It's hard to stay here
When everything you know *****
And your parents care.

This is a haiku
About the day you left me
When I needed you.

Spring is here.
I know this because the daffodils have bloomed
and the birds have begun to fall in love,
and the sunlight is lingering,
and the rays kiss my back,
much as you once did.
Spring is here
yet I wish
I wasn't.

he's
tripping, but not
coerced by gravity;
rather a Molotov cocktail of
endorphins lobbed straight at his
prefrontal cortex.
some find this
distasteful,
some find it
deplorable;
god help me,
I find it adorable.
(it's the only time he'll
admit he loves me)

seven o’clock and your mother makes you tea
she says sit down
the sky looks lovely today

doesn’t it?
doesn’t it

she says this very quietly,
tapping her red fingernails
against the white table

and you know she has
something important to tell
you

you know this because she’s gotten
out her finest china set, the one with
the blue flowers painted like beads

and you know she’s about to say
something awful and you look at
the sky and there it comes

your father is leaving

and all you think is how the sky looks
lovely

doesn’t it

I saw you for the first time in the summer,
when sunflowers mourn the sun at night -
the loss of a light and adjoining heat,
which nurtures restlessness
in the confined atomic particles,
causing them to dance
and grow tired of each other until
ice becomes liquid
and liquid becomes vapor...

Cycles are consistencies in nature,
beginnings and ends that are defined by perception.
And so, in a way,
I'm not the first person
who thinks she loves you,
nor the last -
just a witness to a portion of your evolution,
which will end the same way it began:
a darkness constructed of eyelids,
as sweet as silence.

A sour sap of jealousy
seeps upon my thoughts when I see you.
I feel like screaming,
like pulling my hair out,
because unwanted epiphanies are pretty weeds;
dandelions that seed with winds.

A sap that blinds sufficiently
for me to believe you possessed green eyes.

I don't want to love you.

And yet,
I'm content with
the uncomfortable certainty of confinement,
of silence,
of distance and uninteraction,
with trailing eyes like shooting stars.

I had three requirements:
a beautiful song
a beautiful place
and only one person
with me
(because I wanted intimacy)

but intimacy is more than just solitude
or shared silence
with another soul

intimacy
is a warm cloth
weaved
by people who
love you,

I realised.

And so we
sat on the floor
and inhaled
out of a fragile
broken mechanism

and watched
the stars
try to disappear.