The light spilled over her cheeks
as if God had knocked over a water glass.
It trickled down over her right eyebrow,
over the bridge of her nose,
falling to the left ever so slightly
until it reached her bottom lip.

To my unfocused eyes,
she was an angel.
I blinked the sleep out of my eyes,
taking in shallow breaths
as if any sudden move might disturb her surface.
Ripples on a pond
I thought if I touched her she might burst apart,
and dissolve into a million tiny pieces of air.

I couldn’t move.

But she could.

With a slight furrow of her brow
and a fluttering of eyelashes
she faced me.
She didn’t look onto my face
but rather traced my outline with her gaze.

"Forgive me,"

she said quietly.

"There is nothing more beautiful than you are over your shoulder but I find I cannot meet your eyes.”

There is a small hole in my back and
no matter which way I toss or turn I cannot seem to fill it.
I will walk and walk and walk but it will still be empty
it will still be missing.
I will walk to the end of the earth to find it again

Fear for me is not terror.
It’s an itch on the very edges of my shoulders that will not leave
I have scratched off the top layers of my skin trying
when it comes I am an inch shorter and a foot smaller
and when it puts its hands on my face I can’t bear to look away
my fear is sleepless nights staring at a clock that ticks down to zero
whenever it reaches the end I am convinced that the world will end but it hasn’t yet
I just reset the clock and roll over and over again
maybe next time the world will finally start to break apart

I think about time every time time happens
my mind loves to remind me
again and again repeating lines for emphasis
that I am running out
my heart is too fast and my hands are too slow
my breathing is somewhere in the middle
I am looking for something I lost long ago
I will walk to the end of the earth to find it again

I will walk to the end of the earth to find my peace

It was May
and I was drunk
and I was sitting on a rock somewhere far away from my mind
and my heart and all those other things that you need to survive.
I was thinking about the ocean
and time
and how much my feet hurt.
You see,
I had walked all the way out there
to look at the waves and lost my shoes
along with my mind and my heart and
they’re probably swimming out there somewhere;
I’ve just lost sight of them.
The ocean is funny and sad
when you hold it in your hands your fingers can either feel like they own the world
or as if the world can, at any moment, slip through the cracks.
Time is funny too,
and like the ocean,
you can only hold a little in your hands.
In other ways it’s not like the ocean at all,
trying drinking Time and I’ll think you’re on some drug that I’d like to get my hands on.
People describe time and the ocean similarly
and for some reason I think I’ve got it figured out
but I’ve got it figured out in only the way someone sitting on a rock in the middle of the night with no shoes and heart can.
They describe the ocean and time by telling us about how enormous it is,
they try to tell us how deep it is,
how wide it is,
how tall it is.
They can stand up and tell us facts about the beginnings of it and how they think it will end but when you look at the fine print both of them say that they have about 90% left to be discovered.
When you look out at time or the ocean who is to say how much your seeing?
Is the the horizon over there or is it just how far my eyes will reach? Can I predict the tides and the sky and the next person to stumble around the corner?
Maybe I should just go to sleep.

Back when fate was something so true we could hold it in our atlas laced hands things might have been different.
You may think that life can only be an ever consuming sleep but I wish to remind you that does not inhibit us from dreaming.
I believe that one day I will wake up with a knowing;
grasping at any tendril of that which may have been left behind,
with unconsciousness still lingering in my vision.
We learn, criticize and hope
laying in piles of uncreated art.
It is a sad comfort to be human;
a relief much comparable to tearing yourself from a particularly terrible dream.
And we will startle,
again and again,
repeating lines for emphasis,
until we find the truth.
It is then that the dream is over and we return to what is.
I'll talk about God until I meet him in the middle.
I'll talk about God until he comes to me in that dream.

I sleep on my stomach with my back to the stars
and I send my condolences to the moon.

the wires are humming again
she's covering her ears
while eyes flicker
and breath quickens
she asked me to help her **** the parts that hung off her like the tails of ghosts that she claims trace the hallways
she tried to cut out the hardware that embedded itself in her skin
I could hear the metal hitting the floor as I lay asleep
but when I awoke she claimed it was only the bugs dancing in the night
they knocked over the candles and that blew out the light
I used to believe everything she said when she used to talk about how the sky was every color
she said she could see them in my eyes
my eyes are darker than night now
the sun lives downstairs
but he rarely comes to check on us anymore

I don't mind

I need you to understand that
the divine does not become divine
by sitting at desks
my double helix had light shining through the cracks
but that only explains why
there is an ache in my fingers
and a need to run in my feet
as long as there is not only darkness I can make my own way

a spotlight illuminates the desk
at which I sit
I am a soul being carried in a cradle
and my hands keep slipping
my eyes are starting to blur
and they just keep watching
sitting in a sea
whispering
shouting
I can't even hear them

I am writing a script at age 17 that I will refer to again
and again
until I am dead
I am writing my future
and I'm not sure who my arms think they are
but they write me entering stage left
and when I exit stage right my cells will have replaced themselves
and my arms will be different arms
the only thing I can hope for is that they will have held what they needed to

I do not know the girl I am writing about
but she knows all about me
she doesn't hate me
I know this because she smiles when she thinks of me
she loves me
but I am her burden
my decisions
affect her decisions
and that is so heavy for my pen
I still see her light shining slightly through the cracks

she will whisper to me
farther along
"It's perfectly okay"
"I was afraid too"
and we will take solace in our decisions
together

The script I'm writing is for both of us
I just hope we can meet
in the middle

Imagine this with your eyes closed.
These are the labored seconds before you open your eyes to the day.
A subtle ache hums in your bones and it takes an amount of effort to pull your eyelids apart.
And the light rushes into your eyes.

Being in an abusive relationship is like waking up in a plain white room that used to be full of color, and you look around wondering when it got to be this way. How could you not have noticed the color seeping from the drywall?
Did it happen while you were asleep?
No, you think, this must be how the room has always been. You must have imagined the color, colors are silly anyway.
No one else lives in rooms that are full of color, this must be normal.

There is an emptiness in your back that will not fill itself with your skin no matter which way you twist or turn and you vaguely remember taking a part of yourself and giving it to another.
Hushed whispers curl around your ears and for a second you can feel someones breath close to your neck.
The voices are familiar, loving, they caress the skin and if you listen close enough you can almost make out what they're saying.
"you're worthless lovely" they say
wait
no
that can't be right

See, what they don't tell you is that abusers are wonderful, you don't fall in love with monsters, they can be your best friend, your neighbor, the person who sits next to you in class.
The whole point of being with someone is not to make you feel terrible but to make you feel wonderful and that is almost always how it starts out.
After that it just depends on which side of the door you're on.

The wall is as cold and smooth as marble.
And you lay with your cheek pressed against it, as if listening for a heartbeat. Spreading across your skin is a numbness that can only be compared to sleeping with your eyes open,
Don't pinch yourself, you will wake whoever is dreaming.

In health class they aim to teach us about ourselves and others and how to interact and how to make good choices and outcomes of our problems but what happens when your health class illustrates your past?
I have yet to count the amount of people who have came out of that room with tears in their eyes, because they finally understand.

I UNDERSTOOD WHEN THE FIRST COLOR I SAW AGAIN WAS RED AND IT WAS AT THE CENTER OF HIS EYES,
I SWEAR THEY LOOKED SOMETHING LIKE FIRE,
WHEN HE ROSE HIS HAND TO HIT ME AND EVEN THOUGH HE DIDN'T TOUCH MY SKIN HE LEFT SCARS DEEP BENETH IT THAT STILL HAVEN'T HEALED AND WITH HIS HAND IN THE AIR AND HIS WORDS LIKE THUNDER I PUT MY HANDS TO MY FACE AND CLOSED MY EYES WHEN I OPENED THEM HE WAS GONE AND I'D LIKE TO SAY THAT I NEVER LET HIM COME BACK BUT I WOULD BE LYING TO YOU

imagine this,
but open your eyes because in this room 1 out of every 3 people will be subject to abuse and I am not just a statistic but a reason to never shut them again,
I had too many people say that when I was sick every time before I saw him it was butterflies,
and I've had one too many girls come to me crying because they finally have a word to call their boyfriends,
and I have been to too many doctors to call my physical condition a random happening of events,
and I have too many reasons not to be silent anymore
it takes an amount of effort to pull your eyelids apart,
but let the light rush into your eyes

When he died I believed that everything would stop. The clocks would not tick  and people would move as if suspended in water. Letting go of his ashes in the breeze would have been enough, but he held onto my fingers. I saw him land in the water, in the sea of green, and still felt him on my hands. It was as if he had never left. I never cried during his celebration of life, and maybe I was just too afraid of washing him away. I wish I could say that I never cried while writing this. It might have made me appear strong and confident. One cannot wish for these things. Appearing strong and confident is much more trouble than it is worth anyhow. Some things are meant to hit you, square in the chest, knocking the wind out of you. Unfortunately or fortunately, death is one of those things, death is a 1,000 pound weight that hits the front of your car, damaging the way you move and leaving you with a couple bruises. The problem is you live. Death has been romanticized to a fault, in which I thought that I might be able to catch my breath, if only for a minute, before moving on back to the present. Reality has never been a friend to me. Instead of slowing down it would seem to speed up. Leaving me to run to catch up, short on breath, short on water. Leaving me in rivers down my face, and exhaled through my mouth so that my rhythms would make a tragic waltz. I could have composed a symphony of my mourning, as if music could bring him back to me. It’s quite tragic, humans, at the passing of another they only think to cry. I believed that one would have to break my arms to get me out of bed that day. Yet, he died before the sun came up. I was awake, I remember being awake. An hour away in a bed that wasn't my own I said out loud "it is to early to be alive" and it was. 
Two day's earlier I had perched myself on a chair overlooking the hospital bed. And I can't remember much about the room but I remember his eyes. Staring as if they were trying to drink my soul. Taking everything in as if it would be the last thing he ever saw. Looking at him brought a quiet calm to my mind. I drowned out the crying and looked directly at him, and he, looked directly at me. I swear a smile crossed his face looking at mine, and I did my best to smile back at him. Part of us both knew, this would be the last time we would ever lay eyes on each other. I touched his hand. He looked so small, under the lights. He was always the tallest in my life. I still saw the man who taught me to dance under those blankets. And in that moment, I know he saw me as the little girl dancing around at his feet. Some moments, you want to last forever, and I would gladly still be in that room if given then chance. It was not that the moment was perfect, it was real. And maybe the last peace I will ever see. A knowing, of the end, but simply watching. Walking out of the room, the last thing I ever heard him say was "I love you all" and he did.
No, time did not stop when he died, in fact it went so far as to carry me away. A three hour bus trip to an unknown city, and back again that day. Part of me must have known. I found out from a text message, a friend saying. "I'm so sorry to hear about your grandfather", 2 hours from home.
My parents were too afraid to tell me.
If time did stop, it was only for a second, 
and I think I heard his voice:
"I love you all"
"I love you all" 
and then, 
time continued.

the world sits on the tips of peoples tongues
one day someone might talk a little too fast
and it will fall off
but until then we will be content to look for it in others eyes that we might happen to see while walking down a sidewalk

this is what searching for love is

we all hope to catch a glimpse of the world between cracked fingers
or within the echoes of thoughts we pick up from crowds
but I believe the best way to find love is to wait
wait on the edge of the room
wait between the silences
wait until the night has broken
eventually you will find the world rolling across the floor
with a mouth wide open
and eyes
shut

I keep a jar in my corner of my head,
to the left
in which I keep all my fears
along with a couple unheard phone messages and some unused anger. Sometimes I'll go over just to look at them
sift
shuffle
turn over and over again
put them into boxes
take them back out of boxes
put them in other boxes
Most of them are silly really.
I fear either too much or too little,
But the jar completes the little room inside my head
so I keep it there.
I'll pull them out one by one.
I am afraid that when the sun comes again I will pale in comparison
I am afraid that I am not as much as you say I am
I am afraid after the winter you will no longer need me to keep you warm.

I used to break bottles on the ground
and the glass I would use to fill my words
just like people
glass never breaks the same
some will find its way into weapons
and others are simply
echoes in the night
some words are empty
and others are so full
that they spill all over the concrete
filled with water
or rocks
I want them to weigh you down
sometimes
and other times I want you to be able to stand on them
like I do
when I scream messages on street corners
blood dripping down my face
I will promise myself I will never write another empty word
and instead of filling my words with weapons
I'll fill them with sunlight
or unused happiness

I don't break bottles anymore
the only thing I can break well
is myself
and
silence

I am afraid that everyday I am becoming increasingly better at impersonating myself
the ticks of another hum in my bones
and I am standing on a balcony
watching myself walk by
I hear my laugh coming from other peoples mouths
and I see my sad eyes
when I look into the faces of the crowd
I am afraid that everyone around me will know me too well
or not well enough
the wind will blow my hair on this balcony just as it has
to the people below
I have no idea what I'm doing
neither do they
I wonder if they see themselves in me
I mean whoever I am
we all use each other
to build ourselves
recycling feelings
expressions
combinations of words
until we find something that we can live with

I am afraid that I will find myself if I jump off this balcony
I am afraid that I will lose myself if I jump off this balcony

I am not sure which is worse

I am afraid.

the first thing I want to tell you is:
I was always jealous of those kids who had glow in the dark stars
that they put on their ceiling
they could create their own personal paradise
and I wanted that power
to create something to stare at during the night
and if I can't play with the sky
I'll settle for plastic
and some tape
when you put your hands in the sky
some might call it playing god
but I'd like to think of it as creativity

you talk about God as if he was holding a cigarette
and
I talk about him as if he was holding a sword
but what if we combined them
a man
dragging a sword through new york
leaning against it on street corners
and asking for a light
they would wonder
wouldn't they
who he was
jeans
some armor
but only enough to cover his battle scars

It's becoming a right of passage
to pass out on the floor
someday
I think I'll wake up
under the sky
and when I look to my right
I'll see a man
with a cigarette
and a sword
that's when I know
that I've made it
I may smile to myself
comforted by the fact
it seems we all end up
on our backs facing the sky

God included

I heard this theory once
that we have tiny red threads
coming out of the centers of ourselves
and they connect to other people
they pull us together during life

invisible
but existing

some call it fate
but when I think of fate
I see you
taking your heart out of your chest
just to look at it
set it on the ground in front of you if you must
to study the contractions
cross legged stranger
to yourself
I'll do the same
sitting across from you
I'll set my own heart on the ground
We'll flip a coin to choose which heart goes back in your rib cage
and I'll tell you that you are better off
with mine
and I am better off
with yours
my veins are still connected

invisible
but existing

maybe that is what they mean
when they tell us we are connected by tiny red threads
seeing my hand on your chest
they must think we're crazy
but I'll tell them I know two things:
1) I love you
and
2) there's blood all over the floor

When I was sad
I asked you to hold my water
and as I emptied the glass into your hands
you began to cry
seeing me with the empty glass
the tears falling
into your open hands
you created a lake between the seams of your fingers
nourishing it with your own
and when I finally held my glass out again
when I had the strength to carry it
I asked why you were crying
you told me
"I merely hoped my tears were enough to make you see the glass a little more towards half full"

and that's when I knew I didn't deserve you

today I saw a machine that can make human skin as if it was printing paper
and I thought about covering myself with new skin
just to see if it didn't hurt as bad
if I hid my scars a little better
today I was in so much pain I felt sick
and when you left I felt like crying
a boy died today
and I am speaking out loud
with a voice that sounds like broken glass
whenever I am alone I talk as if I don't have enough air
the voice in my head sounds the same
I talk about drowning a lot
but I don't know how else to describe the feeling of not being able to breathe
while I am taking in air
my body is pulsing because I have too many memories
and no one understands
I am so alone here
maybe that machine can make me better
maybe all I need is new skin
I love my body
but it doesn't seem like it loves me sometimes
it is keeping me alive
but I don't want to be
I have to keep reminding myself that I am not a parasite
I am a human
and I deserve to be
but no one ever listens to me anyway
not even myself

my lungs breathe without convincing
so why do I have such a problem getting off the floor
remind me
remind me
remind me to live

more than I want to forget
I want to remember
you are a quiet calm
that I want to detail as you sleep
the tint and shade of your eyelids
as you inhale
exhale
illuminated by a soft glow
I want to remember
your voice was a river
when whispering about love
rushing, returning
in a rhythm
that matched
the slight upturn
of the corners of your lips
as if you just remembered I'm next to you
I want to remember
the small noises of your nature
your body ticks
like  a grandfather clock waiting for the sunrise
you make tiny noises in the bottom of your throat
as you move
you have told me you love me thousands of times
without opening your mouth
I wish to touch you
but I am afraid that if I do I will disturb your surface
as if you were water
ripples running over your skin
more than I want to forget
I want to remember
every piece
of you

the sky looks like cheap wine
mixed with water
that was always my uncles favorite drink
he said he couldn't risk dying
on his two sons
just for a party
and I respected him for that
if I was ever to drink
it would be cheap wine
mixed with water
as a tribute to his solace
he just needed a hint
of what he was missing
he used to drink when he was married
and I'm still not sure what happened behind those closed doors
but he came out divorced
with a liver problem

Inside all of us there lies something to be discovered
and I think the spark you put at the bottom of my lungs might be enough
to remember mine
you are a fire and I am ash
brand new, I feel sorry for eventually suffocating you
I hate cities
I hate people
but I love persons
I would get on a train right now just to watch
people spill like water into the underground
seemingly searching for something within the tunnels
some simply a way out
others a way in
some just to sleep
I saw a man with an airport under his skin once
and a woman next to him with clouds brushing lips with her fingers
they were holding hands
and I swear I heard the boarding call faintly as they exited
I hope he remembers to breathe
sometimes it rains on the subway
and sometimes you can't keep the sun out
people are always rushing to some
unknown endpoint
I'll sit in the corner and ride the blue line until they kick me off
far enough away so they can't touch me
but I can touch them
sometimes I'll close my eyes
imagine that this train is taking me home
imagine going down a snowy hill at 80
looking next to me, there you are
so I put on the brakes
"I only want to **** myself, I don't want to **** you"
I'll open my eyes
and see the life around me

maybe
I can
stay just a little longer

Your hands were your first language
and all formalities and expectations aside
I want you to whisper into my skin
spell words into my flesh
just like I spelled my name over and over
inside my chest when I first learned
how to make letters out of my fingers
at summer camp in 5th grade
last night you reminded me of that week
more than I'll ever tell you
you are running through thick forrest
you are sunlight through the trees
you are blue skies
and you are also thunderstorms
I have seen both in your eyes
don't ever be afraid to rain
I wanted to tell you
Both storms were on a Wednesday night
the water never touched me either time
yet seemed to soak my soul
arms around my knees
whispered words
I think you were too upset to notice
that you reverted back to the voice that projects from your fingers
sometimes I forget English is your second language
you speak it so eloquently
hands
around your face
as if speaking in perfect verse
fluttering

"what are you saying"

fluttering

"you're so pretty"
"you're so pretty"
"you're so pretty"
you whispered

"pretty"
"pretty"
"pretty"
I repeated
using nothing
but my hands

If I looked down on myself from above
I would look like a feverish dream
gold bleeding out of my eyes like a cracked open door
and cheeks stained crimson as if being out in the wind too long
rushing breath stumbling
down my lips
I am running
while laying in a mess of heat
heart beating just a little too fast
to make me
"normal"

you bring me down to earth with breaths you whispered into my mouth
maybe you're telling me secrets with your eyes
while I am desperately trying to regulate my heart rate
beautiful doesn't even capture
your hushed voice
tell me again
how to cut off my wings
and be human
you look like a dream
a feverish dream
I don't feel alive
but perhaps
oblivion isn't so bad

I'll throw my head up to the sky
attempting to break the separation
trying to stop running
while standing still
on the edge
of where I could be
and where I am
take my face in your hands
and convince me

I'm not dreaming

"you only hug me in airports" was the last thing I heard her say
as she opened her arms
to her eldest daughter
and I was nothing short of amazed
when they walked into each others arms
I saw her close her eyes
if only for a second
drinking the moment through her pores
as if the rest of us were invisible
even to the night
that moment seemed to stretch
to morph
to erase years of pain
and close the gap of months
in a single step

together

I wonder if she heard the screaming in her ears
or the sound of glass breaking
the rain on her face
the night that she slammed the door on that same little girl
now an adult
but still small enough to fit between arms
I'll never know what happened between them
but I imagine it like lightning
hitting their chests in a terrifyingly beautiful fashion
and I was waiting for her daughter
to cry out
"no, you only hug me in airports"
and I'm not sure
if they will ever see each other
again
I wonder if they're happy
or simply

content

cease and desist in your clockwork ways
I want to scream loud enough to break the glass surrounding you
I'm looking down from above
watching your lights flicker
on
and
off
as you open and shut your eyes
automated movements
searching…
searching…
searching…
error
drunk on influence
lies dripping from your mouth
you are automaton
repetitive movements
tapping thumbs
looking down from above
just like I am

cease and desist in your clockwork ways
if I was to push you in front of a car would you even take notice?
or look in a daze
it is a tragedy to be just "fine"
I want to be terrible
I want to be wonderful
I refuse to be anything in between
fine is not enough
you are not enough
stop walking in circles like they tell you to
if you have to keep walking walk in a square
hell,
go for a triangle

cease and desist in your clockwork ways
you are not cogs
or coils
or gears
or tiny ticks
you are bones
and light
and energy
and blood
and skin
and I could go on forever
you get the idea
so start acting like it
if I am a lightbulb let me be the difference between a prison and a blank slate
trapped in misery
trying our hardest to express
audio visually
the tiny flutters in our hearts
because it's the first time we've felt something

if laying on a couch validates your existence
lay the hell out of that couch
until you can't feel your back or your legs
but **** you're so alive and well
and if laying on a couch doesn't
then what are you doing?
stop walking
start running
validate your existence by breaking out of boxes
running towards the sun
if you need a reminder:
you are alive
and you should start acting like it

cease and desist in your clockwork ways,
human

tell me where you found God
I don't want the name of some church you went to
I want a detailed story of a brilliant burst of light
or that time you heard a voice in the dark
I want to know your details
I am fascinated with man
and higher beings
and the fact that it has to be real if I see it
if I believe it
tell me where you found Angels
doesn't matter if it was in a hospital room
or a highway
did you feel hands on your shoulders?
think in lights
and see in patterns
I want to know where you found safety
I found mine in a low voice telling me that the angels
were real
and how tragic it is to not believe in anything
and to also believe in everything

I was late to school once
reading a story about a heroine addict
who found the closest thing to God
in a little girl
talking to a wall
I thought about it
for so long

I missed 7 am

I want to miss 8 am
or 9 am
thinking about your story
of how you found
safety
finally
tell me,
where did you find God?

darling
please come inside
I've never seen it with my own two eyes
but I can imagine you igniting your addiction with a flick
inhaling the smoke
are you trying to start a fire in the bottom of your lungs?
or keep one burning?
I might ask you one day
when you're looking up at the sky
memorizing the constellations once more
you may close your eyes then
are you trying to create a universe between your rib bones?
penciling in stars like letters
writing a book of
expanding//contracting
beginning//ending
with each breath
starting the same way it finishes
until the point of collapse

darling
please come inside
it's so cold
your veins may freeze
is your addiction keeping you alive?
or is it killing you from the inside?
it took a part of me once
your addiction was once another's
it left with him
and took a piece of me with it
I've never been the same
and I'm getting tired of looking at hospital walls
but I can't tell you that
I've seen the inferno behind your eyes
that you're so desperately keeping alive
so I simply say
"hurry back"
instead of

"darling,
please come inside"

I don't belong here
and I don't mean this town I mean this earth
I'm not quite made out to be human you know?
if we were all created from a couple chemical reactions and a huge burst of light at some center of the universe I must be going home when I die
and I want to go home
I am homesick
for a place I barely remember
but it is nowhere here
no point on a map I can put my finger on
no road to get me there
and you know
I wouldn't be me without my sadness
it's as a part of my like my arms are
sadness is what makes me interesting
and I think thats why
no one ever notices
how sad I am
my mom didn't check off the box labeled depression when I went to the doctor the other day
and I didn't have the heart to tell her
sometimes I feel so sad
I feel so sick
but I'm laughing
and every breath hurts me and
oh how I want to go home
but it makes me interesting
makes me unique
who I am
not the sadness
just what it makes me do
I talk to people as if it's the last time I will see them a lot
drive a little too fast
I tried to commit suicide once
and I never did
I was pulled off a bridge
screaming really
I wanted to feel whole if only for a second before I hit the water
but I'm not afraid anymore
I think about dying a lot
but
I don't make solid plans
or write letters
and sometimes I still think about throwing myself off a bridge
or in front of a car
sometimes I write sentences, just single sentences
to leave when I am gone
and sometimes I want to write a suicide book
and other times the only suicide note I need is your name
but I don't
because I made a promise to a boy that left me that I would stay
the problem with being homesick
is we are taught that eventually you go home anyway
but

I'm not leaving

If,
at the end of my life,
you were to ask me about the one thing I loved the most
I would answer
"Breathing"
because it was the one thing that
never
left
all that I have ever truly known
is the air in my lungs
and the ground at my feet

I looked at you and I knew I was not magnificent
but then you turned to face me
and your eyes convinced me otherwise
the way you looked at me so quizzically
attempting to figure out the patterns in my eye movements
and the slight shape my lips take
when I said "hello"
it's beautiful really
the way you set your jaw
when you concentrate

Have I never told you before?

you are so deep
and I don't think I ever want to reach the bottom
I would jump
I would fall
if I could find an edge
if I could only find an edge

of you

Dear you, I never knew my bones could ache before I met you, in fact I didn't even know bones could ache at all this might be a medical condition, but I have a feeling if I told the doctors I had the case of a broken heart they would laugh at me.

Dear you, I keep jumping up every time the door opens expecting to see your face
I mean
I keep jumping up every time I even see headlights going by
even though there's no reason for you to come through this side of town anymore
whenever I see a black truck I think you're here
then I remember you sold it a week before you left
it was probably a sign
was I always blind like that?

Dear you, you said you would call eventually
and I believed you
then I remembered that you didn't ever call me even when you wanted to talk
I know you don't have my number anymore
but
maybe you might listen to what I had to say if I was a stranger

Dear you, hey I know you don't know who this is anymore,
and I know I'm a stranger
but
I'm a stranger who knows everything about you and even knows how you make your coffee and all the words to your favorite songs even though I didn't like any of them, and the exact angle your head takes when you're drawing and **** it never mind I can't finish this

Dear you, I wonder if you ever would have loved me if I wasn't broken
you seemed to only be searching for something more damaged than yourself
congratulations
you found exactly what you were looking for
then left as if you made a mistake

Dear you, I told you loving sad girls would get you nowhere
even I hoped I was lying

Dear you, I can't stop dreaming that you're still here

Dear you, I thought you were gone
I WISH YOU WERE GONE
call off your ghosts and leave
…please?

Dear you, today I ran to catch up with a boy who was wearing a leather jacket that looked like yours and when he turned around I had to pretend I wasn't looking

Dear you, I saw you today for the first time in six months and I couldn't breathe and when you left I fell to the floor and no one understands that seeing your eyes constricted my wind pipes and if you still had my heart it was trying to run to safety the thing almost jumped out of my chest and everyone was hugging me and I don't remember the rest

Dear you, I will forever regret not yelling after you

"I keep all my promises"
&
"I miss you too much to forget"

and when I die
compose a symphony in my voice
transfer my soul into a violin string
and my heart into a timpani drum
as long as I can be heard I will never be
truly
gone
you told me once you would name a gun after me
if you stumbled across one that spoke in my voice
and if you can hear my name in a gun shot
you can find it again in a broken chord on a piano
because
I used to be a composer
but every melody was about you
people rest in sound waves
and it's time I was found again
just like I found you

and when I die
bury me in sheet music
and leave me under the concert hall
so that I will never go without
music reverberating through my bones
I've been told my eyes are gold
if you look at them in the right light
but if you gave me room to breathe again
they might become the color of the land
I am rushing over
in bass line
one that you created
with your own two hands

and when I die
and you hear what you have created for the first time
I hope you fall to your knees
in a spotlight
on the stage you stand
because you have just realized
that I am more alive now
than I was when I was breathing

and when I die
I will not really be dead

now will I?

you always said I lived right beneath your collar bone
straight above your heart,
not in it but over it
I was only the supporting weight of one of your shoulders  
I think I forgot to tell you that you were both of mine
but I also feel you missing right at the center of myself
I let you take up too much space

Maybe you replaced me by now
you're whispering your secrets to some other girl
or boy
at any rate someone who isn't me
or maybe you just put in a slab of iron in
I wouldn't blame you
it would be much easier to deal with than I am

is it even socially acceptable to cry in the shower over someone who hasn't contacted you in three weeks?
Is that okay?
I think I'll do it anyway
The worst endings are the slow ones
that drag out for weeks or months or years
the ones that leave you wondering how one person can leave your life without a trace
I would do anything to breathe the dust of your skin again
you didn't even leave me that much

I miss you
the way that you feel deep within yourself
I told you that once
I don't remember what you said
but it wasn't what I wanted to hear

I love you
and not the kind you think
the kind that makes me smile at your voice
and the kind that makes me feel safe in your presence
the kind that makes me want to sit next to you in silence and listen to you breathe
I love you as a human
and don't get me wrong
kissing you was great
but I would take it all back
just to have you here
not with me
but next to me

It gets heavy all alone

It was always a grocery store
or shopping mall
when I imagined the first time I would see you again
we might have happened to turn down the same aisle and turned to see each other
I would have asked you how you were
we would exchange lies about how we were okay
great even, moving on and not looking back
shift slightly to cover up our new scars
and try to smile
I would ask if you were happy
you would say: yes
I would say: good
and after we parted I would decide I am much better off without you by my side

But last night was the first time in 6 months that I had heard your voice
it infiltrated my subconscious
snaked its way around my throat so I couldn't breathe
if you still had my heart it wanted so bad to come back to me I felt it racing in my chest; running for safety
my eyes met your eyes
you smiled, a sad smile
and waved
and I just….waved back
shaking
you knew me too well not to notice
but  still
you left
I fell to the ground
a blur of people and arms around me
and I think I cried
maybe
I should have yelled after you
"I keep all my promises"

&

"I miss you too much to forget"

September 12, 2010:
I write you a letter
begging for forgiveness
redemption
a way to start over
the last sentence reads:
"I wish the rain would be enough to wash away my mistakes"

I never send it

September 13, 2010:
You break by heart for the 1st time (out of three)
via message sent at 12:03 AM
the last sentence was simply:
"I wish it could have been different, I'm sorry"

It pours for three days straight

My demons came up to me and introduced themselves today
and told me:
Humans are fire
Knowing no bounds they can either warm you or burn you  
attracted like moths to a light post you find yourself addicted to sparks in the black
thats why you love them;
you're looking for yourself

Only a sad collection of scars and almost's,

I was a match  
&
You were an inferno

Trying your hardest to please everyone just to leave yourself with nothing but ashes and a couple dollar bills
You stood there and burned, gluing your lips to my ear so that every time I turned I could hear you ringing in my head to set you free
Fully leaving would have been too easy
I swear you could have been sitting in the back seat of my car having a conversation with the headlights of oncoming cars as I drove home in the darkness
Slamming my hands on the steering wheel to try to atone for my own mistakes

you burned yourself to forget
&
I burned myself to feel

when the rain came neither of us were ready
I seem to have washed away
but you
simply lit another match
(one that isn't me)

I'm not sure if I am empty or endless
endless sounds nice
it sounds like I capture the sea and the mountains
and you
if you walked far enough
your veins being your only road map

it sounds like I am every color and every song
and I can touch stars if I want to
breathing in the dust of planets
and getting Saturn's rings tangled in my hair

yes endless sounds nice
but I am so afraid
In being endless you will only focus on the craters I am on the moon
and the caves I am in the land
and the black depths of the ocean
(empty)

I am so afraid
that you will come to me for a drink
and will leave just as thirsty
with no oasis
no resting place
no me; with or without you
(empty)

If anyone told me when I was little that when I was older,
when the leaves fell down I would be so sad
I wouldn’t have watched them spiral down with such wonder.
I might have even taken the liberty of climbing to the tops of them
and
taping them to their own branches.
The younger version of myself loved me more than I do now.

There are a small collection of us fighting for our lives,
as extinguished lights all we look for is more darkness to hide with.
Among empty red seats of an all but abandoned theatre I found my reflection.
A mirror in the shape of a girl.
Cries of help can be only mere whispers if need be
and
I have many secrets I do not wish to shout.

She spoke to me more with her eyes than with her mouth,
in turn I found that we spoke the same language.
Maybe I was too afraid to ask her where home was
but
she did tell me that she went to bed early
“and not like 8 pm early, like 6 pm early”

I wondered if that was because she was in love with the darkness or her dreams.

You don’t ask questions like that unless you’re prepared to answer them yourself.

What I can tell her is what I know:

We are electric.
My lips aren’t quite frozen
and
my battery is not yet dead
and
if igniting one another saves both or neither at least we tried.
I will use my words as a defibrillator,
shocking you, shocking you, shocking you,
until I once again hear the sound of fire, keeping you alive.
I won’t give up on you so you better not give up on yourself.

I will bring you back to life.

*Illuminate the darkness for me darling

hello, I miss you
the stars screamed at me not to let you drive away
and I should have said something
anything
worth you being here
because I never knew "goodnight"
could be a synonym for goodbye
and I am not ready to be alone once more

hello, I miss you
do you miss me?
you told me you did once after you pulled over to the side of the road 20 miles away from my house claiming that you couldn't drive any farther until I knew
you never turned around though
I wasn't worth enough
it wasn't until later that I figured out that could be the only thing I have left to hold onto

hello, I miss you
since you are gone I have no best friend besides my reflection
and even she does not want to talk
sometimes
we both have sad eyes and no one to look into them
you were my light and now there is only
darkness
(the stars have given up trying to warn me)

A boy I knew was abandoned by the love of his life today, after two years
And all he said about it was:

"Funny thing love is"

And as I passed the grave yard driving home I saw an old woman whose hands were clasped in front of her, praying for the love of her life to come back home

"Funny thing love is"

I knew a girl once, I knew her inside and out. I could count her flaws by the scars on her knees and I could name her victories with a smile. I saw her when she was flying, but also when she was falling and she has told me things that only the depths of her mind knew. She was alone a lot but never lonely. I don’t remember a time she was ever bored because her mind would run faster than any river I had ever seen and her thoughts could paint masterpieces in the air that belonged in art galleries. I was one of the only ones to ever see them. She might have talked a little too fast or said a little too much but I loved her.
Her hands were gentle but when she found something to hold onto her arms would have the force of 1000 men.
She tried never to break anyone.
Except herself.
I remember her finding tiny worlds at the bottoms of coffee cups, the remains of what others had left behind. Within metaphors she could tell her entire life but you never really knew her unless you took the time to ask. She would tell you everything; she would tell you nothing. She had a lot of faults but she kept them hidden under her pillow in hopes no one would ever think to check there.
She was beautiful really, but she knew it so that kind of took away from the allure. She loved and loved and loved. That was her best and worst quality. An incurable disease plagued her, and she used to tell me it was just her mind, just her past living within her skin. I knew better, I had always seen the warning signs. She always had to know the end of something and when she got to know someone she would know them completely, absolutely. Better than the back of her hand.
She was my best friend.
It was the sadness that got her. It consumed her mind like a sea. She was no stranger to drowning and even though she was a terrific swimmer there were a couple times that I truly thought she would never resurface again. There was once that she stood on a bridge, maybe she was daring the water to try to take her from up so high. She said it called her, and she almost answered. Strength is not always measured in numbers on weights, sometimes it is measured in how many people one holds up in their life, and how many times one wants to give up yet keeps going. War zones exist overseas but they also tend to exist in fragile minds. Sometimes she would forget the feeling of her own skin, and she would hurt to remember that she was still real. Numbness was the enemy. Surrounding her were people with dead eyes, and that wears on a human.
She wanted to find a way to fly but simply found better ways to fall.
People thought she was happy.
That was the sad part.

I knew a girl once.

And I was the only one who really knew her.

& as he turned to me his aura turned bright red
like blood making contact with air
I have yet to figure out if he wanted to kiss me
or **** me

the two are so similar
familiar

I turned the other way

I turned off all of the lights
Maybe I just feel a bit safer wrapped in darkness
Lights are flashing outside (heat lightning)
One hit right next to my house and they just keep striking&striking;&striking;
I miss you tonight
And I know I’ll miss you tomorrow and the next day and the day after that But tonight I absolutely feel the hole you left, to the left of my belly button
And its nights like these when I want to jump out of my skin and run
I’ll find the strongest wind and let it drive me forward, I’ll run until I find the tallest tree, climb to the top via the cracks in its skin and breathe again
I’ll fill the hole you left and jump
I won’t even reach the bottom
I’ll run down the fairway as fast as my legs will take me
Go ahead
Strike me with lightning

I just want to feel

Shh it was just a slip of the tongue
I never meant to tell you
Everything
Or
Anything
But the words slipped in between my ribs
And while trying to stop everything from spilling out
I think I bled all over your favorite sweater and it was obvious that I am not as alive as I say I am      
I never meant to hurt you
It was just a slip of the tongue      
And it all came crashing down