Reese’s Pieces are for people who
Are used to picking up the pieces
Of broken hearts
But they still want to make it
A good experience
Smiles that look like peanut butter
And kisses that taste like chocolate

Butterfingers are for the kids who
Are used to being picked last for
Everything except to cheat off of
In math class
They’ve grown accustomed to
Not being thought of

Popular kids like the M&Ms;
Because in the end
What else do they have except
For the stories of muses
And the parties they attended
One-by-one they picked apart
Everyone who didn’t act just like them

Pop Rocks are terrible and
So are Peppermint Patties

Crunch bars and 100 Grand’s
Made the jocks think they would actually
Go somewhere and do something
With their lives
Hope comes in strange forms
Monkeys don’t know the difference

Kit-Kats are for the hipsters
Talking a little too loud about mustaches
Listening to music that nobody knew
Grouping around vegan lunch tables
They would break off one by one
When another clique accepted them

Anything made by ***** Wonka
Was a favorite of the kids who
Knew who they were and
Weren’t ashamed

After all, what does candy say
About any of us
Clothes and shoes
Were only disguises
To hide us from the world we
Desperately wanted to fit into
If you had a Five Star notebook
Started mattering a lifetime too soon

When I step into the convenience store
I picture the kids that I know
Because of the candy they ate
I regret having such a sweet tooth
To pick apart kids’ lives
With nothing to satisfy the bitter
After-taste of social humiliation

I used to cook for her all the time.
I wonder if she remembers. Can she?
Ramen noodles and toast
at 3:30 in the morning, churros at 8:15.
Sometimes in the middle of the night
she’d cat call my name and I’d always
run to her wondering- Is she hurt? and then
She better not have hurt herself.
I knew better though after the first few times,
yet I always went willingly enough through her
open bedroom door because she wanted me to.
But mostly chicken noodle soup on Sundays
and rice and jambalaya on Wednesday.
mmmmmmmmm.... Carminolas with a kick.
Pop pop pop and her buttons would fly across the room
and other times she’d be under the sheets, already
ready to press my hands against her caramelized skin.
And if we add a pinch of saffron, a dash a sumac,
and a teaspoon full of ajwain she will taste like
heaven and for those cherry lovers add a bit of mahlebi.
But I remember. She tasted like homemade chocolate and
marshmallows. Go make Mama something tasty.
She’d say afterwards and send me from the warmth of
her bed, a Saturday Night Live rerun echoing after me.
I’d bring her dumplings and udon and watch her while she ate,
wondering- Can she taste the arsenic?

What you seem not to understand,
Is that I fell in love,
With the girl,
That smokes cigarettes,
The girl,
That smiles at me through,
Her natural curls.
The girl that laughs,
At unnecessary times.
The girl that tells me her pains,
And her ambitions.
The girl that,
Didn't care what others thought of her,
Not even me.
The girl with crowd-splitting confidence.
The girl that stole me with a glance.
The girl that leaped wholeheartedly,
At every obstacle that dared face her.
The girl that,
Wears no make up,
Neither on her soul,
Nor her face,
Nor her thoughts.
This girl is without a doubt,
The absolute most beautiful creation,
To have ever existed.
I fell in love with the girl that,
You seem to so hastily run from.
I fell in love with a girl that,
You seem to hate.

lately i've spent hours a day
crying over you,
but that doesn't mean
you didn't make my life
so absolutely
extraordinary

(and it sure as hell
doesn't mean i'm
over you
yet)