My brain is a sieve.

Most of the words of this poem have dripped out
on the road
on my shirt
on the front step as I fumbled for my keys.

I think it was something about
starlight and loving you
but then that’s no surprise.
At this point the structure of my DNA
is sonnets I composed for you
and free verse you’ll read and think
is about someone else.
The kinds of words you’ll coo about
and caress in your mind
and shower me with praise over
like a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek
when I want and want and want you.

But I suppose we’ll never know, now
what this poem was going to be about.

It’s my brain, you see.

It’s a sieve.

I never doubted that you were capable of love.  
I only doubted that you were capable of loving me.

I'm not dead
                                                                                                   But I'm not alive
I'm not living
                                                                                    I'm just trying to survive
We're all playing the same game
                                                                                              Just different levels
We're all in the same hell
                                                                                            Just different devils

Sometimes I think about
the structure of atoms
and how difficult it can be
to tell the difference between me
and the cantaloupe I just ate
and where I end
and the sunlight begins.
And I wonder
if maybe when you kiss me
you leave behind pieces of yourself
on my tongue
and that’s why I remember
exactly how you taste
no matter how long it’s been.

Sometimes I think about
quantum entanglement
and how two different particles
can be inextricably and inexplicably
tied to each other
no matter their physical distance.
And I wonder
if maybe a tiny piece of your left iris
is entangled with an atom
in the muscle of my cheek
and that’s why
I can’t help but smile
when you look at me.

Sometimes I think about
our understanding of DNA
and how so much of it we call “junk”
because we don’t know what it does.
And I wonder
if maybe years from now
they’ll be able to read my base pairs
like a novel
and some scientist
will be able to look at them and say
“This,
just here,
this is how we know
the subject fell in love.”

I often carry
On so much
Anger and sadness
That when something
Small goes wrong.
I break, and it
Makes people
Think i'm crazy.
But you know whats
Even more crazy?
Caring on all that
Without knowing
Which or who's
Direction to aim it at.

When she speaks,
She speaks the truth
Listen.

When she hopes,
She hopes with all her heart
Hear her out

When she laughs,
She can brighten up any room
Laugh with her

When she cries,
Her pieces thought to be glued together come apart
Hold her

When she loves,
It's like no other feeling
Love her back

When she writes,
She writes out her story with beautiul words
Read it

Because when she writes,
She's writing the words she can't find to speak

When she loves,
She's loving like she yearns to be loved

When she cries,
She's letting out everything she's been holding inside

When she laughs,
She is reminded that in reality, happiness is still so very far away

When she hopes,
She hopes in vain;
For every 11:11 wish,
Ends in tears spilling,
And broken promises,

But when she speaks.
It is rare-
She is habitually silent
For when she speaks,
No one listens.