You are simplicity,
a pair of jeans and a
black t-shirt.
Your eyes are the
color of slate slicked
with rain,
mine to hold in my
gaze, trying to find the
tiny brown spot you
say I never see.
You are long hikes in the
summer and car
rides in the winter,
hand in hand down old
dirt roads.
You are heavy metal
songs louder than the
beating of our
hearts late at night,
drowning out the
truths that
scream obscenities in
our ears.
You are uncertainty,
an awkward hand that
adjusts to
hold mine,
lanky fingers,
calloused and
agile beyond your
twenty years.
Your tongue lacks my
linguistic quickness,
but I'll never have your
gull or guts to
attempt the
impossible and
questionable moments you
live for.
I'll never see the
need to be care-free,
climb to your
heights, or throw
worries down the
street like the
pages of your
favorite book.

We are bent, but not
broken.
Our bodies are old
tree stumps cut
down long ago,
but our hearts and
minds will stretch like
branches, reach towards the
stars that we'll
wear like late
cherry blossoms.
We are dried and
withered from years of
harsh words against our
skin, and battered
fists into our guts.
But, you and I, will
join together our
hands and intertwine our
fingers into limbs
a hundred strong.
We will stand taller than
they, upon hills and
mountain tops, higher than the
clouds that once blocked
our eyes.
We are the underdogs,
while they sit among their
riches and animosity.
But we are the ones who
will change this
world, dig up the
soil and plant the
remains of what little
good is
left in the
palm of
our hands.

Cigarette between your
lips, smoke around
your face,
you are an angel.
You cloud your eyes with
depth and drink, and
coat your lips
with ash,
stale-**** breath in
your lungs.
You are not
bad, but the
goodness inside of you is the
size of an
ember from your
last cigarette.
You are tar and
toxins, hidden beneath the
sickly sweet tang
of nicotine.
You were intoxication,
a drink I abused because I
couldn't forget the taste.
You are a drug inside my
body, flowing through my
blood stream,
poisoning my veins.
You were never
good for me, but I
enjoyed the sickness,
the sweat,
the illusion that I
was a light you wouldn't
burn out.

F-A-T;
the word stands out
bold in my brain.
Down another
cupcake, another cup
of Coke,
not thinking of the
sugary morsels that run
past my lips until another
pound is added on the
scale.
I'm triple digits;
too big, too
flabby, not small
enough for a
size two dress.
I put a finger down my
throat, but nothing comes
out into the
foamy toilet water below me.
I count each calorie and
gram of saturated fat,
but I always fail,
always binge until I
want to die.
Swim another
lap, run
another mile,
grind bone against
bone with every
strain of my muscle.
They say that I am
healthy,
but healthy is never
thin.

I promise to be
your sweetheart,
to smile for you and not
tear up my skin.
I'll sit on your lap when
you're drunk, and I'll
hold your hand when
you're not.
I'll kiss your
lips, your cheeks, your
neck, because you
deserve to be treasured.
I'll turn away when you
smoke your special
cigarettes, but secretly
inhale their scent when you
hold me close.
I'll learn your favorite
song by Dream Theater,
know the words by
heart like I know the
letters of your name.
I want to be your
sunshine, your
everything.
I want to be the
one who wakes up to
your green eyes every
morning, bright like
precious emeralds in the
early light.

The patch of bare
skin below your
neck fascinates me,
smooth and pale beneath a
mint-colored shirt,
carelessly left unbuttoned at
the top of your breast.
I shy away from your
adolescent figure,
small and child-like in a
young man's arm,
but a
woman in mine.
I'm not meant to crave your
long hair and gloss-painted
lips, but the
freckles on your
cheeks mock me, your
hips intoxicate me.
I only imagine your
scent, your taste,
sweet and gentle like the
air inside me,
girl's perfume and
shampoo clung to you like
a veil.
You're nothing but
a little girl,
but,
in my arms,
you could be so
much more.

You're only a glimmer,
a touch of
the skin, a slight of
the hand.
Your eyes are only mirrors, and your hands
a woodland breeze,
a dream I've tried
to remember.
Your breath is the
smoke in my lungs,
a fire burning beneath the
surface of
my groin,
the sweet grainy earth from your
lips to mine.
But if I reach out to
your cheek, you'll
turn to sand between
my fingers, blowing
away with the
breath of a
broken kiss.
Yet I will still
hear you,
I will still feel you
against my breast.
But still,
you are only a
dream,
transparent as the
moon and as
distant as
the stars.