Let's get married in Vegas.
Cheap rings.
Cheap wine.

Let's have a ramen noodle dinner party.
A quaint occasion.
In our quaint cottage.

Let's dive into the ocean
Floating among the plankton.
Glowing like stars in the sea.

Even though I seemed fine.
You were supposed to hear it in my voice.
I thought you would sense it.
But you didn't answer the phone.
You were too busy to talk.
You wanted to sleep.

I could be reckless.
That would get your attention.
I could be foolish.
And get sent to detention.

But I will keep plucking
From my bag of generic responses.
I will keep adding
To my list of excuses.

It is not an excuse, but it is a reason.
It is not your fault that I am not strong enough to stop this thing I do.
This thing that hurts the both of us, but it really hurts you.
Part of me thought you already knew.
I convinced myself that you’d picked up on the subtle hints I’d dropped on your feet like soggy feathers.

I don’t need you to forgive me.
I need you to do what will make you okay.
I need you to be better in spite of me.
I need you to graduate and become successful.
I need you to marry someone with blue eyes and blond hair so I hate myself every day.

People make excuses for me and it makes me feel like hemorrhaging.
I don’t want to party.
I don’t want to dance.
I like to marinate in this pain I’ve earned.
To know that I may never know you because I got to know someone else. Might never open my eyes to the sight of your face two inches in front of mine.

Do not fall in love with these words because they are made of ink and ink bleeds, but I don’t.
I sent you all my love in an airplane that crossed over the sea.
And by the time it got there, you were half way to me.
Don’t let my tears coax you into settling.
My hurt is irrelevant when it is what caused yours.

So many things I want to say but have no right to.
Sign a permission slip to grant me access to the places closed off with yellow tape.
How could I ask for a second go at cutting you into confetti?
Come here, I said come here.

You need to be here, so I can stop being this way.
But is not fair to say.
It is not your responsibility to restore my innocence.
When did I become so selfish?
Why did I take directions from strangers that played their music too loud?

I should have done molly.
Should, shoul, shou, sho, shh. Sshhh.
I should have done more drugs and given less hugs.
Sshhh.
I should not have dressed that way or done my make up just so.
I should have been looking through pictures of you on my phone.
Oh, that face. The one that thought I was perfect.
You know the one, with the eyes I wanted to one day see on the face of our child.

I'm naïve. I am an airborne virus. You caught me on the bus.

You were never not perfect.

blow up my ego with helium
let me go when my head gets too big
and watch me exhale into the wind.

1/2 cup of narcissism.
3 teaspoons of pretentiousness.
2 sticks of vulnerability.

Dating is a test trial marriage.
Break-ups are practice for divorce.

make a mess of me.
peel me apart until my insides are exposed.
tell me who I am:
dumb, ****, trouble, fickle, helpless, weak, crazy, damaged, bitter, *****.
tell me who I'm not:
beautiful, independant, successful, innovative, compassionate, patient, wise.

now tell me something I don't know.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you

I missed the feeling of your **** between

my lips

and your ***

when it drips

down my chest

and my thighs, pressed tight

are still slippery on the inside.

I’m an eel moving

with the pull of your current.

I’m a siren

singing full volume in the desert.

I want your elixir

your kingdom ***

in the bedroom,

but you’re not dreaming.

Late night snacking

on this *****

you’ve got a craving

and my hips

won’t quit

until you’re shaking

reeling

from the thrill of it.

Daddy goes down,

but his last call doesn’t come til’ sun up.

Shape me and mold me

every color of

your ****** deviancy.

I’m not a cure,

but I’m fixing

to explore the furthest reaches of your boundaries

of this bed

of your – flexed fingertips.

I’ll wake you with my mouth

if you put me to bed with yours.

I’m pleased to please you,

sweet release in these sheets,

tangled up inside me.

Your aftershocks got me shook.

To the boy with the eyes,

the color of the sea –

I fell into more than your bed.

Remember when you traced over my photograph
in green paint
and it made me look like Shrek?
I hated you for that.
You're a talented tracer though;
I'll give you that.

Remember that one time you made a list of things I like
in your notebook?
I found it romantic in a tastefully subtle way.
I like that you noted my affinity for knee socks.
The song and the item of clothing.

Remember when I wrote you that poem
on Hello Poetry?
It was kind of cliche
in a charming sort of way
You never admitted to reading it,
but I know you did.

I like how acceptable it is
To overshare when you're drunk.

I like how acceptable anything is.
And how easy it is for people to forget.

Pretend you didn't say that one thing.
And I'll pretend I didnt hear you.

I want to cuddle and listen to the hum of the fridge.
I want to trace your features
With my fingertips.
I want all of me
Touching all of you.

You smell fizzy.
Everything you do is what I want.
You're fun to be in love with.

You make my heart hiccup.

When I speak
I lacerate my mouth
and it fills up with blood.
Staining my lips
the same shade of red
as my chipped fingernail polish.

I find refuge in words.
They can hide or reveal.
Encourage or suppress.
Begin or end.
But when spoken out loud
words change from butter knives
to daggers.

Ouch.


Ouch.


*O u c h.

For a moment all I see is a broken little boy
that grew up without a dad.
I want to tell him it's not his fault.
I want to tell him
that dads are overrated.
We can share mine if you'd like.

But before I can slip behind the curtain
that keeps your true self hidden from the world
you put up caution tape
and say it's off limits.

As if I don't already know you're not the great and powerful Oz.
I don't care.
Because I'm not Dorthy.

victimize
with those eyes.
the ones I saw staring back at me.


                                           you transform my distress
into your guilt.
I'm not a scapegoat
for the way you feel towards yourself.

                                                you're blamelessness
                                                reminds me of my shamefulness.

i'm convicted of crimes against humanity
convicted of crying over you and me.

                        you saw it didn't you?
                        that I couldn't make eye-contact with you.
                        because i'm no good.
                        but good at being bad.

disappointed in me,
myself -
because my best never seems to make it into your realm of goodness.
hiding
bleeding gums from when your words are pointed at me
i'm still finding the tiny glass shards you kept beneath the sheets.

What's wrong?
Why so sad?
Why so mean?
We've still got six months
Left of our sentence.
But you're stuck in isolation.
You don't hear me.
You're not listening.
We don't talk,
We yell.
We don't discuss,
We shout.
These bars have hardened us.
They'll be no niceness left when we're
Released.

I guess I’m a liar.

I told them I would meet them at the fair at seven.
I told them I was on my way at eight.
But I was lying in his arms.

I laid there in between the sweaty sheets twirling the purity ring around on my finger. He was asleep in a few minutes. I rolled over on my side, clutching the sheets to my chest and let the tears fall soundlessly to my pillow. I was lying in bed with a thief. He’d taken my virtue. I could report it stolen, but who would return it?
I drew my legs to my chest, pulling myself into a ball. The tremors rolled through my body like thunder. Holding in the gasps that shrieked inside my chest caused a burning like sensation at the base of my throat.
In anger, I tossed back the sheets and sat up; letting my legs dangle over the side of the bed and onto the **** carpeted floor. I wiggled my toes as my legs swung back and forth. Instinctively my hands caressed my stomach. The tears returned once more, streaking down my face and dripping onto my bare thighs.
I looked down at the silver band on my ring finger. The silver band with the words: true love waits inscribed in loopy cursive. I pushed the finger into my mouth, wetting it with my tongue. I pulled it out and twisted it loose, sliding it off of my finger. I turned back towards him and threw into onto the bed as I stood.
Standing there before the full length mirror pulling my hair back into a pony tail I realized that the girl the mirror reflected had a face different from my own. She looked sad and bitter – two things I was in short supply of.

Then I smiled at her and she smiled back at me.

There I am.

When love and like aren't synonymous
I feel anonymous.

that was the night we went downtown and I snuck to the bathroom
to take off my underwear,
only to come back and shove the small knot of fabric deep into the pocket of your jeans.
the pink mesh ones with the lace trim.
I liked the way you looked at me.
in a way that conveyed your understanding.
that we shared this little secret among the throngs of people that surrounded us.
through the infinite noise and slush of cider filled cups,
the jostling bodies, the whistle of the wind along the seafront.
amidst all this,
still this one
silent
and simple exchange was shared.

how delicious are memories such as this
when recalled on nights like these.

Karma isn't always instantaneous.
The cruel reality is that it can be drawn out...........
It'll trick you into thinking you're safe.........  
You've escaped.
Baby, you may be money
But not enough to post bail
When it comes time to answer for your crimes.

They called her crazy
Because she didn't know
Her own name.
The pale blue dot
She lived upon
She was afraid
To call home.
On that Wednesday
In December
When it began to rain
Her lifeless finger
Pulled the trigger.
She doesn't whistle anymore.

She was never apologetic about the fact that she kissed him like she hated him.
As if by some strange spell her kisses were slowly poisoning him from the inside out
And then one day he would pass away and no one would be the wiser.

And just as she imagined her kisses had the power to ****, they also had the power to bring to life; but she was less fond of that feature.
She didn't want to fix things.
She preferred to break them because so many other people spent their whole lives fixing.
Destruction was something of a natural instinct to her.
To anyone really, but especially her.
She didn't need to be taught how to break things.
And there was far less competition in this category.

So she kept on kissing, and one by one the boys dropped dead. Always boys, never men.
Because they shrank to a shell of their former selves when they kissed her.
They hollowed out so that the wind howled through them, echoing against frailing bones.
All their insides drying up with every dart of her tongue, which she weilded like a sword.

This is for the boys that don't get poems written about them.
The ones with bad acne and figurine collections.
Because one day you'll outgrow your acne
and a girl will find you charming instead of awkward.
And she'll want you to kiss her but you'll be too nervous.
But she'll be nervous too.

When I'm high I want to eat with my hands.

The texture is part of the experience.

I thought I was being philosophical
But I know I was being annoying.

I want you.
I’m thinking it, but don’t say it this time.
I’m sure you can tell from the way I’m watching you from over the rim of my wine glass.
We’re sitting in my bed, murdering a bottle of summer red.
I’m tired, but not quite ready to sleep.
“Let’s build a fort,” I suggest.

I knew it.
I swear I did.
From the moment you expressed your lack of interest for anything having to do with romance.
I’m not quite sure what I knew,
But I KNEW.
Maybe it was the fact that I would be happy memorizing the curves of your mouth by tracing your lips with my fingers in the dark.

Remember when you said that bit about not actually being hungry,
You just wanted flavors in your mouth.
There’s something endearing about the fact that we've fallen into an unconventional routine.
Perhaps because in traditional relationships it’s something people fear.

The casualty with which we regard the fact that though we have yet to meet,
Our lives will soon intersect indefinitely.
As if it were normal.
As if we care.

I’m far too susceptible to the way you seem to blink in slow motion
when you’re overdue for a good night’s sleep.
My favorite place to be is with you in my daydreams,
Thinking about things that could soon be reality.
Everyone and everything appears dull compared to way your eyes glimmer.

Have I told you that I adore?

I rely too much on others to sew me back together.
I wanted to be the one to fix me this time,
so I'm not waiting in pieces until someone arrives with a needle and thread.

So I found a playlist to suit my mood.
And weathered the storm.

The distance is spreading wider.
Remember the days when you liked her,
Liked me.
When we got along.
When we didn't need to be alone
To cope with being apart.

Don't dismiss me all passive aggressively.
I'm a person.
Not a class.

Nonetheless, I'm sorry I got defensive and
For this passive aggressive apology.

I love you all the same.

Why did you feel like you had to prove something to everyone? Innocence isn't bad you know. You were going to wait. But you were just so **** eager to prove your point. Perhaps a bit of it was spite. You felt over sheltered, so you overcompensated.

You have bad hair and bad taste in boys.

Still you shouldn't have broken up with him via text. Twice.
Making the third time by phone call wasn't a bad idea.

You have small *****. Get over it.

Stop being so insecure. Do things by yourself. You’re prone to codependency and neediness is not a good look for you

Invest in a pair of cute thigh highs. Delete your ****** blog. Get your eyebrows waxed (it doesn't hurt that bad).

While I have your attention - DON'T ******* FAIL CHEM!!! You end up retaking it with the same teacher whose face resembles that of a rat.

Enjoy being a social butterfly because it'll get old quick. Also beer is gross so you didn't miss much at parties.

*You'll grow into your skin.

Death and dancing
In the night
Never ending
Until there is
Light.

I must admit that it gave me a thrill when you said you owned the rights to my body.

"Where do I sign."

I think I blushed when you told me to sign with my tongue.

The thing about love
is that every time it seems more real than the last.

This person won't hurt me.
*The third time's the charm.

He said: "Life is like a balance beam."
We were at the park.
I was in one of my "moods".
He wanted to cheer me up;
Make me smile at least.

I said: "I'm stuck in my head."
He said: "Hop on."
So I did.
He jumped.
The balance beam bounced.
I struggled to remain balanced.
He calls out life obstacles
For each jump:
"Your car broke down."
"You lost your job."
"Exams are coming up."

Bounce.
Weeble.
Wobble.

I fall.
I'm not dead.
I laugh.
Everything is okay.
I'm okay.

He said: "I got you to smile."

tell me something,
like how it feels when we finally kiss after a huge fight.
how the cold wind rushes past cheeks flushed red from  the warmth of liquor.
we said so many things when we were upset.
I barely remember why.
I do remember the smooth brush of your stubble
as you'd nuzzle
against me.
And making love in the kitchen,
the smell of homemade tomato sauce still lingering.
Pounds upon pounds in my pockets after a night out on the town.
drinking cider,
drinking red stripe,
drinking wine til I cry.

All those things we said
when we stayed in bed.
Exchange a glance.
have a tumble til our bellies rumble.

This is a nonfictional romance.

Let's get under the covers together
and make a lil love tent.
Warm, cozy and
snug.

Wandering love tent hands.
I'll be gentle.
But I don't want you to be.


Pushing our love tent bodies together.
Love tent lip bites.
No pants allowed in our lil love tent.

He was always looking for ways to classify his sadness.
But the way I see it
the world is a sad place to exist
and most of the time the people that live here
can push those thoughts to the very back of their mind
but sometimes they grow weak and the realization starts to creep back in and fill up your head until it feels like its pouring out of your ears
and you're sad and it seems like you don't know why
But sad is the normal response to being alive I think.
It's all the other emotions we experience that are abnormal.

I don't want to be alone,
because then I'm forced to deal with myself.

And being alone with myself and my thoughts,
that is one of my least favorite past times.

I can't endure the silence when I am alone.
Music is constantly buzzing
So I can't think

When I get thinking, I get stuck in my mind,
Like a crab in a castnet.


I'd enjoy my loneliness if it was with anyone else but me.

People don't fix loneliness.

But loneliness likes company
That's why she went to the party.


*Parties are a celebration of loneliness.

Kiss me against the lockers
or behind the bike racks if you'd rather.

I'll hike up my skirt so you can give me pleasure.
One hand for inducing my moans
the other hand to silence them.

Translating the movements of your body
and replying with movements of my own.

Let me tell you about this boy I love.
His name is common, but I've never met anyone like him.

He's got mood-ring eyes
and an open-mouthed smiled.

He lives far away
but I've never felt closer to another person.

We're not exactly the same people we were as when we began.
and that's not a bad thing.
In fact, it's quite good.
Because that means we've grown
and he hasn't gone away.

It means he's the one that's going to stay.

I don't want to be this way.
This needy leech that clings onto warm things
and turns them cold.

Too eager
too wishful
too expectant.

Burn my skin with a match
and I'll let go of you.

I'll leave you alone.

No girl sets out to be the type of woman that needs a man.
Yet here we are.
In a man's world, run by little boys.

**** it.
**** me,
To say you're sorry.
To make me glad
After an argument that's made me mad.
Hold my hips
And pull my hair,
Stick your hand in my underwear.
Mouth on mouth
Muffled moans
Hand on mouth
And squirmy toes.

Forget the flowers,
I want a kiss.

Meet me in the summer when my hair has grown out a bit.
Meet me on a Wednesday at 4:00.
Meet me with open mouth and balled fists.

I'll come to you on day with a breeze that reddens your cheeks.
I'll come to you with flowers tucked behind my ears and your favorite song stuck in my head.
I'll come to you whole.

Let's go to the beach way past our bedtime.
Let's ride our longboards downtown and dart in and out of traffic.
Let's meet in the middle and then stay put.