I have this friend who's an artist.
She looks like burnt hair and chapped lips people say we look
like twins,
like poets

and we are both
short
and painted Paint the Town Red
from all the rough particles

The only difference between us is:
she is beautiful now that she is rough around the edges.

i have a theory
i think we find happiness in books
movies
music
shows
or poetry
because we can't find it in anyone else
we can't find loyalty
someone to hang out with on a saturday night
so we
f
  i
    l
      l
ourselves with these things
so we don't have to accept the fact
that we're all
t
r
u
l
y

a l o n e

i am lonely in this place
filled with people who
call me by the wrong name.
or the right name. i can't
remember which one.

it has always been hard for me to
use my voice here.
in the real world, so many
parts of myself seem fake.
contrived.
it is hard for me to tell
when i'm dreaming.

najee gives me words of wisdom through texts:
before you can find someone
to love, you
should get a plant,
have a pet for a few years.
give it some time.
find yourself.

i am impatient. i want
to have fun, to
have someone pay for my popcorn and
hold my hand during the scary
parts of the movie.

cyree tells me
you already have that.
how are those things different
from your friends?
what do you truly need?
take your time and
think. really hard.

i am restless. i want
to be somewhere else
doing something new.
i have dreams of
new people and
new places.

my mother tells me
you are living above your means.
what is your back up plan?
i will not always be here
for you to fall back on.
slow down.
live your politics.
think about what's really important.

i don't want to listen.
i want
to get away from here.
i want
to be selfish for once.
but what am i running away from?
what do i need?
i don't know.

I pondered everything
You did that I adored.
A smile played on my face
As I remembered
Your eyes,
Your smile,
Your cologne.
But mostly I remembered
The way I caught you watching me,
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
And the way you turned away,
A smile on your lips,
Blood in your cheeks.

Mr. Sandman,
why do
convoluted,
non-linear,
temporal dimensions
force us
into irreversible choices?

There's a dotted line
B e t w e e n   u s

It might never be strong enough to
Connect us,
To be solid,
And there will always be
**        les
Like swiss cheese.

And I hope it isn't
nothing
Like I thought it was
Once.

Just
Something
In
My head.

It's
A little
Bit
There

And
A
Little bit
Gone

It's
A
Dotted line