Love will come to you when it's ready,
Not necessarily when you are.

It is undeniably human in how we constantly seek explanations for our problems
It's funny, the way we blame the alignment of the planets for our mishaps and frustrations, calling mercury into fault for our own mistakes
I have spent far too long searching for answers I will most likely never find to blame it on astrology

Your hellos have morphed into avoidance and I miss the way you once looked at me like I was a single star in the middle of a loud Los Angeles sky
I don't know exactly when you changed your mind or how and why but I do know that I haven't put the bottle back to my lips because the cool of it feels too much like yours
Early on I prepared myself for the let down but that doesn't mean I didn't taste disappointment

This could easily be an apology but I'm not sure what I have to be sorry for and the word is overused anyway
This could easily be an I am still angry but I'm really not, just aching and tired of the aftermath that follows wringing myself dry
I poured out all of my contents and you don't even have the decency to act like you could have loved me
I used to light up like an Idaho sunrise when I saw you but now when I do I have to dig laughter out of the depths of my stomach to pretend I’m okay
I am fading like the twitching light bulb in my room I am too weak to change

You made the mistake of telling a collapsing ceiling its perfection; you said there was nothing wrong with the structure
I watched you leave and then I caved in completely
Gravity had been calling to pull down for some time so I guess it makes sense that it finally did
My only regret is how quiet your smile gets when you notice me now and my inability to understand why

I don't know what I did to create the dull in your eyes or what I did to make you stop caring
I don’t know how we managed to go from pretend lovers to near strangers
I am so sorry for something I can't comprehend, for something I didn't even do, for that which I am uncertain
I am sorry that you changed and that I can't blame it on the retrograde of mercury
Los Angeles has enough stars without me,
I hope you find yours again one day.

I am trying to forget you

Really,
I am

I have been drugging my memory
Repeatedly
Every night
Drinking from bottles
Filled with liquid strong enough
For me to untaste you
I still do

It's funny how
Nobody mentions touch
As the most important sense
Associated with memory
I still feel you everywhere

Your hands on my skin
I am trying to erase them
Your fingerprints must be
Permanent ink
They are no longer visible
But I can still see them

I tie my tongue in knots
So that when I choke
On words
It will be on my own terms
I still cough up yours

I am trying to forget you
The way your voice sounded in my ear
Breathless and humming
I can still hear the ringing

You are the melody
I cannot get out of my head
The music that I cannot stop singing

I am trying to erase
The parts of you drawn onto me

I have gotten four tattoos
In the past three months
And two of them remind me of you

I am trying to forget you
But I purposely don't try
Hard enough

If I really wanted to
I would destroy the proclamations of passion
I once wrote to you

If I really wanted to
I would delete the pictures sent back and forth
Like ransom letters
Thinking my body could force you
To surrender your heart

I used to consider swearing
To be a holy thing
You swore on so much
That it is no longer sacred

Humans are incapable of certainty
I have bent my pinky fingers in half
Just to come close
To believing promises
But people
Always let you down
And disappointment
Is inevitable

Your salt lips
And iodine mouth
Left a burning sensation
From every cut that you made
In mine

I am trying to forget you
And the way you said my name
How you only said it
Quietly through phone calls
Directly into my ear
As if you didn’t want anyone else
To hear you say it aloud

I am trying to forget you
But it is not easy
The moving on
Is a crossword puzzle
I do not know the last answer to
There are fifteen spaces left
That I don't know how to
Fill
With anything other than you
There is so much empty
Left over

It is much easier to hold on
To memories
And remnants
Of what could’ve been
Than it is to accept
A definite ending

Our future
May be dead
But you are still
Very much alive in me

If I really tried
I bet I could forget you
But I don't think I want to.

I can't sleep at night, and i think i've figured out why. When i lay in bed with my eyes open i think of you. I think of you and i hate myself for it. I think of you and then i think about more of you and then i almost cry and then i have to pinch myself so i don't. You were the first beautiful thing to ever love me. You were the first to keep me up at night months after saying goodbye. I can't sleep at night because i hate sleeping alone. I hate being alone. I hate looking at my phone and knowing that i havent missed a call from you, i hate when i fall down the stairs and theres noone laughing behind me because im such a klutz and this happens almost daily. I hate the emptiness i feel in my arms and i hate how big the dimples in my back feel without your hands holding me, i hate that you're not holding me. I hate that i can't sleep because i can only think about the beautiful thing that we were in the beginning, like that first night we watched that movie and you leaned over and kissed me i thought i was going to pass out from excitement, i remember how happy i felt how eveery empty second was filled with thoughts of you and every thought was reassured because i knew you felt that way too, i like the night you first saw me cry even if it was over something stupid you held me like my problems were as big as the iceberg that hit the titanic, i liked watching titanic with you because that movie is so ******* good and you're logic to disregard it only made me like it more, i like the first time you said i love you because it took so long to get those stupid words out of you but i loved it because i knew that you meant it and you knew that i wasnt going anywhere. I liked that time you cried at our favorite restaurant because i was being a ***** im sorry that i can be a ***** sometimes. Okay a lot of the time. I like that you put up with my **** and everytime id try to justify it youd say shh. I like how you made me watch too many movies. I like how your dog would **** the bed and we couldnt move him because hes kind of fat. I miss that. I miss a lot. But missing doesnt get you anywhere and nothing i do will get us back to the way we were way back then. I just thought that maybe writing this might help me sleep again, i figured if i wrote down everything clogging my head that maybe id feel better. But the reality is i dont. Im lonely and i miss you and i miss knowing what its like to go a day without missing someone. No amount of melatonin will wipe the memories from my mind both good and bad. Cups of hot tea and warm blankets wont help me to forget the sound of your heartbeat and the way you used to drum your fingers down my spine until i fell asleep, i cant even sleep in my own ******* bed because your teddy bear is next to me and i dont have the guts to get rid of it let alone move it. I know in less than a year ill be moving. You will too. We'll be gone and moving on to a different part of our lives. But i want you to know this. No matter how far away we are no matter whether or not we ever start to talk again, im still here. My phone still buzzes and beeps in hopes that its you. And my heart still jumps and leaps for the exact same reason. if your ever in bed and you cant fall asleep, its okay, because ill be awake too.

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

We are laughing while passing a bottle back and forth between the two of us
Our breath reeks of nicotine vapor and the remnants of marijuana mixed with whisky
I down half a bottle of Maker’s Mark and you ask how it is I am able to do so with such ease
I tell you it isn’t difficult and it isn’t
I want to add that swallowing bitterness is much more pleasant on one's own terms but I do not say this part aloud
Instead I act like my insensitivity to alcohol is a skill not relevant to a family history of addiction
Built from uncles and fathers using liquid as a method to cauterize open flesh
A mechanism of numbing that has been passed down for years as casually as a recipe
We keep our secrets tacked onto hard labels and the inner caps of beer bottles
We antique our inheritance with the reminder that it has always been this way
This ability to drown myself under the weight of high content is nothing more than expectation
I make wine to water the moment it reaches my tongue
I convert drunken slurs to a language understood
I know sour breath more than I do mild
I didn’t learn drinking from beer pong and taking shots
I didn’t learn how to from games at parties and competition
I didn’t learn it as an activity or an outlet, I learned it as a habit turned routine
I was introduced to liquor with the same hand that walked me to school everyday
With the same lips that kissed me goodnight
This comprehension for the intoxicated soul is as engrained as my predisposition to become one
The only thing impressive about this relationship with alcohol will be how I choose to survive it,
Not all of us have.

I once read
That in 7.6 billion years
The sun
Having reached its maximum size
Will shine 3,000 times brighter
Than it does now
I have always wondered
How it is possible
To know such a thing
When 100 years
Is beyond a lifetime
How we could possibly
Look so far into the future
When now seems like an eternity
And tomorrow is miles away
How can we embrace the moment
When we are constantly being told to plan ahead
And what's the point
Of waiting 7.6 billion years
When the sun is already
Shining
And the moon
Already loves her?

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

I can spit out words in a matter of seconds
I can twist my thoughts into metaphors and anaphora and all this rhetoric they taught me,
they said it would make my argument stronger,
that it would make me a better writer
well
here I am,
am I?

I can do it all
I can make pain taste like sugar, granulate it so finely to where it melts on the tongue
I can cope my problems into understanding, make feeling alone no longer a possibility
I can even create something similar to hope with the way I form these phrases together
I can almost do it all, but
I cannot write you into my arms
I cannot place you in this bed next to me

I often wring passion into language, this pouring out becomes exhausting and
It doesn't matter how many times I rewrite this poem
Poems don't make people fall in love
People make people fall in love
I wish
I could make you fall in love but
I am not one of those who can

I've learned it doesn't matter how nice these titles are,
the stanzas, the formatting, the content is not important
Whether or not I bury my soul into the center is irrelevant when
you are currently the only thing living inside of it
Every time I pick up a pen or
a pencil or a page I hear you
My head has become a blank thesaurus, everything sounds like your arms holding
I search for inspiration and your name is all I can find
I want to say the same goes for you with mine but
that would be a lie more than
anything else

I guess that's what writing is more than anything else
deceit, fabrication, myth, romanticization
a reflection of everything we know to be false drawn into something it's not
I have been trying to scribe my way into your heart but
it's clear that I cannot let myself in without invitation
the welcome mat means nothing if it goes unread and
as much as I would like to get a call from you tonight,
it would be silly to wait up for fiction
I thought the rhetoric I've learned would help me feel better
I thought writing this might take away the aching, make me happier
well
here I am,
am I?

I swear that in another life I was a crow. A bird of black feathers and mystery, cawing at the wind and nesting myself high above civilization. I think crows are beautiful. Beautiful like the blood moon lunar eclipse being the first of the year, beautiful like rain water slapping the windows of a glass house, beautiful like the way veins insist on being pointed out through pale skin, I think beauty is in perspective. When people think of crows, they think of bad luck, evil, and death, these are the convictions that cultural mythology instilled upon us. Poe once wrote the raven to symbolize mournful and never ending remembrance, the bird being a reminder to one's desent into madness, he forgot to mention the magic that these creatures maintain. What spells evil to some is beauty to another. Anything can be beautiful if you look at it the right way and we so often look at things incorrectly. Eyes half opened, blinded by some form of unnatural light, we so often look at things with skewed perspective. We are often unable to bend our reality in order to see something that we dont want to believe in. Why do we look at blackbirds as a symbol of fear and white doves as free and pure? And why is white and pure always somehow perceived as better? Crows may be dark, but make no mistake, they are not hollow. These birds are known to be some of the most intelligent animals on this earth yet we disregard them based on history and how they look, tell me, does this say anything about our society? How we are so easily willing to put aside something because they are not the typical definition of beauty? How often do we not take the time to recognize the charm that lays within difference? Difference is beauty. Charm is mystery. I think that crows are charming. Crows to me, are the four leaf clover, the rabbits foot attached to a key ring, crows manage to bring me a sense of comfort and beauty, I think crows are beautiful. I say that in a past life I was one. Too many times have I been followed by them, hearing there echoes in trees, crows always seem to find a way to come to me, even in my darkness and therefore i choose to percieve them as light. Life is all about perspective. So what most see as ugly, I choose to percieve as beauty. I swear I was a crow in a life before this one. But for now i am a girl. A human. And as for the future? Nevermore.

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.

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

I hope I don’t **** this one up
If I make a mistake it isn’t my fault
My credibility can be diminished by the way present things
I, the way I present things
I am afraid of publishing something someday and
******* up the end result
Someone will read it and laugh because I missed word
A word, I missed a word
****
If I am to ever mess up a final draft then
I will laugh because nothing is final except for maybe death
Maybe
Books scare me because when they are printed the work becomes permanent
And I’m not sure I want anything I create to last forever
I don’t know if anything I say will ever be kept for that long but if it is I want my mistakes to be as clear as what I am attempting to say
I am attempting to say I cannot be held accountable for everything I do wrong
People will look back and doubt that I can be trusted because I didn’t use the write form of right
Even so, I hope my errors are good enough to be remembered
I hope I can incite a cringe or two with my fallibility
I was not made to be perfectly correct in all that I do, my words can attest to that
So if I **** this up, if I make a typo,
Let’s just pretend it was on porpoise.

If it doesn't keep you up at night
You probably don't love it enough.

When you love someone who is not there
Your mind will learn to create
Draw images of how everything should be
Erase ones that depict how it actually is
Eventually you will forget what is real
And what is make believe
You will convince yourself
That you are not forgotten
And that even though you haven't heard from him in days
He still thinks of you
You will tell yourself
That you are still wanted
Regardless of the fact that you barely want anything to do with yourself
You will somehow believe that someone else does
He will not tell you though
You have to remind yourself that he is too busy
Too involved even for a hello
You will have to remember
That his life never intended on having you be part of it
And that you
Will probably never be a part of it
You will constantly be reminded of every time you were promised future
And your wanting for it will become unbearable
You will lay awake at night like you always do
This time tasting of more than just alcohol and regret
You will swallow your own tongue wondering why fate never seems to be on your side
Thinking maybe you were never meant to love in the first place
That meeting him was a mistake
You should have known better anyway
To fall for a guy
With a heart already occupied
You know all too well
That there is not enough room in one for two
And you are the tenant with the most vacant body
Stop trying to fill yourself with things that don't exist
You will need to recall
Every single time you have built yourself up
Your expectations piling above you
Never anticipating the crash
You always seem to be staring blank eyed
When everything around you crumbles into disaster
You learn to pick up the pieces
And glue them into something decent enough to look at
Your mind is still painting pictures
On a canvas that will most likely never be tangible
And you will be reminded of it when you're laying in bed
And your hands grab for someone who is not there
When you love someone who is not there
You will spend every second of the day
Searching for them in crowded rooms
When in reality
You know
They weren't there to begin with
And they probably
Never will be.

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

Palm of hand touching hair touching cheek touching
you for the first time
Lend me your hips like
a sweet favor
I will teach this body rhythm and
the music of us will echo into
the bricked walls, syncing together melodies of
contact, electrical wire sparking in this blood, your
heart beating its way out of chest,
the softness, a catalyst for fire, I almost
swear I can hear the air particles kissing,
speaking, they are singing,
closer, closer

"gravity, is working against me"

the dark means nothing without
a glow under covers and
wrinkled sheets holding us eager, silent learning,
don't let go just yet,
we are falling,
falling
further into each other,

"just keep me where the light is."

There are leaves under my feet
The trampoline below us echoes our laughter into space
We are in our cheerleading uniforms jumping and jumping and
There are no boundaries in summer or winter or spring and autumn is our favorite
We **** on the roots of purple flowers because we can
Spend our 12 am sleepover restlessness and pocket change at the 711 down the street then
Sneak out to houses of boys who are too much older
We kiss them with juicy fruit mouths and sour tongues from joints we have just learned to smoke
We sacrifice lit paper to our ****** lips and run when our paranoia starts to catch up with us
The first time we drink, it is from our parents unlocked liquor cabinets, their trust for us more lenient than it should be
We swallow too much ***** mixed with orange pineapple juice and it tastes worse the second time around
We quickly learn to calculate how much is enough to send us spinning without emptying the contents of our stomachs
We stay up too late and too often because
There are too many movies to watch too many songs to hear too many memories to be made
I am 12 13 14 15 16
I am freckles and skinny and bitten cuticles and hot pink nails
I am poorly painted mascara and drugstore lipstick
I am football games and smoking bowls and crying from laughing too hard
I am ****** seasonal job and Halloween party and curved figure and first heartbreak
I am weekend adventure and aimless driving and snorting pills and loving strangers and touching bodies that aren't my own
I am reckless, we are
Too young to understand the consequences of our choices that will soon become mistakes
We make so many I forget to note them all down but
Haley's smile in a candid I use for my photography final freshman year is one I do not throw out
Instead I keep it locked in my mind, sitting against a black panel tucked away in my old bedroom
Hers was where we sat as we planned out our dreams for the future
Outlining our intentions on the ceiling above
Talking about who we wanted to kiss and then ****, we told each other too many details when we did
We wore bras that were too slow for the speed of our growing bodies
And black cat costumes to a party whose only theme was alcohol
We loved and got hurt and ate ice cream but mostly we loved
drinking, boys, smoking, cigarettes, each other
We were each other and still are but time and distance have both left tolls on our former relation
I am no longer the kid who never had a fear of heights
I don't jump as high as I used to when I do
I drink now with too much caution, I only take pills prescribed for me
We live on opposite coasts
And there are no leaves for me to step on where I am
Seasons do not change here and I am stuck on years I cannot forget
In a way we are still too young to understand most of what we don't but we still have time before we need to
It is winter again, then spring, then summer
My dear,
Autumn is approaching with patience and a slow speed
She is still our favorite.

I am the kind of person
Who has mental breakdowns in the line at subway
Decision making is difficult
Or maybe I'm just crazy
And I might be
Every day is unpredictable
Every day I wake up in the same body
A different person
People never believe me
But believe me when I say
I change on a daily basis
My mood is completely erratic
And always shifting
It is not desirable
To be this unstable
With the daily possibility of hurricane
And ever-present disaster
There is bound to be destruction
I think deeply about everything
Too much and too often
My personality is introverted
Yet I get upset when I'm alone for too long
Human contact is critical to my being
But sometimes I get upset if I am looked at the wrong way
I push people away
And then get mad when they don't come back
I don't make much sense at all
Really, I don't
Potato
I got a massage once
And cried for the whole 80 minutes
Because I had realized
I needed to pay someone to touch me for that long
It was still worth it
It's not normal
To fall apart this often
But I do
So often that it's become my daily routine
A repetition
Of overanalyzing
Freaking out
And then worrying
Followed by bouts of hysterical crying
I cry at the most irrelevant things
But never serious situations
I've been to two funerals in my life
And didn't cry at either
I didn't know how to
I am impulsive
I have seven tattoos
All of which were added within a span of three months
I make my decisions at the last minute
I'm addicted to netflix
I bawl my eyes out every time I watch lilo & stitch
Which is often
Sad music makes me depressed
But it's still the only thing I listen to
I say I hate hookups
And then spend a night with someone who will never speak to me again after
I look for love in all the wrong places
And then get ****** when I don't find it
Yell at happy couples because they are happy and I am not
I smoke cigarettes only because I like the smell of them
I drink too much
And then not enough
I look good some days and then like hell the next
My pillow has a permanent imprint of my head because I sleep a lot
Some nights I don't sleep at all
And then cry about it in the morning
I think I cry too much
And most days I realize this
I realize that I am
A mess
A whirlwind of ugly
Black and white
Back and forth
Thunder storm tidal waves
That constantly pick up and crash
A kaleidoscope of everything wrong in this world
All put together in one single being
I am the definition
Of insanity
But when you look at it
In the right perspective
I guess it starts to make sense
Starts to fold into something other than just breakage
I can't see the appeal in the chaos
I can't see the beauty
In any of this
But maybe someday
Someone will.

Grandpa loved angels
Kept them scattered throughout his room, his house, his life
On everything from pictures, to figurines, to trinkets
Alissa found a penny with an imprint of wings with the year of her birth on it shortly after he died
How strange, we all thought
Grandpa had a lot of things,
Luck charms, knick-knacks, practical jokes he carried just in case
He kept his humor in his back pocket

I visit my grandmother in her home that used to be theirs
She is now as vacant as the Detroit winters are cold; the ten years without him have stripped her of any warmth
I think a part of her left when he did

I enter his study and look through every drawer, discovering a part I neglected to understand when it was present
I never showed much interest in anything he told me when he was still around
I only really knew of the things he kept in drawers, cabinets, on shelves
Everything he owned is as constant as it ever was
His belongings remain untouched as if he hasn’t been gone for over a decade
I feel too much alive in this office of a dead man

I run curious fingers over the bindings of books, stopping to pull at Dickinson, a faded collection of poetry inked with flowers on the front cover
I remember the dictionary the size of my six-year-old palm that intrigued me so greatly; the ability to fit so many words into such a small area was nothing short of fascinating
It is the one physical memory I took home with me after the funeral
I had wanted it always
I now picture it hiding in the back of my drawer in my childhood bedroom where I know it still is

On his desk there are so many key chains, bills from another generation, maps, postcards, watches
So many things I am not sure what to call them
I am not sure about a lot but
Grandpa loved angels
Angels and ***** jokes
One to keep you safe and the other to make you laugh
I keep both with me always,
Just in case.

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.

I haven't slept in three days
There's a hole in my sheets
I still love you like an incurable virus

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.

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.

Just when I thought I've
written you out completely,
scratched your memory off the edges of my bones,
wrung the imprint of your lips from mine,
wretched out every word you ever poured into me,
tore your image from the hippocampus of my brain,
Just when I thought I had said
all there is to say about you,
about us,
about this,
Just when I think I have
finally left it all behind,
You come back to me.

In my dreams
in my late nights
in the bottle of wine I force myself to finish
in the pack of cigarettes I don't even like smoking
in my wandering mind
in the short seconds between each day
in all of my writing,
Your name is always the first thing to be marked down.

Lover, I can't forget
I am still spilling your tongue
from my mouth
You seep through my pores on hot days,
the freckles on my face remind me
of how you once found constellations in them,
you built galaxies in my eyelids,
lover,
the cleansing is only just beginning.

I am too full on our history
There is no empty when it comes to us
I will be forever ridding
myself of your contents
I thought the tidal wave of
still missing had passed
but here I am
drowning again.

Doggy paddling to stay afloat,
I have never been very good
at swimming. I am still
hanging on to the deflated
life raft that is your hand,
you let go of mine a long time ago,
it's about time I do the same.

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?

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.

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 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

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

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

I am angry for the way your eyes touched mine, how
They looked at me and without thinking, made contact,
You
Opened your mouth and the word beautiful
Fell out

I don't know if it was the 2 am restlessness or
the alcohol speaking but
What you said burned a pit in my stomach
I planned on filling it with your smile but
you stopped sharing it with me

I wanted to pile the void high with the thought of how your
Hand pushed hair behind my ear and
Your arms reaching out like you needed me

You told me,
I was beautiful
Whether or not it was an accident does not matter when
I can still feel how your breath felt brushing my cheek as you spoke and
How I blushed, laughing, turning my head to break the connection
I shook it in response saying,

"No, I am not"

Because beautiful things don't confess to their own knowledge of being

You said yes
I said no,

Because beauty is a privilege I have never been allotted

You said yes, you are
I said okay

I don’t know why you had to tangle truth into a lie
If I were truly beautiful to you, you would say hello and still mean it
I'd like to think that if I really were, you would want nothing else but to hold me at all hours of the day, to
Kiss the face you held in your palms and just watch the up and down of my eyelashes but
You don't and I understand, it's okay

It has been a month or two since you spilled poison into my open heart and
for the first time I am remembering this encounter,
It is too sweet for your now bitter
I ask myself why I still think of you and
I know it is due to the way you spoke to me, how
You touched me too gently for too long
Your fingerprints left holes in my memory foam skin, I let you get too close.

This is simply sadness that
is too tired to morph into anger
I am only angry in how you made roses out of words
to plant them in my garden, unfit to grow
I could never keep much else alive besides myself and
everything dies out eventually
I should have guessed that we would too.

There wasn't a lot
I could do for you
With the distance and everything else
I couldn't give you much
Only some small piece of myself
And the image of my body bare
For you to keep
I would like to think the fantasy I spun
Helped you in some way
I know it probably didn't
And it was foolish nonetheless to play a game of falsity
The reality of us sunk in too deeply
Too quickly
And all at once
Our future,
There was none
I forget that in reference
I didn't have the time to care
So I stopped all at once
I'm sorry for that
I hope I broke your heart enough
For you to be able to write a song about it
Maybe melody and lyrics
With some semblance of us in them
I hope wherever you are
You are getting closer to happy
I hope you still think of me.
I know you do.

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.

I remember the day he told me.
Driving down Deerfield road he said so casually,
I have cancer.
The word that we’ve been conditioned to fear, the one that we associate with our
world falling apart, the word that we never want to hear come from the mouths of
our loved ones.
But there it was, spoken with such ease, the word released from my fathers
mouth.
I’ve never been good at emotions or feelings or any of these human things that
you're supposed know how to express naturally. So as he told me I just sat there
in silence, the only sound being the soft hum of the highway around us.
And we drove home.
We didn’t really talk about it much, just went through the motions like that was
enough and it was.
The surgery was quick and before we knew it, he was cancer free and i just
assumed that wed go on with our daily lives that easily and for a while we did.
But the book didn’t end there. Like every good story, there’s a central conflict,
one that we avoid or even face but after some time it reappears as if to say, you
thought i'd just go away didn’t you?
and it came back. With a vengeance, one that would not be so easily cured like
before, one that would change my life and force me to confront the feelings from
which id always tried to hide.
And this time when he told me there was no silence and no casual tone in his
words  I could hear the tremble in his voice as he knocked on my door, he never
knocks. And I knew in that moment that something was not in place. And I could
tell from the fear plastered on his face that he was scared. The man I was
looking at appeared as a lost child, not the strong confident man that I call my
father.
And he told me with the fear in his eyes and a tremor in his voice followed by
the sentence,
"We’ve got so much we’ve yet to accomplish."
And I knew, this was just the beginning of a whole another battle.
The chemotherapy took his silver locks but not his spirit, took his weight but
not his soul, it tore and it ate at his body until the man that stood before me
seemed almost unrecognizable but he had made a promise, one that he had no
intention of breaking. So I stood beside him during infusion after transfusion
with a heavy heart and the fear that I could possibly lose him but never once
did I let it show. I held myself strong because he did. I never let myself get
discouraged because if he could be tough, than I could too.
Sitting on my bed one, weak and at his lowest, he told me to start planning. He
said that our lives were only just starting and that this was merely a wakeup
call to start living and that he wouldn’t dare give up because for 17 years he
has been my rock and he would give anything to see me grow up and that he wasn’t
going to take no for an answer that I was going to write our bucket list and
that he was going to beat this cancer.
And he did.
One Sunday in September we went for a drive.
Something that I so often took for granted and now couldn’t be more grateful for.

And with the sun blaring down on us and the clouds filling in the gaps of blue,
I realized that its moments like these that are the ones to cherish.
Its moments like these that define our lives and the casual routine of our being.
So hug your parents a little bit longer, squeeze them a little bit tighter, make use of
the time you have together because you never know when one car ride might change
everything.

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.

She walks backwards faking a laugh, a slight smile framing her face, i can tell she is not fully comfortable. The way she is clutching on to her drink and the wandering eyes clue me in to her feelings of easiness. His level of drunk is complete opposite of her, she is sober, he is towering over and his hands just barely touching her, but i can see it in his eyes. His intentions are that of someone who is not fully innocent, and i know for a fact that what he wants is more than just to form a new friendship, he wants something else. He leans in a little bit more and she lets out a nervous laugh as she backs into a wall. Thats when my voice calls out for him to back off. I tell him that shes clearly not interested, that his advances are not wanted, his slurred words are not compliments and what hes doing has a name its called ****** harrassment. He moves back and puts his hands up as if to say im not guilty of anything. After he ends up on the other side of the room She looks to me, lets out a relieved sigh, a smile on her face, she mouths thank you. I nod because this isnt the first time ive seen a situation like this but is the first time ive truly recognized it, this is the first time ive ever spoke up. And i feel good about it, relieved.
Later in the night he approaches me. Still drunk and reeking of hard liquor he looks at me and says you totally killed my game. Now i have two options. I could either apologize and pretend like his actions were completely okay or do the opposite and say how i really feel. Before even making a concsious decision i look up and say it's not a game, if theres only one player. I turn around and walk away. Now i know people would say that if she really didnt want it that she would have gotten up and walked away herself but see i know this isnt true. Girls, including myself, have been taught something else when were in situations like this. Society teaches us to be polite and nice as if disrespect deserves anything but the opposite, girls were taught to smile and shrug it off as if unwanted ****** advances are something we can just shrug off. As if **** is a game and were just supposed to play along. Girls, why do we act polite? Why when were uncomfortable and ill at ease do we plaster on a smile and pretend like this is how things are supposes to be, this is not how its supposed to be. We have the right to stand up and say no. We have the right to stand up and say go away i dont want you. We have the right to look you in the eye and tell you to *******, we are not voiceless creatures, we are strong Fearless women who need to look out for eachother because I learned along time ago that if we dont, noone else will. So stand up when you see her being cornered by a stranger, speak out when you see him drape his arms around her, if she seems nervous, make her feel secure, because if you look out for someone when they cant find the words to get away then someday they might just do the same for you. **** being polite and sweet and nice, it is your ******* right to say how you feel, dont ever be afraid to voice your uncomfort, you are not alone. And I was alone the night that the same situation happened to me and at the time society had forced me to believe that all i could do was just smile and stand there powerless and weak. I wish that someone had seen the uncertainty in my eyes and body language, i wish that someone had stood up and told him to back off, i wish that i had had the voice to speak up. And even though i didnt then, im speaking up now. Im speaking up for all the girls like me, girls who consantly are in these situations, the polite victims who couldnt find it in them to tell him to leave them alone, for the girls who are shamed for saying no, for the girls who get called *****, it is not your fault you werent asking for it. For the girl whos smiling despite extreme uneasiness, i want you to know im looking out for you. And as for every girl out there, you should be too.

At my worst I am a deflated pillow, memory foam mattress, lifeless exhaustion with the imprint of human, I am the still-living outer layer of a decaying earth, this being is a hollowed oak tree
I am grounded for one night at fifteen and realize that I deserve a much longer sentence than given
I did too much holding the potential of harmful; the risks were not worth the high
I miss a life without knowing you existed

I am grounded for one night at fifteen and realize that I deserve a much longer sentence than given
Mistakes are made temporary with permanent consequences
I did too much holding the potential of harmful; the risks were not worth the high
Somehow I survived

Mistakes are made temporary with permanent consequences
I did too much holding the potential of harmful; the risks were not worth the high
Somehow I survived
At my worst I am a deflated pillow, memory foam mattress, lifeless exhaustion with the imprint of human, I am the still-living outer layer of a decaying earth, this being is a hollowed oak tree

To the boys who just want to touch me
You must know that I am not a momentary happiness type of person
Overthinking is my forté
My name is not chastity
Nor is it easy rather
Difficult and complicated
Hard to crack open
There is no sweet center waiting to be divulged
I am more like the sun
A ball of pure fire that burns at the touch
Anxious at the thought of unfamilar palms and fingertips
Meant to be admired from a distance
I will warn you not to get close to me
For magnets swim in my blood
And I cling to no extent
I am
Surrounded by a force field
I do not let down my guard
So if you want to touch me
You must first
Learn to love me.

Thank you Ari
For showing me poetry
Really
I cannot say it
Enough

If I hadn’t met you
I would never have discovered
That words
Can be formed
Like crystals
Molded together by this mouth
I call my own

I have known
This language my whole life
But did not truly understand it
Until last year
In January
On Fairfax
When you brought me to
A place with
A black stage
Packed to the brim with ears
Where
For the first time
I opened my mouth
Released
And finally listened to myself
Speak

We went
With the intention
Of playing audience
But I left
A poet

Sarah Kay
Was lovely that night
Phil too
But there was nothing greater
Than the feeling
Of being heard
And how my heart
Made the jump
From my chest
To my sleeve
And is still there
Also how I
Have the ten dollar bill
From being named first place
It is rolled into the pocket
Of the jacket I was wearing
That night
I call it lucky
Call me cliche
But I mostly call it fate

I will admit I cried when
Two months later
I was announced
Winner
At the slam
You drove me to
I think I told you
It was a better feeling
Than I could get
From any pageant
You smiled
Because you knew
Thank you,
Thank you

I also feel the need
To mention
Your strength
And how you are
The bravest
Person I have ever known
As well as
The most hilarious
You are skilled in the art
Of making people
Laugh
So thank you
For that

Ari,
It was you
Who introduced me
To the world of poetry
I like to say
I fell into it
But it makes more sense
To say I was lightly pushed
By a good friend.

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?

I spend too much time searching for home in people
I compare too many of them to the likes of it
I find new ones often and always
And I have made routine in my arrival
I set down my things, make myself comfortable
Find a spot next to the fireplace, directly in the presence of warmth
I curl between blankets and couches
I get to know the surroundings
I notice parts that most tenants would neglect to
Details are my specialty; I note each down with a sense of clarity
I create a photo album in my head for every part I should not remember
But I do, almost effortlessly
All of my senses take notes in permanent ink
I keep track of scent, sound, taste, touch, images
I engrain them into muscle memory
I begin to forget that this place I have settled in,
Isn’t mine to get used to
And when I have overstayed my welcome,
I am asked to go
I pack up, leaving most of me behind in the hurry
Once again I am forced to move and start over
I always do.

I look for home in too many people who’s hearts aren’t available for lease,
Bodies that are merely curtains hiding wreckage
I knock on locked doors hoping for an invitation inside
And the ones that are open are usually not prepared for company
I move in eagerly to creaky floorboards and leaking roofs
I pretend that there is nothing wrong with the structure
And when the house caves in I claim I didn’t know better
I willingly stand under shelter that doesn’t have the strength to hold even itself up
Then complain about the lack of protection when the rain comes
Natural disasters are as unpredictable as I am eager for constancy
But it is no fault but my own when I build upon fault lines
I know the weather forecast and still continue to create
I have become skilled at making something out of nothing
And nothing, I’ve learned, can only stretch for so long.

I’m the kind of person who
will sacrifice an entire night of sleep
just to be next to someone
who will disappear as soon
as morning comes.

You are not in my bed
But you are still
In my sheets
I have tried to
Wash you out
By cleaning them
Repeatedly
But it just isn't
Working
There is not a
Laundry machine
In the world
That could rid you
From the fabric
Of where we used to lay
Together
Molded by the formation
Of our pressed bodies
Stained with sweat
Our ***,
A pathetic excuse
For intimacy
It was not love
But whatever it was
Is gone now
I have tried to
Erase you
From the pattern
Of the blanket
I sleep with
It is the only
Warmth I have left
We used to drift off
Wrapped up in
Each other's skin
Holding to shake
The fear from
Our bones
The inevitability
Of tomorrow
We were never
Made to last
You faded
Right before
My eyes
Everything your hands
Have ever touched
Of mine
Still has your prints
On it
The material
Can't let you go
And neither can I.

I keep old movie stubs in my pockets
Polaroids
Concert tickets
Loose mints
Half pieces of gum
And the fortunes from cookies I ate at my favorite chinese restaurant
The one nestled between a church and a thrift shop
I keep an abundance
Of miscellaneous items
I like the reminders
Remembering
What was important to me at the time
And even though
I keep these things
I am not a hoarder
I am a collector
Of memories
Of moments
Of past that I refuse to let go of
I hold on
Much longer than I should
Fold every sweet second
Into the palm of my hand
And save them for later
Saving the sun for overcast days
Saving light
For nights when the darkness is too much
It is my memories
That keep me alive
But the same ones
Could very well
Be the death of me
I am a collector
Of both things good and bad
I hold on
Much longer than I should
But happiness
Does not have an expiration date
And there is always reason
To reflect
To smile
At a piece of paper
A picture
A note
Something
Anything
That once held significance
People change
Locations change
Life
Changes
But inanimate objects
Stand still even when time does not
I am a collector
And I am attempting to preserve
The fading.

"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 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.

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

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.