we were in the back seat of his car the first time that he kissed me. it was sweet and it was young and it was innocent and i couldn't fully focus on it because i heard a song through the speakers on the dashboard and laughed about how wrong the lyrics were when i sang it to myself

take me down to paradise city,
where the tips of his calloused fingers softly run over the tops of mine because he is too shy to actually hold my hand;
                  where the air smells like the ocean and the sky is as bright as his eyes are when he's  
                  passionate about something;
   where the woods are always empty but we still run through them every
   wednesday night because those are the nights that his mother isn't home and his father still
   breaks out tequila and gin because he didn't get the daughter he wanted

oh, won't you please take me home?
and he better not ask me what my address is because he should know that a home is different than a house and my home can be found deep within the far away corners of his wandering mind, and in the valves in his heart which are accompanied by a slow heart rate because he's built like an athlete even though he's too timid to try out for football like his brother did

people usually name islands in the caribbean when asked about paradise, but if the textbook definition is a place of a extreme beauty and happiness, my answer will always be honest when i say that my paradise is anywhere i can get lost with him,

like the back seat of his car

when you died
i threw your skeleton into my closet
because i couldn't let go of the boy
who told me i didn't need skinny legs
to be beautiful and that it was okay to
drink water when everyone else was
drinking beer

but your skeleton has skinnier legs
than i do and i'm left getting drunk
off old photographs and songs that
sing the words that you used to sing
to me when we sat in parking lots
on wednesday nights doing nothing but
laughing and not saying what we really
wanted to say

i like you a lot
i love you more
i hate you sometimes
please don't leave
i'm really going to miss you

i locked myself in the closet yesterday
with your skeleton
with the memories
i could hear you laugh and
things were okay
(for once)

if you tell me that you love me, i will not say it back

instead, i will tell you that your voice reminds me of indian chai tea and that your lips taste the way i thought cherry blossoms would and that i'd much rather sleep pressed up against your skin than under a sheet — i will tell you that i plug in my headphones to listen to your heartbeat and that you make me want to scream and cry and buy a one-way ticket to the other side of the world just to get away from you and i will tell you that i feel like i am skydiving without a parachute because i have never fallen so hard or so fast and that's scary and yet i have never felt more alive than when i am with you

i. i've spent all of this time running,
and suddenly you're right in front of
me and it feels as though i've rushed
straight into a brick wall of compassion
and selflessness and it makes me feel
twice as selfish because i do not need
you right now

ii. i've always worn war paint instead
of blush and i never wear a helmet
because i'm too headstrong and my
heart has been clad with an iron lock
and it's so cliche but i swallowed the key —
not because i was afraid of letting people
in but because i was afraid to need
somebody

iii. i get nightmares every tuesday about
the time you rested your hand on my cheek
and stared at me and every sunday i am
reminded of how it felt to be trapped between
you and your mangled cotton bed sheets
and mondays are the worst because i can
only think of the saturday that i told you
i hated you and i can still smell the sadness
in your eyes

iv. it's been three hundred and thirteen days
but i deleted your number and forgot your
middle name and i moved away because you
still remembered that white roses were my
favorite and i know you think that this was easy
for me but i was only trying to make you
understand something that you could never
wrap your head around

v. this is my civil war
(you cannot save me from
myself)

i am kissing him
when
i am kissing you.

your lips are on my lips
but
his lips are on my mind.

you think you have me
but
he knows that he does.

you let him in;
peeled back the layers
of your skin and
showed him your bones

you thought this would
be easy, but he is not
gentle;

he takes your ribs and
breaks them apart as he
builds a home inside your
sternum

[he is no longer the breath
you exhale; he never leaves
your lungs]

he keeps you up at night;
you pray and he does not
answer and you realize that
you are so tired of all of
this

“how do you **** your god?”
you ask

[you get off your
knees]