Our fingers brushed in the gallery opening
not so long ago,
we were in a room full of art,
but you were the only masterpiece I was looking for.

I still share stories of us...
to strangers, and to people that never knew you.
I paint a lovely picture of those memories and my tool is the knife you left stabbed in my back, right between my shoulder blades.
The blood has this thickness that helps portray this realness that
is unlike any other medium once it's delicately laid upon a canvas.
I've passed your apartment stoop, hoping you'd be sitting there with a stale beer and a cheap menthol drag dangling from your *******.
Even though it's never you sitting there, the same stench of *** and
the aroma of Svedka still drifts around the humid city air.
It causes a whirlwind of emptiness in my head and I'm never
able to clear my thoughts of you completely.
When I look up at night and see the millions of stars making their headlining appearances in the dark, I always wonder if we'll ever be
discovering the exact same one like we found each others hearts.
But then I remember, just like losing sight of a star in the sky, we lost each others hearts and you chose to never try searching for mine again.

I can still feel the bass from your music
vibrate deep within my hollow ribcage
where my heart used to beat.

Sometimes I pretend that your lips
are pressed hard against my collar bones
wishing me well again.

Other times, I dream that your caramel
colored eyes are staring back into mine
with such lifelike severity, that even you
can't remember why you broke up with me.

As selfish as I felt it was,
in the beginning I couldn't understand,
how much he had changed in the time
I knew him and that I didn't want
our time together to end.

Two years later and I'm here,
and I'm able to rethink about the past.
The recollection isn't as hazy
and the memories are less painful
when I can see the picture being painted
in a whole new light.

He let me go because he was unable
to give me the things I needed.
For that, he was doing me a favor,
letting me go so I could find someone
to love me the way I needed to be.

Sometimes I look back on those memories
and they feel more painful than right now.
But at least I can appreciate that
over time, I was able to see he was more
sorry than I once believed him to be.

Everything was black and wet,
there were bubbles,
the field was boiling.
Through the windows,
you'd just sink into it.
"Loosen up," the lake echoed,
"I'm sure as hell not going anywhere."
A flat-crested hill seemed to dance,
mountains unfolding into higher places
and looking over the lake.
The place was in sorry shape,
plain and simple.

The last time we made love is smeared
on my pedestal sink in the form
of my ruby red lipstick, and eyeliner
in the shape of a misguided arrow
resembling your pale purple veins.

Sometimes my dreams take me back
to that moment, wondering at what point
you decided that love was no longer enough
to keep yourself attached to the moments
we were sharing together. If at all.

Buttermilk pancakes
and their sweet tasting batter.
Reminds me of when we stood in
your tiny Boston apartment kitchen
trying to cut lemons into slices
that we'd use as chasers
for our alcohol binges.

Sometimes I picture us back
on your roommate's couch
trying to make sense of the
useless television we put on.

The lies didn't cloud my vision
then like they do now.
If only you didn't leave me
like I meant nothing to you.

Champagne drenched tears,
if only you knew how sour
they were tasting as they dripped
down my frigid cheekbones.

The alcohol couldn't burn the taste
of you away, but it numbed me
slightly for only a moment so I could
gain some spine-tingling clarity.

Instagram
is telling me
that it was 87 weeks,
or 613 days ago,
that we last
held hands,
and you pretended
that you loved me.

The last time we
locked eyes
was 43 weeks ago
at our mutual friend's
art exhibit.
304 days ago
we saw each
other last,
and it may be a
lifetime
before that ever
happens
again.

How can such a horrible person
be able to create such beautiful art?

When I pass away,
bury my ashes in the dirt
along with some seeds.
I want to become a Weeping Willow,
the most whimsical and honest tree
in existence.

When humans become sad,
I can provide them with shade, shelter and
safety, casting my branches over them
in a protective embrace.

I’ll know the pain that burdens their
shoulders, for I was once in that same place.
I can listen to their problems when nobody
else will, and be able to understand.

Their tears will provide my soil
with strength to stand
strong and not falter.
The hums of Earth’s sounds will lull
them back to the safety of reality.

The taste of ***** burns my lips
but it doesn't pain me as much
as the abandonment did when
you broke up with me at 2am
in your city apartment.

I'm a honeybee.
You're the smoke
that has molded me like putty
in your calloused hands.
Once I'm out of the hive
that is my soul, you come
in and steal parts of me
I have a hard time creating
and replicating over again.
It was a sweet escape but it
was laced with the fact
you would only use me.
Why did I let you in?

I keep on painting sunsets
with acrylic glaze
that remind me of the fiery
passion we both shared
when we were together.

Some steel blues and warm violets
remind me of the tears I cried
and the jewels you gave to me.
The golden yellow hues bring me
back to the Boston skylines
we photographed together.

Whenever I hear a plane overhead,
I wonder if you're on it coming
back for me. To plead for me.
But I know better than to keep
wishing upon them as if they
were stars granting my desires.

Your lips -
they parted like the Red Sea,
dripping words blacker than ink
across the blank page
that was my body.

Your hands
smelled of vanilla,
but rough like granules of sugar
stirred into teacups.
Your fingers,
they teased me,
snarling along my ribcage
as if trying to tie flowers along
my weeping torso.

The connection was instant
like a polaroid picture.
But the love was slow
like when a bump turns to a bruise.

And it faded, too,
just like all wounds do,
love does too.

Blackberry kisses,
stinging strawberry cuts,
and raspberry colored veins.
If only the shape of your lips
had been as perfect as the
cherry I'm ******* on.
Unfortunately, the golden apple
hue that your soul radiated
was only momentary.

His hazel eyes remind me of chocolate,
and I wish that the storm in my heart
could have engulfed his, too.
Then maybe he would have seen me as
an equal, not just somebody he could use.

A galaxy paints
my fragile hands
a spectrum of
vivacious color
that even a sunset
just born will envy.

They only glow for
such a small amount
of time, that it's like
seeing a shooting star,
or a lighter's spark ignite
with the naked eye.

I'm left with a thin layer
of crust resembling the earth's
core plastered on my fingertips,
with their jagged edges
and the way they are used
to cutting through skin.

As painful as it is trying to
rid this archaic wonder,
I am not a fossilized relic of myself
left behind for viewers to learn about.
I am just living my life the only way
I know how, as remnants of a lost soul.

My blackberry jam
bruised covered lips
have slowly turned
into a pastel shade
of peachy rose bliss
because they had the
time to heal that my heart
has yet to figure out.

My heart was an abandoned animal,
and your mouth was an umbrella
that dissipated any storm
ready to shake and rattle the soul
that I built as a home within myself.

You shielded my heart as best as you knew how.

Too bad that the lightning of your words
combined with the thunder of the storms
tore apart your umbrella and electrocuted
any hopes that remained for my heavy heart.

Maybe someday you'll see that the temporary
home you had been was never going to be built out
of brick, and one day would fall to the ground
without so much as a word or last breath.

I yearn
for a touch
I haven’t yet
experienced.

Sometimes,
I wish my apartment steps
were made of glass
so the night we met -
they shattered and we never
would have made the connection
that sold my soul
to the devil
back last year.

The price
was that I would
miss you
for the rest
of my life,

And I wish I could
take it all back.

I'm glad you exist.
I need my space.
Some moments I just
want to be touched
very hard by your
logic and kindness.

Continue to learn me,
feel me, and love me slowly.
You tell me to trust you,
but the truth is I'm scared.

The last time I trusted so hard,
I was left to drown in the crater
of tears I created for myself.
I’m still coughing up water.

But this is the last time I want
someone else to hold that
kind of power over me.
You aren't a bad person,
I've just learned my lesson this time.

The things you don't realize
when your hearts separate
forever and you never speak
to one another ever again.

The sky is still the same
shade of blue as last February
when we kissed in your apartment,
teasing our fingers in each other's
hair, while your roommate
listened to us on the other
side of the door.

That tiny place still exists in
Boston where you left it,
even though your heart is
now in Seattle with some
new girl you just met.

I mean, I hope you're happy
wherever you are now.
With whomever you're with,
and doing what, or whom
you love so dearly.

I'm no longer the burden
that worsened your heavy mind.
I just wish you'd realize that
my heart never left your
tiny studio apartment on
the outskirts of the city.

Your eyes still haunt
and dazzle my mind's eye,
and yet your presence
is still long gone from me.

My collar bones and spine
are becoming too heavy
for my body to carry on and
act as if I don't miss you.

I feel my ribcage rattling against
my aching heart trying to beat.
My lungs struggle to catch
the last breath we exchanged.

One day I hope to meet you again,
face to face, so I can see that sliver
of guilt that you're holding onto,
and yet, be able to say I forgive you.

It’s almost 1AM,
and here I am wondering why
you never wished me a good night,
or even tried to tell me that you love me.

The conversation took a turn.
A turn, I wasn't expecting.
Like when a yield sign
is on one side of the road
and you have to brake anyway
for the people that don't follow it.

"I'm sorry," you breathed,
hugging your legs close,
tucking your hands behind
your kneecaps.

Your bed suddenly felt
like I was sitting on stone.
"You don't want me anymore,"
I shouted in a pain-ridden voice.
I pulled away, sinking further
into myself and bending over.

You pull for me.
Your hand snags my shirt
and then my arm.
You attempted to pull me
in closer to you.
I never understood why
you wanted to give me
a protective embrace.

"You said you don't want me anymore!"
I reiterated, looking at him with
tear-streaks on my cheeks.
Any hope left was in this one moment,
and it turned out to be the moment
you let me go.

It’s been a long time

since the book in my hands

had a cracked spine.

And it’s been a long time,

since my hands traveled

the distance along yours.

I remember that night when you were drunk,
mumbling over and over again
about how you weren’t a good person.

We all laughed at such a thought
escaping your chapped lips.
I couldn’t fathom you in a bad light,
never mind knowing that’s
how you viewed yourself.

Cigarette ashes and cheap *****.
Those were the things we indulged in
two nights before you decided
you no longer cared about me.

Unfortunately, you were right about yourself.

You aren’t a good person,
because good people don’t shatter
and break other good people.
That would be bad karma.
And I hope that cycle envelops
your damaged and sorry soul.

My heart
feels heavy
being weighed down
by the words
I’m too afraid
to say to you.

Sometimes
I wonder
if the ocean
would swallow
me whole
if I jumped
off of a cliff
and let it
envelop my
aching body.

Sometimes
I wonder what
it would do
once it had
its hold on me.

Would it let go?
Or would it
wash over
my bruises
and scrapes
creating a
bandage
of love
and stinging
sea salt?

Could it handle
each and every one
of my problems
and fears, or would
it shy away from them
just like you did?

Nothing can compare to the feeling of
caressing just blossomed sunflowers.
They reflect their warm gaze upon my cold,
freckled cheeks while their golden hue
searches onward for other souls to bless.

Nothing can compare. Except for you.

They remind me of you and your warm gaze
that always seems to settle upon my eyes.
They remind me of your hands and how they
feel when they’re pressed against my face.
And how our faces press against each other’s while
our lips are safely locked together.

No feeling can compare to freshly blossomed sunflowers.
Except for the feeling I get when I’m with you.

I think I realized why
you are the way
that you are tonight.
Once your heart gets broken,
you don’t care or have the capacity
to retain that doing it to
somebody else makes you weak.

I have been tiptoeing around love
for as long as I can remember.
It takes shape of those monsters under your bed
or in your closet that you can’t get rid of.
Fortunately for me, I think I found
my flashlight and the monsters that I once
thought occupied my various bedroom spaces
are actually figments of my imagination
strewn about my room.

Your smile favors the right side of your mouth
while i favor the left,
so i can trail kisses along your
jawline and back down your neck.

The idea that your heart is a galaxy
that can love infinitely is one you may
only find trailed along the pages
of a philosophical novel meant for the
scholars of an alternate universe.

You look at me
like you’ve seen God.

Your eyes are the greatest
depths of the ocean while
I’m afraid to wade up
to my waist on the shores.

It’s as if every care you
have in the world has been
replaced by your sudden
desire to touch my lips.

I know your heart is a storm,
but it thunders to know the sun again.

You took one final glance in my direction
as you watched me leave for the last time.
There was no movie ending where you run back
after me, yelling that you made a mistake.
I didn’t end up in your arms, kissing your neck
and saying that I forgive you for the moment
you had a lapse in judgment amongst the tears
I was attempting to choke back.
You just looked at me with no disdain.
I got one final touch from you where we hugged
and then as I departed, I was the one that looked back.
I wanted to see if you were watching me leave.
But all you did was turn around towards your apartment.
You didn’t look at me, you didn’t walk me to the train platform,
you just turned around selfishly as I cried to myself.
I wish that you hadn’t have acted that way.