I am stubborn as a seashell.
With persistence,
I keep washing up on your shores,
begging you to keep me
and hold my hollow bones like precious stones.

would you be ashamed
to wear my lipstick
like secondhand smoke
a mark made monumental
on the collar of your shirt
on the rim of your coffee cup
on the sharpest cheek bone
i have ever kissed?

would you be angry
to wear my lipstick
on your bony shoulders
on the mirror of your room
on the pillowcase where you
sleep and never think about me?

I would be honored
to wear your scent
on my sheets
on my neck
and under my skirt
but most importantly
on the skin above my heart.

the water has been calm for months,
not a wake has wandered from within this body
and still
something is amiss
i miss
you.

and not in some deeply important
or wildly romantic reminiscence
but in a way that makes my throat dry,
my hands hurt,
my eyes water.

it is not that we are cold,
but there is an absence of heat
and by that i mean passion
time is passing
and the water is rising
so why was it surprising
to see the tide?

i feel silly.
when my heart skips and flips and i feel like
there is not enough blood that could
drip drip drip into my veins
and give back the breath that you take from me.

i feel strange.
when i can not stop re-reading our texts
and i'm vexed and perplexed because i'm not
next to you. i don't know what to do.
my cell phone is stuck to me like glue.

i feel weird.
when i have not known you long
but i believe that we belong
and i hope you don't think that's wrong or creepy
or too early because ****,
my feelings are strong and i just want to see you soon.

We made hearts of paper mache and gave them to each other.

I saved yours in the bottom drawer of my desk
carefully kept, away from the dust and decay
of my adolescent bedroom.
It was safe, clean and pristine,
and I had no intention of hurting it.

I think you shoved mine between the spines of notebooks,
littered with skateboard stickers.
Over time it splintered and withered and
while you were digging for your printer
You found it.

When you gave it back, it had turned black
and blue with ink and paint residue.
I held it broken, battered, and used,
I felt the fragment pain ensue
I guess the best things you give end up coming back to you.

sleeping next to you,
your breath tickling my shoulder,
my head spun and my heart grew,
as the night got colder.
a twist of legs, a heavy sigh,
a smile set in morning sun.
waking up by your side
was like a prize i had won.
at last,
the boy i pined after was mine.
but my bliss went missing soon,
and though the morning had been fine,
he was gone by afternoon.

i remember slipping into a whiskey induced slumber,
and nestling my body next to yours.
i buried my face into your broad shoulder.
i clung to you like i might fall over –
and it was true, i was falling.

my common sense and reservation
took the back seat to complication.
we drove off in your jeep,
on the dark and deceiving road
of mixed feelings between friends.

i hope it's not a dead end.