if you knew about the deep wells inside me -

the holes where people used to fit

the house-shaped dent where home once was,

you would leave me be

truthfully, i don’t know if there’s a cure for people like me

i don’t know if a get a happy ending

and i’m wondering if i’m supposed to feel this way forever

or if one day it will tip over and spill out of me, unconquered

i live every day not really knowing

if the next time you see my body, it will be cold and pale

so let me curl up in my bones and hide

there is no room for you in me

you picked me up in your mother’s white car, 7:30 pm almost two hours late

we drove around and ended up at the beach, sitting on the pier, words spilling out of our mouths making up for lost time

when the sunlight faded we walked down the shore until we saw the big dipper over the waves

you laid your beach towel right next to mine on the sand, it was the first time i started to wonder what you were planning

hours later we found ourselves tangled up in blankets and bodies and you traced your thumb in circles on my elbow, hot breath on my neck and we were so close, lips hovering, a precipice, nearly

and you almost had me, you almost got me

but when we were wrapped in each other's arms, staring at the waves, you whispered

i care about you, but this doesn’t mean a thing

i guess i never knew the stars could fall out of the sky like that, all at once

i wish i was something more to you than an object to be used, and the thing that keeps getting me is i thought you were incapable of treating other people like they didn’t matter, but you curled up in my skin and now it is all stretched out and shaped like you and i can’t fix it and i wish it didn’t matter but it matters, holy **** it matters

you drove me home at two in the morning and didn’t even turn on the radio, but when you parked in front of my mother’s house we both started saying words all at once and i wish i could’ve got to hear yours before i slammed the door in your face

i’ll always have a bruise that looks just like you

it's wondering if your roommate wonders about the scale you keep tucked under the bed
it's going to sleep at 7pm so you can skip dinner
truthfully, romanticizing emptiness can only get you so far
and there will be nights spent frantically distracting yourself from hunger pains,
hiding under the covers and blaring music
so you stop thinking about words like pasta and ice cream and disappointment.
slowly, you notice that all of your friendships are slipping through the cracks
and you want to save them, you want to so bad,
but whenever one of them says, i miss you, let’s grab lunch
you panic and fake an illness or a family obligation
with your heart pounding, head swimming,
because there is nothing else to do.
it’s constant voices in your head: one begging you to eat,
one begging you don't you dare, don't you dare
and it's seeing food in numbers:
bagel (320), pizza (285), cookie (115).
it’s having a boy you love come home from vacation
and starving yourself for days so you can hear those magic words,
“you look thinner.”
you think about telling him about this, about you,
but you know what it would mean.
despite that, in the back of your mind, there is always a desperate, seeking question:
*would he care, would he care, would he care?

you are a blue button down, filled to the brim with smiling, sparkling, brown-eyed boy

she is a small blond girl in a gray sweater. you kissed the top of her head, and she leaned into your arms: smiling, safe, dancing

the man in the front of the room was giving a grand speech about dreams, about the hidden passions we fail to act upon;

i couldn’t stop staring at your hands.

it has been a while since my feet have graced the dance floor. i’m not sure if i remember the way the music sounds, but i know the steps: one-two-three, one-two-three, kiss, linger, leave. it’s muscle memory, it’s clockwork.

often, i think about the one who taught me how to dance. he twirled me around so quickly, it felt like floating, up into the sky, fingertips brushing the clouds. sometimes, i think i’m still dizzy.

you are a warm winter coat, all coziness and comfort and soft, slow smiles and sleepy voices on Sunday mornings

i am a small dark-haired girl who can’t quite figure out how all of her limbs fit together. i would dive off cliffs if it meant i could land in your arms.

you are the very best parts of all the things i should not want

the worst part is, i actually believe you could fix me.

I
a fireworks display in summer.
flashing light -
bursting sound -
nervous adrenaline pulsing through the air.
grabbing fingers -
frantic touch -
it's lightening,
grass under feet,
lingering glances -
a revolution,
a government overthrow,
with guns blazing.

II
a warm fireplace in winter.
fleece blankets -
steaming cups -
christmas carols floating in from the next room.
a warm body -
a sleepy smile -
it's pajamas,
thick wool socks,
a kiss on the forehead,
a moment of home.

The fact is
we were a round peg
and a square hole.
I tried to sharpen my corners for you.
I failed.

he wants me, but doesn't know how to get close to me.
i am dangerous,
a girl dressed in caution tape,
a ticking time bomb who wears too much mascara.
the cameras in his pupils record my hands tucked into my sleeves,
the careful way my eyes dart around,
and they send little warning messages to the part of his brain
that wants to **** me on his mother's blue couch.
noted: how i rarely text back,
how my smiles are too frequent to be genuine,
how i pull him along on a string with no intention of committment.
he doesn't know, not really, but i'm sure he can see
the storm lurking deep in my eyes.
being only a fledgling sailor, he is afraid to steer his ship in my direction.
i do not blame him.
i am dangerous,
a girl dressed in caution tape,
i am a ticking time bomb, and i have his name written all over me.