How sad it is to me,
that those with the most beautiful hearts find themselves empty.
That those with the loveliest faces find themselves resembling dirt.
That those with the softest skin cut into themselves.

I am sick to death of love poems.
So bored of them my heart dries up
at the mention of sweet eyes and longing lips.
All of these old, dead men were crazy.
They must've made it all up,
finding just the right words to string together,
forming a beautiful chord for the heart and mind
to play battle ship over, engorged vessels
enveloped in the deep peaceful blue.
And the victor, oh the victor…
The victor is the champion of dreams and hopes.
But what will these get you, my sweet delirium?
I don't want the high praise and swoons the words
of these dead, beautiful dreamers achieved.
I just need enough money to share a cup
of coffee with you any day.

I like the color of your sweater and the stripes on your sleeves and I especially like how the ends fray and the gray looks more like milk than it does a rainy day sky or a weatherbeaten road.

2. The reason I stepped back was not because you smelled funny, or that I was shocked to find you there, but because the air condition was hitting me right on the shoulders and I left my red sweater at home.

3. Okay, so maybe I was a bit shocked at finding you there; it’s just that you’re the first one who’s ever bothered lingering at the poetry section besides me, and I’m not good with surprises; in fact, I hate surprises.

4. But you’re a good kind of surprise.

5. I like your glasses. I used to have a pair just like them before someone removed them and told me that I should learn to see differently. Things have been kind of unclear since then, but I’m learning how to hold onto the side rails.

6. I hope you’ll let me remove yours, too.

7. Your hair looks like a bird’s nest. I wonder if you’re hiding life or pieces of green bottle in there. That’s a lovely shade of brown, by the way. I’ve never seen chocolate curls before.

8. Do you think that if a pine wants to, it will grow until its branches poke holes in the sky for stars and pinecones to fall out so we can catch them in our palms and compare who got the most scratches and who caught the most stardust?

9. The book you picked up happens to be my favorite. If you turn to page 118 you’ll find a poem about churning seas, angry thunderclouds, and a drifting boat that lost its sail.

10. I think I finally found my sail.

cold English day
same as any other
no sun in the sky
today
the days
just get
colder

darling wouldn't you let me haunt you for a few minutes
when you're sleeping & cold & sweating & dying
I'm a God, the sky and a girl
I'll kiss your mouth until you bleed flowers
and stroke your fingers with my thumb
until you get pins and needles
and ****** every intention you ever had of hurting yourself
I'm merely a butterfly fighting with a lion
in a game of toss and tumble
under bedsheets and in swimming pools
the ****** and the ecstasy that balance on the tip of your tongue
and in the crook of your elbow
are what grounds and holds you
but my love for you is what saves you
sinks you
kills you
makes you crave redemption
but I'm not the daisy or the tulip which you have in the vase beside your bed
I am the cat you always throw out
due to mewing too loud at 3am
and trying to cuddle beside you
just as you drift off to sleep.
I am but a God, the sky, a girl
And you are but a God
The earth
And a boy.

I had been sober for three days
and I had not seen you for three days
but tonight I took
five times the recommended dose of hydrocodene (they always were my favorite)
and I looked at old pictures of you for three hours (you always were my favorite)

We are all born gemstones, but fatally fractured, our skin bleeding rubies, brokenness and beauty and tension.  And I have heard it said that it is our decision, whether we see these cracks as channels for rivers of light to run through, or wounds to be bound and healed.  Well, if I tear off these bandages and stretch these arms wide enough, will it prove to you that these gashes cut all the way through, and that I’m willing to bleed my life and all its secrets out for you?

Ever since I was thirteen, thirteen, when that gold rush of blood chose my attractions for me, I’ve been hiding, because I’ve been afraid.  I used to tell myself it was a phase, and then it never ended, and so I told myself to never tell.  And these days I still can’t shake the feeling that I’m walking a tightrope, breathless, over glittering hell.  I tried my best to keep a straight face, but I wanted nothing more than to kiss the lips that cursed me, have those strong hands around my waist, holding me close.

And I took upon myself the burden of convincing everybody else that there was nothing wrong.  The rest of the world was singing something, something bold, and I tried to sing along, but I didn’t know the words.  And every name I was called, every kick when I was down was another blooming stain on a white wedding gown.  I made a promise that I would be buried in the ground before anyone knew, that this closet would become a mausoleum, but grace. broke. through.

After I had been trying to find my own voice, God drew close to me, singing the most beautiful melody.  And I realized that my highest purpose was to harmonize, to run headfirst after truth, finally free from these chains, these lies.  He looked me in the eyes, he kissed my forehead, took my hand in his own and whispered, “You are mine.”

A fellow poet once told me, “Tell your own story, or someone else will tell it for you.”  I’m sick of having my story broken into, broken in two because half my audience thinks that it’s only half true.  It’s been so long since I’ve been honest with you!   And so now I’m coming out with everything, my sexuality and the spirit that is my seal, because both have inhabited this treasured chest of mine.  I have been washed and I am waiting hand in hand with the Divine, and I believe that these wounds will be healed in time.

If I hold the blankets close to my body,
and close my eyes,
with enough imagination and yearning,
I can feel your hands on my body,
your lips on my neck,
and your legs intertwined with mine.