Separated by gravel roads
burning rubber tires
and airport runways,
I am alone.
A blue lit up screen
is not the same as
feeling your breath
on my cheek.
A gust of wind brings
the smell of pinecones
and cigarettes—
I am choking
on your memory.
I glance at a window
and I think I see your face,
shimmering, glowing,
but it’s just a reflection of what could be—
what could have been.
Misery chills my bones
and freezes my heart
but I remember porch swings
and handwritten letters,
catching snowflakes
and counting stars
and the promises we made
fills me with a glowing fire.
I remember you and I remember us,
and the ocean waves could not drown
the life we breathe into our love.

I want a boy
who can drink and fight
with the devil inside him
in such a way that
drinking a fifth
and smoking an eighth
is as pure as Sunday Brunch.

There are ticket stubs to quiet towns
and cigarette boxes litter the ground.


The TV is nothing but static,

the out of date maps are enigmatic.


A Bible is yellowed and battered,

a lipstick stained mirror is shattered.


The guitar on the bed is out of tune
next to paper plates and silver spoons.


37 text messages go unanswered,

love letters written to poets and dancers.


Peeling wallpaper and flickering lights
would make any sane person take flight.


But in the midst of chaos and decay

The wandering poet will always stay.

I once loved a boy
who let me hold my breath
until I turned blue
waiting for him to say
three simple words
but he set me free with
three words of his own:
“You’re not her.”

I once befriended a girl
who went apple picking
with her family every fall
and swam with the jellyfish
every summer.
Now she spends every Christmas
and New Year’s with men who will
run their hands up her thighs
but cannot remember the color of her eyes.

I now dream of boys with
colorful tattoos and smoky hair
who let me rest my head on their
broad shoulders and take my cares away.

I am now like the girls who prefer
to dance and sleep alone.
I love the girls with broken hearts
because maybe we can gather our shards
together and create something beautiful.

I found my confidence in the peeling
floral wallpaper of cheap motel rooms.
We ate with paper plates and napkins
and though my paper heart was easily torn
she always taped the pieces back together.

She promised that we'd live somewhere warm
where nobody could tell us who we should be.
Her Chevy pickup was the only place I felt safe,
and slow dancing with her to Johnny Cash
at that old Texas bar is where I felt most at home.

She was a cool summer breeze and
I was a cold winter's night, but together
we could stop the world.
I was a poet and dreamer, and she fueled
every shining star in the night sky,
every wish I ever made.

I spent my whole life with clenched fists
and gritted teeth until she kissed my knuckles
and relieved my grief.
I never needed the midnight drives,
the sunset dreams or the crackling stereo,
but she made me want those things.

She made me want to live to love,
and love to live.

I have to be naturally beautiful and cultured
and funny and sweet but I can’t be too demanding
and I can’t prove him wrong or else I’ll be deemed
crazy.
I can graduate top of my class and have a PhD,
but I will still make less money than men.
I’m a **** for sleeping with him and I’m a *****
if I don’t, I’m a doormat if I don’t speak up for myself
but I’m a ***** if I do. I’m a nag if I ask questions,
but I’m a good wife if I don’t.
I cannot walk down the street without fear of
being attacked, I can’t like rock bands or math
without proving my eternal dedication to them.
They get mad when we fight for women’s rights
saying they’ve given us enough, but being able
to vote for men who will not even let us
control our own bodies isn’t going to cut it.
Being a woman today is a battle but we will
defend our worth going down swinging.