you I’d keep all my secrets hidden behind closed doors.
I told my nephew I quit because someone wouldn’t buy my old couch because it smelled too much like smoke
I thought they were kidding, but it wasn’t like one of your silly jokes.
I told that old school teacher I ran into outside the super market that I didn’t need a light
because I quit smoking in an attempt to lead a healthier life without living in fright.
I’m not saying I lied when I told everyone in this small town I quit,
but the truth is I’m craving more than just one last measly little hit.
Sitting alone in the room we once shared, I take one last inhale, letting the nicotine fill my lungs before throwing the **** to the floor,
I can’t stand the smoke, but the faint smell is as close as I can get to you anymore.