I never really speak exactly what's on my mind. Painting inhibitions feels like a higher art. Not on your life, would it be wise to bet, on any prognostication or even divination. Certain regret mars most definitive findings, but I wouldn't wish to make claim to any of those anyhow. It's much easier being misunderstood. Leaves me out of the loop. Hardly, would any wish the full scoop. After all, most of what is said and done, will be forgotten. Likely, never even initially heard. So, leave me no word, of remembrance. I'm fast approaching my own confines of extremity.

Guilt comes over me
because I don't know why I do this
moments of my ego being fed only hurts others
I don't want to be this person

The kind of girl who has no interest
but pretends to
only for the sake of feeling wanted

So I begin to lie to get out of a situation
that I know will only mess with your mind
I know you don't believe me
but this is for you

I know you're good
You have a great love
I know because I've felt it
but I'm gone now
and you don't deserve
to be used

The noise of Fall is deafening.
Tie your shoes and grab your coat.
You shouted 'til your throat was sore.
I watched the seasons
          change from where I stood
          in piling snow.

Listen, friend: I've got a few bucks
and some reasons in one fist.
In the other, got some memories
          and the lining
of my pocket in a grip.

Do you wanna fight the cold off
               with me
          and a couple drinks?
I'm thinking one good weekend
and a friendly face could save this.
Blame this time that's piled between us,
               blame the
     deep snow as we sink.
Call me up and maybe we could
scan the skyline, eyes unblinking.

And I know it's been a long time.
Bills tied hands, time clocks grabbed throats.
You've floated, changing hue on wind
gusting. I'm a name
             you half forgot
          ****** in the snow.

And I'll be gone come Spring time,
with my lowbrow jokes; my crude reminders
of the sharp angles
          of the letters I use
          to spell my name.

I.

there’s a boy with shaggy brown hair and bright eyes who runs after speeding trains and rubs my back when I’m scared and always helps me find the moon.

I can still feel his hand tracing circles down my spine.

he is not entirely unprecedented, he is not entirely polished and confident. sometimes both of us are too nervous to look each other in the eye,

but this is forgiven.

this is a boy with black-framed glasses who has suddenly grown strong and steady, whose arm around me is an anchor, who hasn’t missed a day in telling me that I’m beautiful. this is a boy who is causing a small earthquake in the heart of a girl who thought the fault lines shooting across its surface had settled

long ago.

it’s no secret that I’m still figuring out who I am,

how all of my fingers and elbows and teeth fit together, and that makes me nervous. I don’t want the boy to become

the latest casualty in my misguided journey of self-discovery.

on the knife-point between nineteen and twenty, teenager and adult, this is where we stand: the boy makes my heart flutter, and that’s all I know.

tell me I’m wrong, tell me I’m way ahead of you, and I’ll probably pay a price for it,

but just think about the way he ran after that train. the way he got distracted by the moon, the way he whispered to me in his car,

and tell me I’m wrong. go on, tell me.

You sit in a heart
That is free
From sorrow