You're a good distraction-
like the channel without infomercials
at 2am.

During the day
you haven't time for me
and I'll waste away

and no one will ask about us.

and then all of a sudden
you meet someone
who shuts your mouth and
opens your eyes
and you just lay there on your side
and smile the dopiest smile.

you feel like singing and
screaming and perhaps
like you might explode
if the radiation
from the insides of his mind
that slices you from
six inches away
continues for much longer.

and if you do?
it won’t matter
because he will scoop you up
and kiss your pieces-
barely even noticing that
you are broken and

when he leaves
it is always
too soon

and the sheets smell like
the sweat after a long day
and you love it in all of its honesty
and the hard work that it eludes to.

His hands feel warm on your skin
even when they are too cold
and you have rolled
away with the quilt once again.

He’s respectful
and he’s got a big goofy laugh
that comes
from the recognition of a lingering sorrow
he is still
unwilling to share.

He will leave you
more tangled than your hair
in the morning
after it has spun itself
across the static surface
of sheets and skin.

He’s letting himself in and
you dream of him
even when he is beside you.

Your thoughts never tire
of retracing the steps you took together
and you will walk down familiar trails
hour by hour
when you mind needs a rest.

He is quite possibly the best,

the best


The best.

and you'll get to the rest.


c.e.m. 11.24.14

You're picking at me
like scabs of my mistakes

Disappointing you
is easy;
and admittedly-
pleasing.

We're careening down the mountain
and you've cut the brakes.

Your medication give you the shakes
and I twitch in my sleep

Your love is cheap
and the wine is sweet
and I awake the next morning
with a migraine from both.

What a gracious host.


I'll try to make ends meet and
you'll half-heartedly sing me to sleep.

We'll do the whole **** thing
again on repeat
week after week.

The silence is too loud-
the background noise is making my ears ring.

I don’t know how much longer I can tune it out.
I don’t know how much longer
I can control my mouth
from wandering away on your forehead
and your cheeks
and your collar bones.

I’m sorry if I end up picking you dry,
I just have a lust
for love that seems
to be perpetually unsatisfied.

It cannot be denied I am a fiend,
but to tell you what you do not know
would destroy my pride and
most likely cause your retreat.

How do we go about telling them how we met?
Am I just a bet?
Or just the best that you could get.

I can't help but be cynical towards your approach and
you unfortunately
meet the status quo.

The more I get to know you
the more apparent it becomes
I’ll never be able to control you;
nor will I want to.

My freedom is contingent on yours
as well and it may leave us
in a well

but then we will
finally be alone
and forced to talk and
what if you choose to break it off?

Well then off I go like I had planned for you
the whole time,
zip away on a plane like
I am riding white lines through
white winter skies.

When your hands are on the
insides of my thighs
I can only adjust in passive-
aggressive consent
that could easily
be misinterpreted-
either way.

Don’t let my terrible,
smooth,
icy skin
be the only reason you stay.

I am a hypocrite at best-
hand up my dress and
you biting my lips
like you know I like.

Is this what it’s like to be a grown up?
They say always a bridesmaid,
Well for me?

it’s always the couch.
Never graduating to the ascent
required
to tumble onto the pocketed recesses
of the spare mattress.

I often wonder if
I am simply
The World's Best Unpaid Actress.

C.e.M. 11.22.14