i often dream of never waking up
my toes are sinking into the snow
watching the imperfect explosions in the sky.
there is no way to reach you from here.
you try to speak to me through the infinite spaces you found in the void
of internet forums we are both apart of.
i am trying to reach you from here.
as i try to figure out the exact pantone color of your eyes
so i can paint my apartment walls the shade of you i still remember.
i am shifting through the boxes,
drowning into the unfamiliar space i still cannot manage to call
home.
i am a shape shifter.
trying to mold into that one perfect sad song.
i am desperately trying to reach you from here.
really.
i am dead compared to you.
you’re so alive.
i am calling from the grave,
in the poems and the songs i write.
you are the sunrise i wake up to in the morning,
you are the color draining away from my skin
as i pour my black coffee and watch the birds go far away.
your eyes are PANTONE 19-0117 TPX-
vineyard green.
i don’t know if i’ll be here tomorrow
i don’t know if this place will ever feel like home.
and i don’t know if you can hear me.

This is not a poem about ****** assault.

This is not a poem about you taking everything from me.

This is not a poem about you taking the little girl I was once and forcing her to see how terrible the world can truly be.

This is not a poem about you taking my 4.0 GPA and shoving it under your bed with the remnants of my underwear.

This is not a poem about you taking the comfort out of physical affection.

This is not a poem about you pretending not to hear me when I begged you to stop.

This is not a poem about me pretending to fall asleep so I could pretend like I didn't remember it happened again.

This is not a poem about you blaming the alcohol.

This is not a poem about you blaming me.

This is not a poem.

What does it mean to be

inhaling oxygen
breathing life
into my weary being,

culpable to my constant
throbbing consciousness
as intricate webs
that were once woven
into my mind
crumble to
the onslaught of time?

What stories could be told
about the needle in
the metal garbage bin
in the gas station bathroom,

about the thin
brown skinned
woman
rolling up slow
as I ride my bike
while getting soaked
in the pouring rain
after eleven P.M.,

about the misconception,
the keys clutched in my
tense hands,
a heart of suspicion
that never becomes reality,

about the uncertainty,
if I should be at ease
or stand tightly on guard
while strangers watch
and walk around me,

about the social programming
that even though I know exists
still affects the way I react
more frequently
then I care to admit?

It's easy to say
that the other's to
blame

when the sand and
the sea play the
push and pull game

and it's hard to get
dry in this grey, coastal
rain

wet wood
on the coast
won't light up into
flame

So I sit by the embers,
glowing in shame

and take a stick to
embed the sand with
your name

- the month that you died,
I wasn't the same

I've never been sure
I was meant to be tame.

He had stepped into the leaky washroom
Ceramic tile: floor, walls, and ceiling
Water ran, flowing like a clear mountaintop spring in morning
Her body was **** and lying there
Lifeless and beautiful
He was gazing down at her
Finger twirling his dark ponytail hair
He said aloud "the water is cold, it's as cold as glacier water"
It was forever running over his scuffed up, black wingtip shoes
And down her freckled face, as he was standing straddle her head
Through her elegant red hair
Over her small pale *******
And then down each side of her figure
Hugging the outsides of her legs
Then hugging the outside of her ankles and feet
The glacier water freely flowed on  
It gave her body a complimentary glow
Reflecting the florescent light from the outside hall
He was standing there again pondering her death
Like many nights before this
He's standing there in the glacier water
Looking down at his beautiful wife
Remembering how cold the water was that December night
And how cold it has been ever since

and it's pretty warm for december
the kind of weather where we'd roll down your windows
drive around that place you call home
i hate that place now
i was thinking about you
what's new
but more about last night's xanax bar
the way it made me feel weightless
and mostly because i didn't miss you in those moments

i'm going to do more
i'm sorry