lonely
shake my lonely out on the porch
let the dust settle and sparkle in the morning sun
there's something about dust in the sunlight
it has a magic to it, almost as if
it wasn't mere dust at all
lonely
my lonely goes for long car rides
the roads wind and the radio hums
the high-beams dart through the trees
and it's almost as if you were sitting right next to me
lonely
my lonely writes you poems
it crosses out words and scrawls across the edges of my notebook
it scribbles your name in every corner.
lonely
my lonely wonders if you'll ever see this
wonders why when we're together we're apart, why i feel so
lonely

ah, yes,
the mirror selfie
a work of art, i
contort myself so that i
might become the shape of the letter S
flex here, loosen there,
the angles, the lighting,
ten million tries so that i
might look kinda alright
for four seconds on your screen when
you're away
ten seconds is far too long

and i cut my lungs out
to make me feel thinner
i place them gently on the bathroom counter
so that the S you so desire might come to fruition
i am a work of Picasso's,
bent so irregularly, but
somehow, that looks alright
right?

Some sorta paper airplane nightmare
Came cruising through my room
Unfolded, crumpled:
Moonlight-stained, college-rule gloom.
It floods me with dread
The scrawled-up curvature of your hasty signature
Finds its way back to my bed
And wraps itself around my lungs
I gasp and pant as I wake

And I neatly fold your goodbye
And place it under my pillow again
Your signature whispers to me as I nod off
My paper airplane dream.

You wondered why
There are so many powers we cannot see
Why intermolecular forces
Decree that our hands should never truly touch
What better a reason then, to decide that minds should
Can, rather,
Touch
What better a reason
To crave your latest ponderance
To pry for the reason you don't sleep at night
I supposed I've never truly been touched but
That doesn't feel entirely true
Because when we speak together
Think together
I know I've been touched by you.

Tired of your “how are you’s”
And the “anyways, what’s good”
As if the glorious description of my commute
Were something to brush off your shoulders
As if I wasn’t already trying
To hang my thoughts out above the sky
Like a fishing rod
Praying you’d clamp on tight and let me reel you in
Just so you’d understand the stars
I have so much to tell you
So I cast out to the sky once more
‘Cause these formalities are hurdles I can’t bring myself to jump over
I stumble every time.
Give me just a minute to compose myself again
So I can write you a sonnet all about the traffic I hit
A haiku about that one co-worker
An epic of the weather

Or perhaps I could be blunt,
I'm tired of this;
There are beautiful things
Complex and exciting things
Let me write you a poem...