I was walking along the shoreline
On a warm afternoon in July when
I noticed a piece of polished wood
Bobbing helplessly in the shallow water,
So I pulled it from the salty sea and
Admired the intricate carvings and
Detailed line work across the face.
Just as I was running my thumb
Over the still smooth edges, I
Noticed another piece floating
Just a few feet away from me.
Within the hour, I had gathered
An entire armful of wood, and
Within the week, I had an entire
Table full of mismatched pieces.
So I began working unceasingly
At putting the pieces back together.
I started with the inside, the
Smooth heart shaped piece with
The slight cracks and divots,
Followed by a circular piece
That resembled the brain
With the deep crevices.
I then pieced together
The smooth fingertips
And the rugged feet,
And connected every
Limb and joint together
Until a boy of about
Six feet was standing
In front of me.
I snapped on the
Final piece and watched
As he came alive before me.
His eyes as deep as the mahogany
Looked into mine and smiled, as
Though thanking me.
And he turned his
Back to me and
Walked away.
It wasn't until
That moment that
I realized I had poured
Every ounce of myself into
Piecing back together that boy,
So now every ounce of myself
Was walking out my front
Door with a real boy
Who didn't need
Me anymore.

To my future lover,
You know I hate this phrase, but “I told you so.”
You will brush my warnings off like bread crumbs.
You will forget that I explained every pothole and sinking sandpit to you.
You find the hair the shower drain and remember.
You see the middle-squeezed toothpaste tube and remember.
You search for the television remote and remember.
Remember.
That I am just as wild as my hair.
That I tell you that you are wrong even when you aren’t.
That sometimes I have a hard time saying “Good morning.”
That sometimes I have a hard time saying “I am sorry.”
That sometimes I have a hard time saying “Good night.”
That I have an eternally stubbed toe from tripping on my own feet, shoes, and tongue.
That I play too much.
That I cry too much.
That I am too much and too little, but that makes me just enough.
That I love you and will love you even when it gets hard.
Like burnt waffles and diamonds and your will and my skull.
If you misplace your memory daily,
I will remind you with my whispered words in your ear, with my gentle finger tips, with my soul bare before you.

Come over here.
We bought this love seat for a reason.
No use in wasting such a lovely purchase.
Good Lord, no.
My only motivation is proper stewardship of our possessions, you gorgeous man.
No, I don’t have secret agenda of snuggling and reading a book curled up in the nook of your arm.
Just sit yourself down here and read your literature.
We won’t talk.
We will sit silently.
Absorbing.
Inhaling.
If I reach over to your arm, don’t flinch.
Just curl to my shape.
Just grip my shoulder like it is a pen and you are a writer.
Then write about my not-so-unknown intentions in your margins.

I spent my youth in a house of glass,
my castle among the trees and grass,
no stick or stone could break that home,
where the sunlight filtered freely.

But as I grew older, and stronger, and bolder,
alas, I cracked a pane of glass,
my first thoughts were that my life was breaking,
a little crack had my whole world shaking.

A voice awoke somewhere inside me,
a frantic whisper "Smash it wildly!"
"Bust it! Break it! Tear it down!"
"Burn this glass house to the ground!"

This is how I came to know,
deep inside my youthful heart,
there's beauty in the fire's glow,
destruction is a form of art.

My fragile home was torn apart,
like a gust of wind to a house of cards,
I live happily now, in the open air,
endlessly dancing, on silicate shards.

I have seen her playing
With light, edging her hair,
In crescents so fair.

I have watched her fingers
Twirl and twine, beaming gold,
Threshing precious hold.

I have witnessed the taming
Of the sun's rays, captured,
Spinning in rapture.

And I feel for the pale moon
Who offers his frail, vestige light,
While she sleeps at night.