Some places in me
Are hollow
And if you press too hard
I'll cave in

I don't need empty reassurances
Of my wholeness
Just acceptance
Of my vacancy

But please know
That barrenness
Does not mean less
When it comes to loving you

I spent my time tying pink ribbons to my words hoping somebody would untether them.
Hoping someone would listen to my cherry flavored cough syrup poems.
I wandered around thinking up the type of person who might love me;
gentle, caring, soft and quiet.

Then you came along.

And you could undo any knot imaginable if you were given enough time.
You hated cherry flavored cough syrup and you didn’t understand poetry.
You spoke so fast sometimes I wondered if you even knew what you meant.
But you always listened to my rambles as if I were telling you the cure for cancer.

I went about my days wondering how I could have overlooked someone such as yourself.
It only took me twenty minutes to decide I only wanted you to listen to me talk.
I could taste vanilla on your lips and I wasn’t even kissing you.
I laid on my bedroom floor for hours on end wondering how it might feel to love someone like you.

I fell in love with you on March 10, 2013 when you laced my left skate.
You had a laugh like an early morning songbird; a benevolent smile as if it were always spring.
You kept talking nervously about your hands until I held them and you went silent.
This was the first day I ever thought about kissing you. From then on, I haven’t stopped.

You haven’t stopped knocking the wind out of me since.

You touched my thigh underneath the table and I think I knew then that I was done for.
We kissed on the ferris wheel and you tasted like vanilla wafers.
I think your name is stuck on the roof of my mouth because I haven’t shut up about you since.
(I hope it always stays there.)

You’re like the first warm days of spring after a harsh winter.
You’re so alive and it’s refreshing for me; who forgot what air tasted like.
I want to plant a garden in your heart and watch it grow peacefully.
I want to tangle myself within your vines; wrap myself within your liveliness.

But no matter how ardently I loved you, it was never enough.
There was always a misapprehension with us, a broken line, a word that threw off the entire poem.
I am not afraid of many things, but losing you frightened me to the point of madness.
I didn’t mean to shut the door in your face, I really wanted you to stay. I truly did.

You hated when I said maybe so I started saying it to every yes or no question you asked.
It was the little things that changed; you said my name like it was rotting in your mouth.
Our last kiss tasted like rubbing alcohol and I wanted to kiss you again just to remove the flavor.
I wonder what went was going through your head while I was breaking. (Where’s the glue?)

How little you notice when someone is here; how much you notice when their absence approaches.
The freckle on your right wrist, the quiet way you read a book, how you talk to yourself when you’re nervous.
You touched my hair like my mother did, but you left a deeper scar than my father ever could.
No slamming doors, just a quiet magic trick that left me wondering if you were ever here.

I didn’t want to show up on your doorstep years later in tears because I forgot to tell you... you’re breathtaking.
I forgot to tell you, the stars detonate because they’re trying to imitate your eyes when you laugh.
I forgot to tell you, your touch could heal an open wound in under thirteen seconds.
But it’s been a year and I still haven’t explained how afraid I am to love you.

We met again and your voice was deeper and your eyes were colder.
You still laughed at my jokes but it was quiet and aloof.
Is that the way she likes you best? Vague and jejune?
I never wanted to treat you like a poem; never wanted red ink to touch your stanzas.

Given the chance, I would love you all over again- and right this time.
I would catch your hair glistening in the sunlight and tell you, “you’re wondrous.”
I have spent a good portion of forever writing you into poetry.
I cannot apologize for not letting go, you’ve always been home.

Love me or not, you’ll always have arms to hold you, ears to listen to you babble, lips to kiss you foolishly.
Carry on, carry on, you’ve never been any less than extraordinary to me.
I can feel how alive you are, you’re more human than I will ever be.
(I love you only always.)

I weep for you, sweet angel.
So alone and isolated.
So scared of what the future could hold,
Or perhaps what it couldn't,
That you preferred to die rather than live.
I wish I could have held you.

I weep for you, brother.
Who lost your sibling.
Who regrets every cross word
And every assault and insult,
With the bruised eyes and torn soul
Don't blame yourself.

I weep for you, mother.
Who loved you baby more than anything.
Who laughed with him,
And cried for him,
And now battles with every ghost of a memory.
He loved you too.

I weep for you, father.
Who dreamt of your child's future,
Who imagined he would be a father someday too.
Who feigns strength for your family
But wants more than anything to break down too.
You tried your hardest.

I weep for you, world.
Who watched as an angel fell.
Who observed the skies opening for him,
Who watched the heavens pour out.
Who cradles him now, tighter than ever.
*Hold him gently, for all of us.

I hate that moment my anger turns to tears because I am thinking about all those years , the years that I was free, I could be me, the years my tears were from the little scrape on my knee or because no one wanted to play with me. The years where there wasn't years of sadness, because sadness was nothing but a word. It was in those  years I didn't dream of killing myself , I never really cooks understand why others felt that way, but no one does until  they become one of those dreamers. It was after those years that sadness was now something more than just a name, it had become all of me, it was now my routine , the dreams became the monster pushing you, the reason you wanted to jump off the bridge , the reason you've learned how to tie the perfect knot that could only be cut loose , dreams leaving you with no way out. Months go by sleepless nights, endless fights thinking you could trust someone out of sight

I'm sorry for being a natural disaster.

I'm sorry the way my mood changes turns you into a quiet rumble of thunder, always dragging behind the lightning bolt until the full force of nature's fury is pounding down on your head.

I'm sorry for skidding into your world like a golden-tinged summer daydream and leaving it like a levee breaking.

I'm sorry for writing about you so much that your name is carved into my fingertips like water shapes a rock formation -- my journal probably wouldn't weigh so much if all my baggage wasn't crammed inside it.

I'm sorry that I can only write in figurative language lately but the concise truth is like walking barefoot on ice and after a while it's so cold it burns:

I never really loved you.

But admitting it means hailstones of lies battering my already-crumbling storm shelter, all our sunny afternoons grayed out by cloud cover.

And I'm sorry beyond all the weather metaphors in the world, but I can't bear that.

I saw your face upturned at the darkened sky,
And as you reached for the moon,
Kissing her softly,
The stars glittered with bitterness.

I admired you, the boy that the moon loved.
I saw your lips dance across the night,
Watched you pull at the blanket of the sky,
And I understood the jealousness of the stars.

Because even if your eyes were full of starlight,
Your lips still bore her moonbeams.