Maybe it is that I am in love with you,
or perhaps I am simply in love with the sadness.

I am waiting.
You are now here.
Hello!

We continue through the labyrinth
in my house.
We play games,
and hold hands.

We fall asleep
in each other's arms
watching movies.

But
that was a
while ago.

We still play these
games,
you and I.
We continue in a pattern of
complex plot twists and turns.

Stop spinning around,
you make me dizzy.
These games are
becoming tedious.
I miss you;
Let me hold
your hand
once more.

I came in third place in a race.
The winner of the race shook my hand,
congratulated me,
then reminded me that I lost.

I was happy for him, of course.
He ran fast. Good for him.
But he needn't push his gold in my face.

My bronze contented me plenty;
now it feels worthless and *****.
I feel dumb for thinking third place
was worth acknowledging.

I don't run, there was no race.
This is just a stupid analogy
about a stupid kid who made me sad
because he did better.

The smell of oil paint;
I'm ready to fly
home.

My wings are clipped,
my lungs full of water.
No, I don't need you.

My fingers are numb from holding on,
I'm letting go.

It's easier falling out of the sky
flying beneath your rays had grown old.

You sold my wings,
I'm drowning.

Gasping for air, gasping for air,
push me further down.

The sound of your rustling wings,
surrounded by water,
I'm going
home.

Today I wrote your name in a Bathroom Stall
with the blue sharpie that was in my back pocket.
If my mother knew, she would probably cry,
and if my father knew he'd tell me his hope that it's "just a phase."
But you're not temporary, just like the blue sharpie I used to write your name.
I felt like a young rebel writing those three little letters for all to see.
More than likely nobody would notice, and those who did wouldn't care, but
that doesn't change the way I feel about you, or the way I felt when
I wrote your name in a Bathroom Stall.

He was my first mistake
I was young, impressionable
this was information he was well aware of

A soft yet firm peach torn from the branch before it was fully ripe
coarsely bitten into, intentionally bitten into
then discarded

The bruises on my knees and scrapes on my elbows remind me of that
He was the first mistake

Why I didn't change the locks
Why I didn't say no
why I didn't insist on no

Is this my fault?
Was he my fault?

He was a ravenous shark
and I even told him that
sharks have to eat too, he said

my mother always taught me not to talk to strangers
but Ted Bundy had an enticing smile and electric eyes

I changed the locks
I bandaged my knees
I should have listened to my mother

You smell very
refreshing like
Febreze

you are now
Febreze cat
Now come here and
let me hug you

I've built myself a box;
there I intend to stay.
It's full of books and tea and things
that keep my pain at bay.

I've saved enough room for you,
in case you have the time.
If not, that's fine, but it's still here,
if you ever change your mind.

I've built the box to hide myself
from everyone I see.
I know it's rather immature,
but I'd rather be with just me.

Though I know you'll never join me,
I've still saved you a place.
You said yourself, you like me lots,
but you really need your space.

I need mine too, so I've built this box,
to keep the world away.
Now you're outside, but one day
I hope you choose to stay.

This is the most blunt poem/love letter/apology I will ever write you.

I love you.

The way you smell,
the sound of your laughter,
your god awful handwriting.

I sleep with my phone by my ears in case you decide
you aren't tired and would like to talk.

I'm not sure this even qualifies as poetry.

I'm sorry I ****** up.
You know I'm better, I know I'm better.
I know we're better.

I'm too nervous to write your name and I love you
in the same poem/love letter/apology.
I'm sorry, I'm not there yet.

Maybe someday.

Once, I was happy.
I was a poet, and I was full of love.
I laughed at the sun, who shown no brighter than me.

I had a hand to hold:
a fragile glass piano hand, but she was mine to hold.
Though she did not shatter, she slipped out of my hands.

Now her fragile glass piano hands run through hair not my own.
Her gaze falls on not my face, but the
faces of others.

I curse at the sun, who mocks my sufferable misery.
My writing dwindled, my drinking amplified,
and I became a drunken poet.

The children throw stones at me,
the lovers weep for me.
The mothers pray their babies will never become me.

Perhaps one day her fragile glass piano hand will slip back in place with me,
but until then,
a drunken poet remains.

A lonely day,
in my bed.
Waiting.
Waiting for
hello.
I miss you.
Anything.
I'm sorry, she said.
Me too.

Before then,
we had nothing
but ourselves.
Laughter, holding hands.
Long deep talks about everything
and nothing at all.

My heart colder than the air of February
outside.
We didn't speak again.
At least-
for a while.

When she left,
my morals followed.
My head is lowered and
I am ashamed.

I have never loved another
quite like I love her.
Her eyes, lit the deep sky.
Her touch, could soothe the stings of one thousand suns.
Her laugh, seemed to carry my sorrows
away from me.

I see her in everything,
in everyone I pass.
Pieces of her.
In every song I hear,
a bittersweet memory.
A memory that stays
through my days and nights.
Her laughter is my lullaby.
Thoughts of her embrace
Shelter me from the cold.

And when it's time
for me to leave,
it's her, I know.
Standing at the shore,
kissing me sweet farewells,
and wishing me off.

Every wish I make is for you,
and you alone.

My eye lids are bare,
the lashes are gone.

My undivided attention is dedicated to the sky,
that the stars may bring you closer.

As the clock blinks 11:11,
my heart beats for you.

For every wish I make,
there is a chance you are wishing for me too.

So I wish for you,
every wish I get.

They don't know you like I do.
I see you, I get you.
Don't be frightened by me,
I won't hurt you.

I know you wanted to.
You like the color red,
you told me yourself,
said it's your favorite.

Don't feel bad about kitty.
She's off somewhere, we'll tell mama.
She ran out, we'll say.
The backyard is a good spot to put kitty.
Mama doesn't have to know about kitty.

He just didn't get it.
You really didn't want him touching Dolly.
We tried to ask him nicely, like doctor said to,
but in the end, we had to make him give her back.
He just wouldn't listen.
Apparently he likes red too.

Old friend, you look so menacing
once you held strength, now only pain fills your heart.
I contemplate if your pain will take mine away.
Do I dare unleash the beast, which you harbor in your soul?
Dare I drink of your sadness?
It will keep my body young,
though it will make my spirits cease.
Old friend, lay me to rest.

Where it is cold,
ice can peacefully be.
It won't bother anyone,
not you, not me.

But once it gets warm,
it will start to melt.
Not fast, but slow,
but it is still felt.

And as it gets hot,
the ice starts to run.
It's sad and it's lonely
and not anything fun.

And once it is melted,
the ice is no more.
Just a sad little puddle,
Defenseless and poor.

Will it get back, to the cold
where happy it was a time?
Can it freeze again,
and end up just fine?

Once it unfreezes,
it can freeze again.
But it won't feel the same,
it won't be ever again.

For each time ice melts,
it loses some of its heart,
and when nothing's left,
everything goes dark.

So if you see ice
somewhere it's not cold,
please keep it from melting,
you need not be told.

you have not ever known love.
she is not love, you do not love her.
she does not love you.

you only think you feel better.
she is only a sugar pill.
you are the same for her.

you are the puzzle pieces that don't fit.
still we try in vain to make them fit
where we want them to be.

she does not love you.
you do not love her, she is not love.
you have not ever known love.

We went to the park that day, and
you smiled. We played on the swings
and fell asleep under a tree.
・・・
Your dog died that day, and
it didn't take your dreams long after that.
Nothing seemed to matter.
・・・
Your face looked different that day.
You hadn't kissed your mother in years, but rather
you'd been kissing all the boys, and the girls.
Some of them cared about you, but
you didn't.
・・・
You locked your bedroom door that day.
None of the boys or girls came to see you.
Not even your mother tried to open the door, but
you didn't care.
・・・
You went to see your dog that day, with
two red gashes on each **** arm.

cover me in bruises
make me feel your love
strap me down and inject yourself into my bloodstream
feed my addiction, I don't want to quit you
I want to be baptized in your waters
cover my body in kisses and sweet nothings, ****** and bruised,
and send me down the river

I'm sorry.

The detergent that smells like you gives me a rash

Skin similar to that of a crocodile.
Smell of stale cigarettes and boxed wine suspended in the air like an infant's mobile.

Eyes sunken so far they hide amidst the shadows of their sockets.
Sleep is but a poorly understood concept,
like love, and death.

The clothes of several days ago have grafted to the skin.
Lips as cracked and barren as the dry desert ground,
eyes as deep as the abyss, equally as empty.

She stopped caring for herself, as you stopped caring for her.
A once beautiful, lively creature, remains motionless on the floor,
underneath a night sky of great uncertainty and hopelessness.

Record skips.
Repeats itself.
I sit in the corner.
That same note-
make it stop.

The room is dark
and blank.
My hands, covered in dirt
and blood.

You left me here
to die
with no light.
You are supposed to care.

You may have come back, but
I cannot see you,
I have clawed my eyes out.
I am starving.

My wounds fester.
Do yours?
Are you wounded?
Are you there?

The record skips.
I feel the room
shrinking. Rotting.
Help me.

Of course-
you don't.
Only help yourself
why not.

But I don't care.
I have something of yours
and it is dead.
Your gilded bird,
it is dead.

Its feathers
ripped off. I put them
in my hair.
A lovely
crown.

Its body
in pieces.
In my palm.
The blood
trickling idly from my
fingers.

Your bird is dead.
Twisted into a knot.
Once beautiful.
Now mangled, bludgeoned.
This makes me laugh.
Your bird is dead.
Like me.

I wrote a poem today but I left the paper in the back pocket of
my jeans and it went through the wash.

I hope he sleeps well
with no bad dreams tonight

I hope he sees me when he closes his eyes
and knows that I care

That his sleep is filled with nothing but sweetness
and his thoughts are kind and gentle

I hope he thinks of me before his head falls to his pillow
and knows that I will be thinking of him

That his slumber is graced with tender kisses
and that he is not woken abruptly

I hope the demons that haunt him leave him be
if only for the night

I hope that upon waking he knows
that I have been visiting him in his sleep,
making sure he makes it home safely by morning

Made everything up-
All of it, fake.
Real is nothing.
Isn't that queer?
Stop showing up now.
Anything there is gone.

You talk to me.
Heart collapses.
I've known you since forever,
and have never felt differently.

You look at me.
Time collapses.
Everything around us is frozen,
and lost in space for the moment.

You touch my hand.
Lungs collapse.
The music in my head stops completely,
and I know this is where I belong.

It isn’t me, isn’t you
so much bigger than that
staring at you
a brick wall
a bird,
a song only those listening can hear.
A necklace glistening in the blistering sun’s heat
A car chase
The air you breathe
You can’t trap it,
contain it.
Your boxes are too small
and in a glass it would spill.
It’s pain,
joy.
It isn’t me, isn’t you.