No one is scared of heights
we're all just terrified of falling.
I am not afraid of being loved
I'm just saying the bitterness of betrayal
hasn't quite been scrubbed off my tongue yet.

Hummingbirds are supposed to be a sign of hope
but in December I think they might just be
global warming saying "y'all ******."

I never write poems about my anger,
maybe because I can’t find anything beautiful in it;
there’s something about sadness
that makes the poet dream in similes
probably since it’s such a crystal-clear reflection
of what you care about.
There’s no hesitance to write about love, of course.
It’s a victory, because the sheer numbers
set the game against you; what were the odds
in millions and billions of people,
you’d find happiness in that second soul
and how could you keep that out of your poetry?
But there is nothing romantic about anger
and I cannot find a reason to detail
a soul in havoc; his or mine.

I write a lot of poetry
when I have Math homework to do.
I did a lot of Math homework
trying not to think of you.

I’ve deleted a lot of poetry;
Oh, ruthless backspace button!
They’re still there, though, the words,
in the white space between my lines.

There are, I think, a lot of love poems
and I wonder why we ignore redundancy
to thread our heart’s beatings
into a tapestry already hundreds of feet long;
Must be that human urge to
shout into the void
“I am here!”
For one flickering cosmic second
a hand to hold made you feel like you mattered.

Math homework
(the hell is a rational zero?
are some throwing tantrums?)
and a glass bowl of yogurt which I’m eating
even though my fingers are cold,
since I’m too lazy to get a sweater.
Mundane moments
a dime a dozen,
but I’m trying to wrap myself in them anyway;
I don’t know,
there’s something comforting in
slowing down the world,
as if it’ll make my life a little more
worth living
if I pause to appreciate
the delicate tanginess
of off-brand Mexican dairy.