the early hours of the morning, when light has yet to show itself, and the streets are quiet.

2am is not for the happy people.

it is not for the lovers.

it is for the shadows that finally feel accepted.

it is for the poets, who are still up because their mind is filled with an unimaginable amount of words about someone they love.

it is for the broken-hearted who have been crying since 9pm.

it is for the people who love but are not loved.

it is for the one who finally feel like they can be whomever they want to be (or need to be) at 2am. and only 2am.

I hate dreaming about you,
when I wake up my whole body aches
from being tricked into thinking
I was really touching you,
that you were really there
and you really did want me.
I don’t like waking up whenever
I dream about you because
when I turn over to the
other side of my bed
to that empty space
I’m just reminded that
you still aren't here with me
and I’m still lost without you.

i saw a crane the other day.
it was foraging in the brook.

two thin lines
stepping stepping
stopping
observing

it almost looks human
the way it moves
thoughtful, careful, hesitant even
negotiating its footing

gooney majestic grace
unfurling ballet -- for me -- amid
babbling brooks and nature's hooks

i cried
i wept like a child

---- no, i didn't

i didn't cry
i didn't weep
but i wanted to
i wanted to cry
i felt like i should have

i wanted
to cry

i should have been able to feel
to have feelings

night drew in
abrupt
i didn't see it coming
lost in thoughtlessness' pauses
retracing the cursive of it all
left with
blank pages bound, blinking cursor

i killed two mosquitoes

then left

i kicked a stone
down the path

i want to get to know you.
i remember thinking that when i first met you.
i wanted to get to know everything about you.

what you look like in the morning, what you look like at night, what your hair is like if you jokingly put it up in a towel, what your family is like, what words you use a lot.
what your favorite scent of febreeze is, what color you describe the sky as, what you think of when you see something beautiful.
what your favorite creamer is to put into your coffee or if you even like coffee, what you look like at 2am when you're feeling alone.
how you speak when you are angry in comparison to when you are sad (so i will never get the two mixed up), what you want as a tattoo, what you believe in.

i wanted to know everything that i could fall in love with.
and i learned that there is no one else i would rather know, than you.
because absolutely everything about you is intriguing, from what you look like in the morning to what you dare to believe in.

I feel the plates of the earth pushing us apart
We grind and we glide but we never let go
I think about you there in the cold winters
On my tiny island
In my inferno
I think about the scruff on your face
The rose in your cheeks
I wonder about your scent
I think about the way your skin must feel
Underneath another's nails
But in truth I know I deserve no claim
My loyalty came with a price
And to be fair
The wound is still raw
Still open
Still waiting
If waiting for the past makes me a fool
Then to hell with wisdom
I won't swallow this
But today is not the day
For resolutions

A tired girl starts her day with a sigh like the moan of a violin
Her groggy mind is overflown with empty thoughts that have yet to be tamed by sleeping in
Her mornings consist of the same boring routine,
Get up, get dressed, but first make sure you’re clean,
In her sleep drunken state, she stays in the shower until it’s too late,
I guess making it to school on time was not to be her fate.
When she finally stumbles into class, tardy slip on hand
She sinks to an empty desk, unable to stand.
The classroom discussion gets her more and more lost,
Although I suppose missing half of it would have its cost…
She seemed to be quite vacuous at times,
But she held a lot of smarts, just hidden in her mind.
She would scrutinize her work until she had an idyllic idea
But sometimes it was too big of one for her mind to appeal
But even though she tends to assail to her work,
Her perfectionist tendencies don’t let her finish any work,
A tired girl ends her day with a sigh like the moan of a violin
But tomorrow she will just have to stop and try again.

I think I'm allergic to eating..

       I wake up the next day to soft blue blotches on my thighs
       And angry red lines on my hip.