white man says
make america great again
white man says it
like he ever knew America bad
like he ever knew anything but privilege

white man says
take us back
to better times and
I wonder which he means

maybe genocide
or slavery
or Jim Crow
or woman only knows kitchen
or woman doesn't get vote
or back of the bus
or don't ask don't tell
or all that war and all that death

white man says
make America great again
like it ever was to begin with

other white man says
make America Christian again
like this country wasn't founded
on freedom of religion
like you’re only free to have it
if you love Jesus

white man says
conservative with fear between his own teeth
says the word
like it's a dying breed
like it'd be a bad thing if it did
says it like he knows a **** thing
about what it means to be a minority

white man says
**** political correctness
as if kindness requires too much effort
as if it's a mistake to be considerate
as if words don’t have significance
white man says
Mexican
Mexican
Muslim
says go back
says you're not wanted here
sounds a lot like 1941 Germany
sounds a lot like ******
Mexican
Muslim
brown person
doesn't know how much survival it takes to be one in this country

white man
says legal
like it only means good
like these men who look just like him don't walk into movie theatres and shoot
into schools and shoot
into churches and shoot
into mosques and shoot
into human and shoot
tell me again what it means to be legal
to belong here
to have the right to be alive without chains
say we'd rather have guns walk free than citizens
say we'd rather save money than lives
say this country's got too many problems
say you know how to fix it

white man says
make America great again but
doesn’t know that progress
doesn’t work in reverse
tell me again
how going backward
will make the future any brighter
when our past is a reflection
of all the light
we never really had

missing you when
you are here
that's the worst way
to have it

isn't it?

-is to feel the glow of light
even in darkness

is to want now to last forever
while still anticipating
tomorrow

is to draw a future
between the cracks of your smile
is to fill myself
in the lifeline of your palm

is to color cheeks into blush
at the sight of your gaze
is to stretch a smile
into a mountain range

is to pour myself
in the indents of your ribcage

is to hear a reminder of you
every time a love song plays
is to finally understand
why they were made

is to not have fully understood
a good night of sleep
until it is spent by your side

to be with you-
is to find god in our silence
to see the holy in our touching
to say grace for this feeling
and pray for it to stay.

It's not always going to be perfect
some days will be busier than others
with more work done than attention given

some weeks will be harder than most
time, us both lacking enough of it
wishing there was more to have and spend

now and then
the chaos of priority will challenge us
to choose between the crazy of our schedules
and the enjoyment of each other's company

I'm not sure when this will happen
or how often
but one thing I know for certain
is that each day will always be better if it ends in the same bed
and each morning brighter if it starts with light peeking in to wake us from the same window
spending a night together
is the only way I know how to stop time

the hectic of life will come when we least expect it
the struggles, right smack dab in the center of contentedness
there will be moments where we question our own sanity
wondering what to do with all this passion
when the only real option we have is to embrace it

we're not always going to be perfect
we're not always going to be ideal
there is too much unknown in life to call us a kind of forever
I can not promise that we are
but I can promise a few things

we may not always be successful in our pursuit of each other's happiness
but I can promise you
I will always try to find yours first

I will be your tomorrow
always pushing you to make it there
the call of a new day and a guarantee of something great the next
so that even in the lowest of points you know the future is rooting for you

I will wear a smile even when you're not around
just because I know it's your favorite look on me

I will be as grounded as possible
just so you know there's always a part of this earth that loves you

and when the day comes when we do argue
I can promise I will push the bull in me aside for a little
us, both taurus, could easily fight to the death but I
want nothing more than to be the first to surrender

it's not always going to be perfect
I, will not always be perfect
but you have never wanted me to be anything close to it
only happy

some days we will question how worth it all of the effort we put in is
you'll have my laugh and the curve of my lips to remind you
and I'll have yours

sometimes getting out of bed feels more like a climbing
and some mornings waking up can be a triathlon of effort
I have completed many

sometimes I am all muscle
sometimes I am all skin
sometimes I am the long lost cousin of regret
sometimes I am the farthest thing from human

some days I am a Saturday
some days I am more Monday
some days I am both
it does not matter which day it actually is
it does matter if I can't remember

I get lost often
in poetry
in the process of writing
in movies
and moments of comfort

I don't think about the future a lot
but occasionally I'll wonder what it would be like to live happily in it
Now and then I'll draw people into mine and imagine how they'd fit

I take things day by day but tomorrow still excites me nonetheless

I was fifteen when I got my nose pierced
sixteen when I switched the stud for a ring
seventeen when I got my driver's license
and at eighteen I finally stopped sleeping with a nightlight

I am terrified of the dark
but I will never admit it

I am terrified of losing things
but I will hold onto my pride like it's my sole source of surviving

I will not always be smiling
know that if I am not, it’s not your fault
know that if I am, it is

it took me years to correctly pronounce ptsd
it took me a few, two exactly
to admit that I have it

know there will be days when the storm is too heavy to fight off alone
the winds too strong to fend off with just these arms
I will not ask for your help
I will think that I don't need it
I will

know that your laugh will never become secondary
your happiness, always a priority
I have loved too much for far too long to not do so consistently

I'm a hopeless romantic
but often times I will just be hopeless
this
is when I will need you most
when the loud of my vocality has turned itself quiet
when I can blame only tired for my weakness
this
is when I will need to be reminded
of that tomorrow that excites me so greatly
tell me
about all the times the stars were told they wouldn't glow bright and center
tell me about all those instances of defiance
tell me about the moments where the sun refused to let the clouds block her bravery
how she still manages to make herself known in the midst of chaos
tell me
is there anything more worth it
than being unabashed in your awareness?
to know that this is what I am
and it is all I have to offer
?

the thing is
I don't have a lot to offer you
only poorly composed sonnets and a good 99% of my affection
the other one percent
I'm saving for myself to have on a rainy day

the thing is
I don't have a lot to give
but I do have words I am willing to tie into stanzas
I will wrap them up and call them gifts
I've got a body,
not perfect but it's mine
and I'd love for you to know it

the thing is
there are a lot of things you should know about me
before you love me
but the truth is
a lot of them you really won't find out
until you do
and that alone
is the best part
about it

Loving you feels like home
like a fireplace I never took the time to sit in front of
like this warmth is a newness I am just now experiencing for the first time
like I don't even know how to be cold anymore
loving you looks like a sunday morning
or a tuesday
like a bed with tangled sheets
like the glow of sunrise crawling in through cracks in the blinds
like the dent in the mattress of a body
yours fitting perfectly parallel to mine
like the mess of human we are
poured together between silk and skin
reaching for a touch to remind us that this
is real
like I have never seen eyes look at me the way yours do
loving you sounds like the loud of my laughter
unbound in its arrival
like the calm of silence
like I could build a fort out of it
like blowing out the candle in the corner of the room
and how comfort stays still even in darkness
loving you tastes like the corners of my lips stretching outward
like the habit of a smile forming
like a permanent sweetness on the tongue
like a craving I could never lose
Loving you smells like my sweatshirt
like your face buried in my neck,
my own pressed against the soft of your chest
like how knowing your morning breath is a privilege
loving you is like a poem without ending
like I never want to write ours
so I wont

I could be anywhere with you.

meeting you
was finding a pond
after years
of knowing only desert

I find comfort in the static of the record player humming,
the crackling of vinyl against its holding
your arms tucked tight around the curve of my spine
and waking up to the corners of your lips widening

this is a sunday morning
that I could relive
7 days a week

this is a feeling
I am near terrified of
but in a way that I need to be

see,
I have never been one for writing love poems
and when it comes to writing love
good endings aren't my specialty

I'm not one for spilling vulnerability
to then have to clean up the mess
after it goes without catching

I'm not the best at predicting future
and letting go
is an art form I am still mastering

I have never been one for writing love poems
especially not for those
who don't stick around
long enough to hear them
but for you
I am willing
to take the risk
to set aside hesitation
for the chance of lasting
to sacrifice my fear of heights
for the possibility of a smooth landing

I don't know you well
but I know you enough
to know you're exactly what I want

so I'll talk about your smile
how your dimples have quickly become
my favorite half moon to stare at
or the way you look at me
like a single star
in the middle of a busy Los Angeles sky

being enfolded in your grasp
feels like sun peeking through grey
how lightness makes itself known
even in the midst of rain

I want my skin
to find a home in your palms
and my laugh
an echo in the crook of your neck

for routine
to settle on the map of your body
from collarbone to knuckle to wrist
making a transparent dent in each earlobe
to be missed by my lips
to crave the caress of my hands
when they have other obligations

and I'll hope
that I can waste
as much time with you
as I intend to
although I'm sure
that any time we spent together
would be anything but wasted
I hope
that we can stretch these two nights into two hundred
weaving a weekend into something we can wrap ourselves in

this is me saying a prayer
the only way I know how to

I have never been one for writing love poems
but for you
it is all I want to do
to listen to the silence
and from it
form a symphony
to take this coincidence
and call it fate
to give out all of my honesty
and hope that you stay

I'll know it's love when I am wedged between a line of cars on a busy street in the middle of a commute
listening to the radio and thinking about what food I have leftover in my fridge
or what the weather's going to be like tomorrow
this is when I'll know.
it'll happen suddenly
randomly,
an earthquake in the center of my Tuesday
somewhat of a surprise
like walking through a haunted house knowingly
the shock is inevitable but expected
or it might hit me
like a lightning bolt on a day with a vacant sky
like a bus when I cross the intersection without looking
okay
maybe not that violently
maybe it will be subtle
like the moon's descent into crescent form over time
like the evolution of freckles on skin from sun
quiet in its arrival but still apparent
it could occur to me loudly
almost like a revelation
but more like an understanding that has been building for months
growing inside this body of mine
I often bury feelings in my stomach
feeding them subconsciously until they become too full to cover with ease
love will come to me like a secret I have been hiding for weeks
pouring out like a confession I never wanted to give
I like to say that falling hard is a habit I've overcome by now
but I would be lying if I did

To say
that love makes itself known visibly
from the exact minute we meet someone
is not exact truth
but you'll know when it does
creeping out strategically into your routine,
love will settle in your bone marrow until it has formed into a disease

see I'll know it's love
when I go to search my wallet for parking meter change and I only find your name
when the empty in my bed grows too big for just my body
when every ring a cellphone hums reminds me of your laugh
when the onset of cold makes me miss the comfort of your holding
when I start to wonder what a life never knowing you would be like
when I can't remember how I ever survived on this earth without you
I'll know it then
and I'm not sure when that will be
It could be the last thing I think of as I fall sleep
or at 3:47 in the morning
I can't promise I'll be ready
or that I'll be waiting patient
love will come to me like a fear I've been afraid to say admit I have
but I will tackle it head on
welcoming with open arms
say hey, what's up, hello
I've got this
it might not be obvious
but I have been practicing my entire life
for this exact moment

this isn't heartbreak,
no,
this is swollen
and there's a difference between the two

heartbreak is what you feel when
you get your heart broken
swollen is what happens when
you give too much of yourself away

and I do
too often
without thinking

I love
like everyone is dying
and my passion is the only thing that can save us

like the end of the world is coming
and all we have to save the human race
is my weakness

I care
like it is an alternative to breathing
and every available ounce of oxygen has gone missing

I give
like a one time supply
that thinks itself endless

like my limbs can regenerate without trying
like my lips are incapable of cracking
like my bones were made for splitting

I give
like if I were to empty out completely
I could still call myself whole

like I can auction off this body
and still refer to it as home

like I can hand out my vulnerability in pieces
and still have something for myself

this isn't heartbreak,
no,
nor is it swollen

this is a resignation
from my conscience
to my desperation

this is a reminder
for my own
to give all I have sparingly

and this is an apology
to my sanity
for when I don't listen

because we're not quite there yet
or at least that's what you tell me when I ask how
you feel
I never know exactly when that moment is
or when it will be or
if we'll ever even make it that far
but I'd like to think
we will

my only proof being
our sunday mornings
between grey sheets and
laying in until noon,
laughing
the saturdays before them and
my inability to fall asleep
how I would much rather stay
awake with you
than give in to the tired I am
I am certain
that I could spend all of my weekends like
this

your laugh against mine
like words against a concerto
unconventional yet
somehow beautiful
my hands poking at ribcage
to find the spots where
you become vulnerable
how I am it,
always

the way my body fits
perfectly into the curve of
yours like the smile I cannot stop
wearing
like the dress that hugs the hips you
love so much
how my chin is your favorite hill I have
and how I become an entire valley
at your touch

I don't know what else to say
I'd like to think that time
will write the rest
for us

I don't love you
not yet
but I'm on my way,
I know it.

To wonder where you are now
is to think of you often
is to find you in memory
and look for you in public

To wonder who you are now
is to recall who you were then
how you used to be when with me
and how different you are without

To wonder what you sound like today is
to wonder if you're laugh is still wild
if your smile still comes like a full moon in December
if your voice still rings gentle

To wonder if you ever wonder
is to twist a thought into a whirlpool
is to get pulled in without trying
is to be lost again in what has already passed

I can't help but wonder
if I ever slip into this life you have now
if my hands ever crawl to your loneliness
or if you ever wish they would

To wonder about you
is to say a prayer without an answer
to repeat it every night
and still hope for a call back

Hesitant hands and
a lover who doesn't want
to love.
Momentary bliss with
someone who is terrified of
future.
Another saturday together,
back scratching,
arms holding,
reciprocated wanting,
and a kiss on the cheek in the morning.
I know he'll miss me
but
only in retrospect.
I say,
this feeling,
is the closest thing to god I know.
I think,
I will never let myself
admit it.
He thinks but says
nothing of
importance.
I, with a need for conversation,
am always the first
to initiate it.
Speaking of the weekends and
our time together and when
it will be the next already.
Professing my care and
how much I do and
how I don't know exactly why.
I tighten the knot around
my tongue and swallow
the proclamations as they come.
I decide to save them for
another who I know
I'll have to find eventually,
when the comfort has
settled and the strive
has grown tired,
when there is
not much left of
what barely ever was.
This is,
at most,
one of those routines that just sort of happened.
This is
hardly something
you could call romance.
I wonder,
how do you invest yourself
in a broken bank?
How do you share passion with
a person who doesn't have any?
How do you stop giving away too much
before you empty out again?
Why talk about tomorrow when
it is only today
and why is that still not enough
to be satisfied?

The aftermath is what gets me
The remnants of
The picking up the pieces
How it is
two years later and I still am

I lost myself without realizing
after trying to move forward
I never made time to confront things
It took me months to notice that I had been missing

How do you get over
something you never really got over?

How do you move past
a moment thats still living in yours?

I tell myself it doesn't bother me
That I only remember when I lay in bed at night
Or walk for a while
Or think for too long
Or hear someone talk
Or breathe
I only remember
when I think I'm starting to forget

The mess I'm still sweeping
isn't a good enough story to tell.
It has yet to end.
I will be cleaning as long as I'm here,
I know this.
Two years later and I still am
I still am
I'm still here

there are too many people writing about the moon tonight,
too many hearts lonely from the thought of her greatness,
wondering how it is possible
to love something that makes you feel so small,
that in comparison,
renders you insignificant.

this is how it was to love you.
this is how it is to still do.
to look up at a sky that is too big to notice you
to imagine a selfish lover as the vastness in which
too much attention is granted
this is how it was,
this is how it has always been,
this is how it is,
loving you.

there are too many people staying up late tonight
to watch the atmosphere unfold its secrets
open-eyed anticipating some kind of beauty unfrequented,
I will not be one of them.

waiting is a chore I no longer perform
willingly
the only galaxies I admire
are those I create.

there are too many people writing about the moon tonight,
and I have become one of them.

Smells like the smoke coming from the 24-hour 711 next to the fright train
like the walk home from the part time job past the house he used to live in
like the cookies we made but never ate
like guilt slipping from cover
like I almost let it show
Sounds like daddy's cancer
like driving on the freeway with no music
like not speaking
like I don't know how to
like every ride home from the hospital
like the fireworks we lit a few months back in our front yard
like the mistakes I called choices
Feels like the first boy I let have me vulnerable
like the meeting of hand to face
like shaking shoulders into apology
like the forgiveness crawling from his lips
like my tongue unfurling with remorse coming too easy
like my voice echoing I'm sorry
like it is something I will always be
Tastes like swallowing a pill backwards
like Fireball mixed with the thick of cough syrup
like holding back a ****** nose
like vicodin dust between broken teeth
like waiting for another winter
Looks like leaving the front door open for the air to come in
like the snow building a cast around our insecurities
like it's never been this cold before
like this Chicago is a stranger we never loved
like the ****** he tried just once
like how once can be enough to **** us
like all the questions we never got answered
like when will the branches stop cracking?
what makes a flame keep growing?
and why are these memories still
breathing?

The night you died
I held my breath in your honor
or in anger
I can't exactly remember, only
a dropping of the gut, the swollen amalgamation of numb and comprehension and
more confusion than I have ever swallowed whole before

I hope you cursed yourself when you realized what you did
your hand closing is a picture I played a million times in my head
your eyes rolling back is one I tried not to but
every time my eyelids met
I saw yours gasping for air

Your mother, a glass vase splitting on hardwood floor
I can promise you she is still stepping on your pieces
the truth is I know you never meant to cause damage
the breaking is just what happens when so much is left behind

When the rabbi said your name
I thought about laughing, how
you certainly would be at the seriousness of it all
the level of despondence floating
in the room
the oxygen, thick in its lack of,
a density unlike any other

I remembered the time we got high on one of the holiest days of the year
I thought maybe this
is god playing a joke on us
I thought maybe this is
just his sick revenge, an attempt at humor but
there was nothing funny about your leaving

For the first few months
losing you was drowning every night in my sleep
and waking up alive the next morning
friends asked what it's like
to have this gap of almost stretching inside of me
I asked if they had ever accidentally touched something hot
and to recall how it felt when the burn started setting on their skin

Most days I miss you without trying
some days I don't think about you at all
there is a life that is full without your being in it but
it isn't mine to call my own
I am forgetting your laugh like a song whose words I can't remember

Today is your 22nd birthday,
facebook had to tell me
there are no shots being taken and nobody is making a cake
today you would have been another year older
I wish you could have stayed to be it


-from the one who loved you

Loving the addict is
an addiction in itself
Learning to digest
all of the sharp pieces that
come with it
Apologies and how
they lose meaning
after the second
Loving the addict is
as much of an art as
the hiding is, as
the covering up, as
the forgive me
After some time
I love you and I'm sorry
start to sound the same
letting go and withdrawal
become an equal amount of
swollen
and coming back is
more relapse than any
tangible substance
Loving the addict is
a guilty habit growing
inside a dark closet
feeding the plant until
it becomes animal,
ravenous
love and dependence
are both diseases that
share the same root

But being the addict
is always an attempted break up
It is avoidance at
its finest
It is ripping apart
strings of a rope
with chipped fingernails
in attempts to
cut loose ends
It is sawing pieces of
wood with bare skin and
trying not to get a splinter
It is leave me
It is don't go
It is I am trying to not destroy
everything in my path
It is painting with
heavy winds and rain
hoping there wont be
a mess to clean up
But mess is as inevitable
as the art is creating
And love and addiction
mix like oil and water
nobody is perfectly
capable of cleaning
up correctly
So we leave in a pile
to return to later
Coming back is
more relapse than any
tangible substance
that has ever
existed
and mercy is more perilous than
we'd hope it to be

All of my belongings are strewn across the floor
lone socks, piled clothing, a book of poetry
the carpet is covered in empty bags and pens and pieces of notebook paper filled with lines I couldn't finish
I never found the right words to

I know I should be putting my life together
folding and storing and cleaning
I should be fixing the chip in the wall or doing something of importance
there are too many boxes I still haven't packed, but
all I'm thinking about is how to get you back

I should be moving out of this house into the next but
I'm wrapping myself in these same red sheets wishing you were sinking into the mattress with me
phantom feeling skin that isn't touching mine
longing like the hungry heart I always claim to not have
but here I am, starving again
insatiable

and when I leave I wont miss the salt in the air or
the sand building hills in every crack of the room
I wont miss the ink stained sunsets much
or the welcoming breeze that morning wakes me up with
I wont miss it at all

not the sound of waves or the way the moon looks when
everyone is too busy to notice
the stars and how they peek out during the vacant of night
not the crawl of sunlight through windows and
the dance the curtains do when the door is left open

not even the sounds coming from the alley outside in the middle of sleep
or the scratch of cars along the one way street
I wont miss it, I promise
there's no point in missing what I can always come back to

but I will miss you
I will the way I have for however long I haven't had you here
for whatever city you're in today
for whatever heart you're casing inside yours
for whatever one that isn't mine
how ironic it was that you used to be just a few blocks down the beach
now we're more than miles apart in distance
I wonder if your thoughts ever find their way to me

I buried too many feelings in the sand  
leaving seems an easier feat than digging up memories
and I don't think there's enough time in the world to get to where I need to be to be okay again

all of my belongings are strewn across the floor
lone socks, piled clothing and a book of poetry
the carpet is covered in empty bags and pens and pieces of notebook paper filled with lines I couldn't finish
I never found the right words to
I'm starting to think I never will

if
we **** like
we're in love and
we love like
we're just *******
?

Today after you left I felt it
-There are sweat stains in my sheets and my cheeks are still red-
I tried not to but I did
-My shirt is somewhere on the floor in a pile of later-
I told myself I wouldn't get this way yet here I am
-I'll throw on something else and let you out-
There was a heavy in my stomach that I can't explain
-Fall back into this bed alone-
Maybe it's the future or lack of
-I'm tired and my arms are grabbing for air-
I didn't want to feel anything
-You've got priorities and I don't know what it takes to become one of them-
But now I'm feeling too much.

you are too familiar with yourself
with your face
your body
your beauty

your reflection is an image skewed from being seen by
your same eyes too often
your confidence is a locked box you keep in the back of
your closet
your smile is more uncomfortable than it is curling and
you've grown to hate the large of your laugh

you are blind to almost all that you are

but just imagine,
for a second
what you look like
to someone who is a stranger

you could be their textbook definition of ideal
their exact description of beautiful and
you wouldn't even know it

imagine for a moment
how your greatness might resonate
with someone who has never been close to that much at once

there have been people in your life who
have attempted to break you into smaller pieces
crush you from whole so you would be easier to swallow

there will always be some who will be unable to see your worth
others who wont be able to handle you
maybe they'll see too much and try to shrink you into less
with the hopes of becoming more themselves

you build yourself quieter each time that you do
you know how to shy away from the prescence of light and
you've settled comfortably in the shadow of day

but there is someone out there waiting to hear your loud
a blank canvas ready to be filled with all of your paint
you will be the exact shade they have spent their entire life trying to find

and when they do
you'll remember that there was a time
before you were taught to see dark
when you could see all of your colors clear
without trying

I lose count of how many times I am catcalled on my way to the gym
I think that maybe turning around, eating an entire pizza and
never coming back would stop this from happening
I realize it wouldn't
I would still be a woman

"Smile baby,"
I hear as I leave my car
Just 3 hours of sleep to get me to where I am and
I am tired enough to silence a response from my ******* but
not enough to quit

A guy standing at the bus stop sees my hands wrapped and
tells me that boxing is ****
I wonder how clenched fists
self-protection and
the desire to make it home alive
each night is **** but
I don't ask

When I don't hit the bag hard enough
I remember the force of
his body and
I let my knuckles do the speaking
there is no stopping after the rage is
reborn

A man tells me how lucky I am
to have this figure
ignorant to the fact that hard work is nothing
remotely similar to luck
a string I have been stretching and pulling
that is what my body is
luck,
I think about how he will never have enough of it to touch me

I like the way it feels to
be sore from something willingly
to get up from the ground without a hand helping
these bruises are proof of my attempts

I have been practicing my run
to make up for all of the times
I havent had the guts to
my limbs are reaching forward for
every time they've been held back

I like to say that survival
is a choice made in the aftermath of destruction
the conscious decision to chew through broken glass rather
than swallow it whole
survival is not as simple as I didn't die
it is deciding not to

Hand squeezing wrist,
he told me I'd never be enough for anyone anyway
well today I am enough for
me

I'm working on myself
for myself
building ash into bone into muscle
this is strength learning how to show
this is me learning how to pull through
this is me doing exactly
that

there are just some things
you don't forget.

the time you get stitches on your chin when
you are four and the amount is double that
a result of your careless brother sitting your back and
your face meeting the ground with too much force
you aren't afraid though
you lay quiet as a doctor sews you back to one piece
this is bravery at its finest

the boy with the angry voice and heavy hands
teaches you to cower

the first panic attack with the salted swelling of your breath, the invisible hands wringing your neck into a knot you cannot untie,
the drenched palms and the pinching of your skin to bring you back down to earth
you think you are dying,
you aren't
you wonder if this will happen again,
it will

the dark of your uncle's funeral
your family's tears compiling next to the plate of poppyseed bagels that nobody eats
there is a silence that everybody seems to avoid and the sound of your unexplainable innapropriate laughter accompanying grief

your first kiss in someone's back bedroom and your body turning on vibrate mode
ringing with excitement, a smile numb from it's inability to escape

making out on the top of the movie theatre stairs at the mall on Fridays

the time you sneak out to meet up with older boys, the thrill coming from the risk
you trade tongues at 1 am and make it back in bed before mom and dad notice

the blacked out memory of your first time, in between his cartoon printed childhood sheets
you are fifteen and the **** and alcohol in your system make it harder to remember clearly
it is less of an event and more just a blurry moment

the nights with cough medicine and a handful of crushed pills up your nose and how it easily could have been too much

the halloween party with the dimmed lights and the red cups
the hammock in the back and the black basement couch and
her wrists the week after everyone found out what had happened on it
the word **** tied on to the back of her jeans for the rest of high school along with her self-destruction

the kid who threw himself in front of the train we all took to get to the city

the quiet in the school hallways the week after the drive-by

swallowing the word cancer and feeling every wall of your stomach turn ash

watching your father lose his hair like little pieces of the future

cursing out your chemistry teacher 6th period and being sent to the principals office
then loudly cracking your knuckles during saturday detention

eating ice cream in Haley's bed after finding out he cheated on her
telling her it will be okay and believing it

laying in bed for three days straight and ignoring any words of reassurance
depression settling comfortably inside your bone marrow

the comfort in his eyes and a sense of understanding nobody else had

your purple bedroom walls and
your purple bedding and
your purple curtains and
the pile of innocence disguised as stuffed animals sitting in
the corner of your room

every book you've ever loved

every song that's made your heart lunge

every human you ever thought of as you were falling asleep

every night you spent awake counting

every day you wasted spent waiting

every time you thought you wouldn't make it

every time you did.

"you didn't dry yourself off very well,"
you tell me while running a towel over my back
I am bare and vulnerable but
I do not care at all

we are post-shower standing on bathroom floor
bodies making puddles between cracks in white tile
laughing as we watch our reflections
dance in routine

my hair is curling and yesterday's mascara is crawling its way down my cheeks
I look more wet dog coming home drenched after thunderstorm than I do human but
I do not care at all

you wrap the fabric around the parts I didn't get on purpose
I keep my raw, the usually covered skin out in the open
I'm thinking about all the ways I can make you stay and
this is just one of them

today I did not think about him
It is the first time in an entire year that I haven't
I don't realize this until tomorrow
but it is an accomplishment nonetheless

today I went to lunch, did laundry, drove to the gym
I didn't see his shadow in my rear view mirror
It is the first time during a commute where I don't feel the overwhelming urge to pull over
often the speed of the traffic mixed with the acceleration of my thoughts guides me to the side of the road
anxiety blowing loudly through the vents into my open mouth until I am too tired to focus-
today is the first time that didn't happen

last week I googled "therapists near me"
I settled on a woman with a nice smile and a specialty for trauma
This is the first time I find myself familiar with that word
almost comfortable like a distant family member I am just now recognizing
trauma is something with one definition but too many faces
for the past eight months I have been wearing his

on monday I spend an hour in the office of a stranger
she asks me why I'm here and I respond with I don't know but
my answer is as dishonest as my avoidance is expanding
she asks me how I am and I almost forget that I didn't come all this way to say fine
for a moment I almost forget that I am not.

I tell her about him without trying
I don't say his name
or the details I remember with more clarity each day that goes by
she says memories are really only what we remember each time we remember them
I think it's funny how I remember more every time I do
how sometimes laying in bed becomes catalyst to chest pain
I can still feel him kneeling on top of mine
pressing body into cracked ribs into spit on my neck
I can hear his humming of a song they play too often on the radio
there is no trigger warning for the reminders life has to offer
I find them everywhere without trying

she understands as much as I want her to
she says it's really about power
I say I know
she asks if I feel like I lost some kind of control
I say yes
I don't tell her that I have spent countless hours trying to find it
in bodies that aren't my own
digging nails into muscle and mattress trying to pull out some semblance of who I used to be
For too long I have covered up with a bandage
I am just now ripping it off for the first time
this pain is a sort of cleansing
I took three showers after he left but it is only today that I feel his remnants washed off my skin
I can't help but wonder if this is what Pinocchio felt the first time he was honest with his demons

today I did not think about him
yesterday I did not think about him
the day before I only thought about myself and pizza and myself again
there is very real possibility that my mind could figure out a way to bring back the unwanted
that tomorrow could be another way to remember
but today I didn't
I went to lunch, did laundry, drove to the gym
I made it home without incident
not perfect,
but it is an accomplishment
nonetheless

You say you hate Los Angeles,
the city but mostly people there and
I can't help but wonder how
you managed to meet everyone
in the entire county,
a couple million or so,
from the few trips you took out here

But I think the problem isn't that
you hate Los Angeles
I think the problem is
you love me too much
at least I'll tell myself that when
I'm laying in bed with open eyes
wondering why you aren't here

I offer you planes, plans, my wallet
I say I'll pay, just for two days and
you say no without hesitation
I say I have a life and
I want you to see it and
you say you have no interest

Well,
if you have no interest then
why are you calling me?
why waste time talking over
nothing?
what is it that you are so
aftaid of?

You say we'll fight and
I know it's true although
it's not suffice to say
it's all we'd do
I say what about the making up that
comes after it all,
isn't that worth it
after all?

I can't have you in
my life if you're not here
this is something I know
I reach for arms that aren't there and
It's a bad habit I'm getting used to
I don't want to go back to
my old life
I want you to be in my new

but you hate Los Angeles and
school and everything in
life is too hard for you
you're mad I have opinions and
you never listen to them anyway
so you can stay
in the heat that will eventually
become cold
and I'll leave you alone because
that's what you want

I know it isn't
but I don't want to go back to
my old life
so I guess all there is to do
is to just find someone
new

is crooning bird with
beehive nest built from soul
is sixty five years inside body of young girl
loves jazz and destructive boy
looks at him the way her voice does microphone
eyes are drawn black like cat's and she
sings the way a tail curls along wood floor
graceful  effortless  confident

shaina maidel with
a gap between her two front bent teeth
echoed laugh and studded diamond above her lip
jewish girl who wears
star of David around her neck belts
songs she writes with scratching fingers against
ink covered arms
pretty girl loves ****** and crack pipe and liquor
has a crooked mouth but hums melodies
smooth as the heart is aching

pink ballet slippers stain red
from ****** between toes
bulimia makes a home in her habits
empties stomach after every meal
makes more room for wine and ***** and whisky with coke
stumbles across a stage she does not belong to while
the audience boos and mocks while
the paparazzi stalks and preys and while
the media criticizes and
a world that doesn't quite understand does the same

we watch her disaster like
a car accident
unable to stop staring at the damage
we watch her downfall like
an avalanche in another city
it isn't ours so we do nothing to save it

this disappearing act is not magic but
a side effect of fame unwanted
dad doesn't understand that skin and
bones is foreshadow of death
says, baby, smile for the camera
baby, just do what you're supposed to
baby, just finish the tour
**** every last ounce out of her like
the wringing of a towel
it is an easy thing for a girl to become
invisible when she wants to
enough

crooning bird falls from tree and
we watch with hands at our side
bodies tilted in confusion
what a shame, we say
there is depth but it is hiding under addiction
all we see is girl destroying herself under
the fluorescents we placed above her
what a waste, we say, shaking heads
we do nothing in response

my love,
you tore boundaries with your swollen hands
they said your honest was too loud
hair too big
voice too bold
they picked with curious fingers and
gap-tooth jew girl with
the audacity to break silence
ended up breaking too

shaina maidel with
a space between her two front bent teeth
echoed laugh and studded diamond above her lip
jewish girl who could never be a star became just that
burned into supernova
graceful  effortless  confident in her
descent back to
black

you'll call me babe when we're together
and when we're not you won't call at all

I'll let you in and you'll show yourself out
step onto the mat, leave your mark then
leave for good

it's the invitation that's too easy
it's the only caring in the moment
it's the lack of resistance
it's the welcome without the stay
it's the goodbye without saying

you'll call me beautiful and then you'll never call me again
you'll go on your way and I'll watch you as you do

treating your arms like a rental, you can take my body for motel
it's just right now, nothing permanent
one night or
maybe a second
pack your things, don't turn around
I swear I'll be fine
clean the room, mop the floor for evidence and
we wont look back after the first time

this beginning will become end
we'll try to make us last
speaking of
soon and
later
but I don't hold my breath-
I need that to survive this
I don't wait
not for you to call
not for you to come again

Dear thickness,
Dear bold flesh I call shelter of leg,
protection for this body I call home
Dear thighs.
You are more important than you think
more crucial than you've been told
more space than I know what to do with and
more vocal than most other girls' quiet but
your prominence is nothing to hide
your existence is not an apology ready to be given,
your presence does not want to be covered
the way you suffocate yourself into a pair of jeans is
a talent unlike any other
or on hot summer days when skin comes out to
kiss itself between your graces
leaving marks as evidence
what some would call chub rub,
I call magic,
an inability to resist touching,
Thighs.
You never let clothing,
or temperature,
or weather come between you
you are passionate lover,
the proud I always strive to be
the unapologetic beauty I wish was all of me
you maintain the confidence I have to dig for to find within myself
you have so much potential built into the many layers of thick
I cannot tell you enough how important it is
Some say you save lives and
I would have to agree
but still
I know that there have been times when I have neglected you
moments where I have been blind in acknowledging your worth
It is not an easy feat to love the parts of yourself we are taught from
such an early age to hate
magazines have always said be small while
you have always aimed for big
trends tell you to grow in when
all you've ever wanted is to grow out and
expand into a galaxy built of freckles and skin,
you are human as human as gets
I have made you into a warzone on more than
one occassion and for that I am sorry
I am sorry
for more than one reason
I am sorry that this world has twisted your greatness into embarrassment
I am sorry that people have tried to make an apology out of your density
I am sorry that we live in a society that keeps telling you to shrink
I am sorry for all of the times I have wanted you to.
It has taken me years to be thankful for your holy,
you are the answer to my every prayer for health
you are living proof of survival,
Thighs.

This is my proclamation of appreciation
This is my asking forgiveness
I never meant to make you feel anything but needed
Thighs.
you were not made to be thin
you were not meant to be shy
you were built to be the loudest voice in every room
head turning, eye catching, without remorse
you are never silent
even when I am
and for that,
I love you.

While standing in the line to get inside,
the rain makes a surprise appearance
this may be one of the few time I don't mind it

I remember the first tuesday spent here
when my Chicago soul ended up on a Los Angeles street at the recommendation of a new friend and then
somehow ended up on stage

I don't recall details like I should but
the eager racing of my heart every time I walk through the door speaks volumes, says I know why you feel the way you do
that moment of hearing myself speak for the first time is still new

on the nights like this where I don't read
I still feel an energy that reminds me of a certain comfort
my hands still shake through the excitement of just existing

my stomach, a drain of stories, was used to swallowing whole without chewing
this is where I learned how to digest my past

I trade smiles with strangers who are just realizing their ability to do the same

if you were to ask anyone who has ever sat on this stage, in these seats, why they choose to join this cluttered convention of hearts in such a small space,
they would probably pause,
smile and answer something along the crooked lines of,
"you just have to be there to understand"

and you do
there is a magic in the air that you can't bottle
instead you hold your breath through a busy week to
make it to the next
in order to experience it again

there is no language that could describe this place where
we each speak our own yet somehow
still understand each other
this is the place I cannot put an adjective to,
there is no metaphor for what experience can offer

this is the place where my cheeks turn fire in the best way possible
the rhythm of my chest is faster than it is in fear, unexplainable

this is where my tuesday night becomes weekend
this is where my empty becomes whole
this is where Yesika forms full moons with her words and the softness of her voice echoes against the hollow of the theatre lights
this is where the power of black stories remind my whiteness how necessary vocality is
this is where I found myself bare under a spotlight for the first time over a year ago and
this is where I discovered that bareness doesn't have to be a bad thing

I know how it sounds
sitting on a stage in a dim room with strangers
listening for an hour and a half to a story that isn't yours but
the best way to find yourself is in the words of another
this is where I find myself
again and again
this is where I come whenever I am lost

If you were to ask me why
I could only say

you just have to be there
to understand.

I go out to dinner with a near stranger
we sit on the same side of the booth and
I think about how you're the only one who
knows how much I hate that

I drink a drink with ***** and lime and
***** and it almost makes me feel like
I know who I am when I'm with someone else

I don't think of you often but last night I did
I remembered how your arms are the
only place where I am not self-conscious

I lie next to him on my balcony and
there are a lot of stars above us but
I'm the only one who notices

he is thinking about what I look like naked and
I'm counting how many hours of sleep
I will get if he leaves before 2

there is not an absence of feeling,
just a different kind than I'm used to
he touches my hand and I smile in
a way that doesn't feel forced

I spend a day with a near stranger and realize
there is so much he does not know about me,
so much he doesn't care to

like how I got my nose pierced at 14 or
the amount of time I spend in the mirror each morning
picking myself into something I can carry only semi-confidently

he only learns I can't ride a bike when he asks if I want to
he has no idea that my blonde is shielding a deep brown or
when I got the freckle above my lip or
the inch long scar underneath my chin

he doesn't care and that's okay
when he leaves we say I miss you but
in a different way than I'm used to

it is not a pain swelling to be morphined
nor is it a pulling from the gut but instead
it is the ever temporary desire to fill the excess lonely

we say I miss you and still mean it but
it is not the missing that a body feels for
a phantom limb

I am with him now and probably will be again but
moving on doesn't mean I don't miss you
it only means I'm trying not to

just because I'm all right doesn't mean
I don't wonder how you are
I can still be happy with the existence of a quiet ache

but yes I do
miss you,
I will until the day I can sleep without having to count sheep
I will miss you even if there are no stars in the sky to remind me

I don't think of you but last night I did
the moon was too bright and
I was the only one
who noticed

Maya Angelou once said,

"I've learned that people will forget what you said,
people will forget what you did,
but people will never forget how you made them feel"

although the thing is,
I wont forget
any of it.
the open ears,
the listening,
the understanding that was so easily given
I will always remember
the way he congratulated me
the day I pulled poetry from my teeth

I wont forget how he made us feel-
we.
we    wont forget how he made
us feel

the many conversations that lived in his office are
now stuck in between the cracks of the walls
I imagine the dark of the theatre in mourning,
the curtains heavier,
more blue than they are usually
the black of the paint floor chipping backwards to
share the memories saying,
"Look,
It is all here underneath
your feet."

if you have ever wondered what magic feels like
I can tell you with certainty that
it is a bear grasp from a tower of a man and
a laugh that can be defined more correctly as a chuckle
or most importantly, a smile that
knew comfort when
it was most needed

what is hardest about it all is
this reality, the growing up that comes with losing
I am trying to comprehend the fact
that there are going to be students,
new ones,
who
will never know the magic that
is a Conway hug

I know
we will all be reminiscing, telling stories and
his name will be a past tense we
didn't want to have to use
this is a poem I
never wanted to have to
write.
one about a man who carried so many hearts
inside his own
the same one who
reminded me of my worth on
more than one occasion
this is about the man who was like a father when
my own was sick
this is about the man
who directed my first kiss
on the same stage where I learned how to be vulnerable
and how to trust

it is so easy to say,
this isn't fair.
but then I picture him,
arms crossed, replying
"Life isn't fair"
and he would be correct in
saying it isn't, no,
life isn't fair.
but what a privilege it is
to have had him
in mine
what a privilege it is
to have known him
at all

Maya was wrong,
we wont forget what he said,
sitting in the center of the studio referencing someone's house
"Treat it like your grandmother's"

I wont forget what he did,
what he taught me,
us.
we wont forget any of it,
I promise.

You say,
"I'm sorry for dragging you
into my life"
and I want to laugh the loudest
laugh possible for my lungs to emit, my
chest heaving with the irony, the
actuality that I was not dragged in forcefully
I stepped in willingly
to a door already closing

-

I hope she loves you as well as
I never got the chance to
I hope she speaks about
how full her heart is and how
easy it is to be with you
I hope this half ton of weight that
is finally off my chest makes
its way on to yours
I hope it's not too much to carry but
then again I do

-

You say,
"I'm sorry, don't hate me"
but my dear,
don't you know that it is myself that
is always the target of disappointment?

-

I hope I'm washed out of your mouth by
the time you kiss hers
the sour, the whiskey, the passionate hatred,
the coming back again,
tonight the neighbors are having a party and
all I can think about is
us at 2 in the morning dancing
to the noise of each other

-

You say,
"I'm sorry, I've tried calling"
but we both know the lack of dial tone in your voice and
the absence of ring in mine says enough
I waited for an answer but
you hung up

-

I am certain that
I will spend the rest of my time in this city
searching for you in other people,
I am convinced that
I will need sleeping pills to forget
the music in your voice, your singing in my ears
has become nothing more than a repeated knocking

-

You say,
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry"
I say nothing but
in my head I say thank for
untying this knot we
got ourselves into
-

this is about a future that does not have you in it
one where I will pick at my food while you
pick at her shirt, pulling off clumps of cotton, laughing,
while I try to fill this empty stomach with anything but
sorrow and morosity

this is a poem about a song that isn't for me
she's a poet too,
how fitting

It always seems to be a similar path,
this one I go down.

strung along, hanging on to the back of jean pockets and
holding on to loose hands
clinging just gently enough to not be a bother,
this is how I love.

insecure
like a mid day shadow peeking out to make it's presence known
quietly, but not too loud as to call attention,

like a peach picked up at the market
promising sweet no matter how bruised
I care only to keep the tastebuds wanting

cautious of being too much,
constantly afraid that I am,
conscious of how easily I could be replaced,

one sided like
skin meeting ink
you will be the tattoo gun and
I will be the swollen reminder
you will go unharmed while
I am marked permanent

twinge-yearning,
nail-pulling,
folding back the flesh.
this is how I love and
I know how this goes

you'll look at other girls and
I'll look at you the way the land looked
at rain after the first drought

you'll give away glimpses of your smile to strangers and
I'll give you all of me like it's possible
to grow back complete

you'll put your arms around hips that aren't mine and
I'll feel my own expand with envy

you'll toss around the word love and
I'll attempt to catch it every time it lands
near someone else's feet

you'll carry other names in your mouth while
yours will be the only one in mine, tucked
safely under the tongue

you'll provide me reassurance without an asking for it and
I'll pretend I don't care about a thing in the world when
really it is you who has become my entire universe

you'll play me the way that I'm used to and
I'll laugh like it's a game I never wanted to win anyway
because
I hate losing things I love

you'll make me swell empty without intending to and
I'll make you full with whatever I have to offer

you'll inflict sadness unknowingly and
I'll make you happy like it's a method for survival,
like it's my ******* purpose for existing

this is how I love.
not too tightly, just soft enough for your liking
here I am, programmed for the pleasing
I will hang on like a child's fist does a dandelion
light enough to keep the stem intact
leaving room for your fingers to wrap around
praying you wont let go but
this is how I love and I know how it goes
how it will go
destined to meet the ground eventually after
being dragged along knowingly
I am
aware of how it is,
the same,
always but
this is how I love for
I do not know any other way

The smell of whiskey makes my teeth hurt and today I woke up gasping for breath
Missing you kind of feels like rubbing alcohol on every paper cut from the scraps left behind
Some days it is a hollow swelling but the majority feel more sunburn, easy to forget but sore when touched

I used to dream about waking up with you as a normal routine, instead there is only quiet
I hold my hands together when I sleep to fill the space of a bed too big
I find pieces everywhere, your hair on my pillow, your cologne on my sweater, your sock, just one, tucked into a drawer I didn't know existed

I don't think about you often but when I do it becomes a sinking
A hole jammed into the side of a ship that had just learned how to stay afloat
There is never enough time for me to save myself from drifting off and I give up

It is back to you, and the guilt washing on your face when you said this feels weird, lips building lies like the fixing of shelter after a storm
When another someone tells me how soft my skin is, I want to light it on fire to burn off your fingerprints,
To forget that you said the same so often

I want to call you and ask why you haven't tried to reach me
I want to remind you that we live in the same city, big, enough distance apart to ignore
I want to pull your hands out of my hair and your breath off of my neck but I'm aware of the inexistence of both

I'm aware that now you have become nothing more than a figment of my imagination
Gone from reality but still alive in memory I do not try to erase
I'm not waiting for your return, I know you wont but I am waiting for the day my tastebuds don't crave you
It will happen, sooner or later but
for  now I still do

I hope you're happy, really I do
I'm better off without you
I don't miss you too terribly
I only think of you sometimes
I can forgive easily
I never wanted to be in your life anyway
There's plenty of other people to love
I'm just waiting for the right one
I left the house enough times this week to call it progress
I swear I'm doing okay
I eat when I'm supposed to, I don't drink like I need to, and I stopped smoking
My lungs are full
So am I

I hope you're happy, really I do
I'm better off without you
You're girlfriend is better off not knowing
I want her to be happy too, really
I am happy
Really, I am
I got out of bed today when I was supposed to
I brushed my teeth, flossed, cleaned
And I did all of it without you,
Didn't I?
Not once did you cross my mind
In fact, you hardly ever do
I am too busy for distraction,
Writing poems about other things than the crippled dream that was us
I use past tense purposefully
I am over you

I hope you're happy, really I do
I'm better off without you
I can sleep in these sheets without feeling your phantom limbs grazing mine
It's okay that you left so little behind
I can swallow the shells without choking
I can listen to music without hearing your voice singing along
Your absence is what I've always wanted
I hope you're happy, really I do
I'm better off without you.

Your hands
in places they don't belong
I don't mind at all.

You're here but your heart is somewhere else with
someone else,
I know.

An arm wrapped around me
I unravel it back to you
I can not call it my own.

Tonight my lips are stained with wine
And yours are stained with mine,
Both of ours are stained with guilt.

You taste like a lie I know
All too well.

I am not a bad person but
I have to be every time
we're together.

Here we are,
happily sinning to rid the
conscience from our brain.

How good does it feel
to wipe the shame into
desire?

When you're gone
I don't hold my breath in waiting
I would suffocate if I were to.

I miss you only on the nights when
I am alone and the days where you
don't text back.

I ask if you even exist anymore and
you answer sometimes,
Do you need me?
Sometimes.

There is only lonely and whispering when it comes to us,
See you soon, we swear,
always.

Your hands
in places they don't belong

You're here but your heart is somewhere else with
someone else,
I know

Here we are,
happily sinning to rid the
conscience from our brain.

Does your love know where you are tonight?

You've made mistakes
Many, you know this.
Lived close enough to the edge to
feel the thrill of it but just far enough to
not fall off, you're strategic.
But the paint on the walls you've been building up is
starting to chip and sometimes you forget to laugh at
things you're supposed to
You don't listen with detail often and
when you do, you forget to care.
Apathy is not pretty on you but
neither is desperation.
You remember when you wanted to
save yourself for the right one and
now it's funny to think about how
your list is too long to keep track and
you can no longer count your reckless on your fingers
There's a boy who brings you sunflowers and
before you can tell him he's too good for you,
you hurt him,
unintentionally.
You could say sorry but there's no correct apology for
I can't love you.
There's no believable way to say
I don't deserve you or
don't know how to or
Convince a hopeless romantic that
you're really just pathetic.

You're drifting off the road in your dreams but
The car is still intact the next morning
During the day you think about all of the sleep you didn't get
You couldn't get, you're not sure when rest became
a chore instead of a reward.
Your lonely has turned into habit and
the smell of gasoline is more appealing than perfume
Sometimes you don't appreciate things you should and
that's just normal routine.
But you're tired most days and it has become
a purposeful cycle of
Consciously messing up to fix it later,
the trouble keeps you busy,
The ache is constant but
it keeps you full.
You used to collect records that
now collect dust sitting in a room
in a house that no one really lives in,
Someone does, yes, but only quietly.
There is a doe-eyed girl who has
drowned in your search for passion,
You're guilty for crimes you didn't mean to
commit, mostly careless in intention and
you never meant to hurt anyone but yourself.
Your arms are wide but you're shaking and
there are so many questions that
you'll never have answered.

What happens when your fingers break
from reaching out too much?
What do you do when you've run out of
bones to crack?
Will your spine still stretch after you've bent backwards
so many times?
How can you possibly love someone
when you don't know how to yourself?
You're learning, you swear.
Trying to understand that appreciation
doesn't directly translate to narcissm, that
You don't always have to feel bad for
what isn't your fault.
You've made mistakes,
many, you know this.
Move farther away from the cliff,
don't hold your breath, this is life,
my dear,
you know this.
You'll be okay,
You know this.

Funny how a year can come and go so fast
I don't know when last June became this one but it did, quickly.
I almost swore on our future
I almost did,
almost

This is another Sunday but in the present now
Time has shifted unrecognizable
I bet you wouldn't notice me next to you on a sidewalk or at a streetlight or in the ocean drowning
I don't think you remember the sound of my voice but
I still taste yours, humming

Maybe you think about me, maybe
Probably not, you probably don't
Look at how far we didn't make it
Look at how long we didn't stay

Back again, summer and heat and unfortunate desire
I have come again in pieces
Full circle, your arms could still be around me
Full circle, they are not even close
Full circle, I still haven't let go
But I'm coming around
I'm coming around
Still,
Still,
Still
I'm coming around,
I swear, I am.

The bitter heart eats its owner
It's a fearful thing to love what death can touch

Their goodnight kiss felt like two blind animals bumping into each other in the dark
She felt in that moment that she loved him as much as it was possible to love anyone
What she felt was something like hard rain; violence
                                                                ­                      and brightness
                                                                ­                            and beauty
What formed in her mouth were the words,
Which of us is flawed?


He began to feel anger at the peace he found here and the complacency of the blue sky and quiet roads
His fists were in his eye sockets, his head exploding with the ruin of lives
As he set out, he felt a kind of happiness
He fell
            and he fell,
                               and the earth that we call sweet became his executioner


There is a point when the body relinquishes its pain
and waits dumbly
The savage animal eating his heart would someday grow weary
When do you stop being
                                           human?
When the body is so befouled, when you have groveled so deeply, when bitterness eats your
                                   bones?

The birds move from one tree to the next, building nests
This is how we live
The wind erases our footprints as we move
                And then one day, we are no longer alive on Earth,
                         And the footsteps are gone forever
The land is our blood, the clouds our hair

We are doorways, openings into something greater than ourselves,
Something that we don’t understand and will never understand
One cannot know why things happen as they do
We have nothing precious in and of ourselves
We are only precious that we are part of something too big to know
Every person alive thinks they are the center of the universe, that they are everything
When in fact each of us is less than nothing
Liquid, like a river
Season by season
Hope,
           and hope again.

You are, almost
Tell me your first memory of happiness.

Maybe a swing set above wood chips or
collecting ladybugs in your pockets or
a perfectly cut sandwich you didn't make
or the smell of grass mixed with chlorine
and sunscreen coating your skin under
a sky brighter than any future imaginable.
Pink frosting from cake dyes palms
into a canvas of sugary pigment
A popsicle melting down between
the webbing of eager fingers
Teeth are covered in chocolate and
face a mess and
all smiles,
it is funny how joy always seems
to be synonymous with
sweetness and
giggles and
the memory of being too young to remember anything fully.

19 is poison for a clock
it is reminder to wake up
after pretending to be
something you were not for too long
time is eating away the comfort
from your bones, I wonder
does candy still taste like candy
when it has grown stale?
when the shell has cracked and
all that remains is what's inside,
is it still desirable then?
will people still want to know
what you feel like against their tongue
after you've already touched the ground?

The same texture but time
has made its evidence on you tangible
The juice once spilling from your hands
has become wine
The summer sparklers have become remnants of
cigarettes on your nail buds,
ashes of trying to forget,
you are no longer afraid of fireworks
the hairbrush holds another version of yourself,
a near stranger with similar freckles who
once insisted on only wearing dresses,
now you struggle just to get shoes on,
it was easier when someone did it all for you,
everything is, that way.
I don't know when laughing became
a side effect instead of a soundtrack but
it still rings familiar, sometimes.

19 is more sour than lost
it is possible to know whereabouts with
a bitterness between your lips but
not all of your past is disintegrating
there is a love for saccharine that still remains,
more honey than cloying and
19 may be taunting down a candle to its wick
asking to be noticed but
it is ready to be uncovered
19 is golden
You are, almost.

It's not the fact that you're older that should make you proud
But the fact that you're still here
You survived another year
Yes, I said survived
I say it with purpose
Life is not as easy as wake up, live, and go to sleep
Sometimes a day means dodging bullets
And there can be 365 days of playing straight target
Nobody knows how many obstacles you've jumped through to get here
So yes
You survived
You deserve more credit than a card
Or a cake
Or a reminder of your age
It doesn't matter how old you are
All that matters is that you're ******* alive
Profanity is acceptable in this situation due to the fact that
millions of people die every year and you aren't one of them
So be happy about that
Not the day of your birth, no
Not the once a year occurrence
Not the fact that the law says you can do something new
You should be happy that a shark didn't bite you or
that breathing is something you can still do
We've been celebrating the wrong things for too long
In a world that doesn't appreciate effort like it should,
Where all is unpredictable,
You are still here and
That
is definitely something to be happy
about.

The last time I ever saw you
We were sitting on the living room couch
You had a Taylor Swift album in your hand and
you were telling me how much you liked her music
A strange thing for me to remember, maybe,
but I do.

I wanted to dedicate that song to you but
I didn't know how to without spilling my vulnerability
Back then, before I knew it was an okay thing to do,
to be vulnerable, that is.

You've been gone almost six years, maybe seven
Less than a decade but a third of my life
I've spent the last trying to keep your memory alive in
my head, I never wrote you down on paper and
maybe I should have.

I ask for stories about you like pieces of candy,
a child begging on special occasion for a moment of sweetness
I want to know all of it, the good, the bad,
you lived a life that I am still trying to learn
fully.

You were supposed to see me that night
I didn't cry at your funeral
Nobody taught me that keeping it all tucked in
isn't a skill to be proud of it, but oh,
I was good at it.

I think about the huskies, the two of them,
how they kept you alive in a way
I'm getting one inked in a few weeks,
a portrait of your favorite kind of beauty
I think the artist can do it justice,
hopefully.

Uncle, we called you, followed by toy
You were more entertainment than authority and
we loved that more than anything
Uncle, I don't call you uncle anymore
I don't know if those titles can be used in past tense,
it feels weird so
I only say your first name.

I have so little to remember you by
Mostly stories and dinner parties and memories of
all of us jumping on the couch together
Uncle, you were, but child, still
Searching, searching,
lost always.

I am looking for a way to recall what I cannot
Uncle,
I hope you're proud of me.
Uncle,
All I have is this similar blood and the
memory of snow falling on that february day,
my boots making prints in your name,
Uncle,
A strange thing for me to remember, maybe,
but I do.

I fell asleep at 6 a.m. and woke to find
that my bed smells like someone new-
I don't know where you are tonight

His lips kissed me like they were
looking for a light switch in the dark-
I don't know if you think of me at late hours

I pushed him back slightly and he asked
if everything was okay and I said yes-
I don't tell him where my thoughts are

Tired, I'm tired, that's my excuse for
losing myself when I'm with a stranger-
I don't always know how to find my way back

I'm trying, see I am, really but
there's a reason I kept coming to you so easily-
I don't know how to find familiar in someone new

The scent of my attempts to move on is
making me sick and I can't do much about it-
I don't know how to get you here again

I stayed up until 6 a.m. with him when really
you're the only one worth losing sleep over-
I don't know if that means you're winning

I don't know where you are tonight-
I don't know if I want to know

It is Tuesday again and he loves a girl who isn't me.
In 14 days I will have survived another year.
It has been about a week since he hasn't responded.
I wonder if I'm the only one who thinks this heavily.

In 14 days I will have survived another year.
I pour my heart into an unopened bottle of wine.
I wonder if I'm the only one who thinks this heavily.
Half of my bed is on the floor, sheets included.

I pour my heart into an unopened bottle of wine.
It has been about a week since he hasn't responded.
Half of my bed is on the floor, sheets included.
It is Tuesday again and he loves a girl who isn't me.

You say,
"This is awkward."
The way most people point out that it's raining.
It's obvious that yes,
It is.
Your hand is on the button and
your eyes are on the ground
and I'm waiting to go up while
you're waiting to go down and
it's funny.
I wonder why you find this so awkward
but I don't ask.
Maybe it's because you wear coward so well and I, lioness,
greet you well with grinning teeth and
confidence.
In this very moment, technology and
its failure have become
my new favorite
elephant in the room,
stomping about blindly,
pushing its trunk into the space between us,
I love this discomfort.
I love the tension thick as rope.
I love that you probably wish you could tie it around your neck right now.
I stare directly into you
because I love feeding the caged animal.
I am an intentional catalyst for your internal,
"Oh ****."
Is this what happens
when there is too much weakness
on one side for closure?
When the scales shift to the right
And the left falls completely?
Does it make you uneasy
that I still exist after you stopped talking to me?
bless this malfunctioning, how
I am grateful for the comedy
for these few minutes of entertainment
and your desperation hanging from your pockets,
I could see it clearly,
how awkward.

Here is where I take your smile and
stretch it into a sunset, I
remember your words to mean
everything they didn't
I make haikus out of eyes and note how
they emit light when you laugh
This is where I draw you indelible
on the pages of a notebook
I color you vivid, write you
permanent, take non-fiction and
turn it fantasy,
Into something we might watch
together on a Sunday night
I designate you hero of the story and
I wait with tired arms
to be lifted into yours
Here is where I create a landscape
out of ash and worship you with
language you don't deserve,
vocabulary that is too big for your small
Here is what could easily be a love poem if
you were someone who wanted one but
the only want you have isn't for me

A guy who
only cares when
he's inside

When will you learn
to stop opening the door
for people like
that?