i wanted you to know
that the other day,

i went ice skating           in St. Paul.                      

in the middle of the city.

                                             (there was an old man that looked like Santa doing beautiful graceful twirls,
                                                         two teenage girls holding hands, one was blushing
                                                                         lots of little kids falling down, and laughing as they got back up)

and i thought "you would have loved this."

you would hold my hand
like all the other couples
and i wouldn't be cold

                                                           ­     at all



you would have looked right through me
with your jaded eyes
and smiled beautifully




(i would know that it was me making you happy)

your hair growing back
and your lips all mine to kiss


and i wouldn't miss you so much.

I want the kind of ***
where I'm told exactly how much you want me
by the way your frame
fills in my every curve
and you touch so much of me
with your hands
and your starved eyes
I should be scared
but you'll call me beautiful
and I'll be your sweetheart
as your sweet heart beats
beats faster
and you fall into me

I have a broken mirror
in my pocket
I carry it with me
wherever I go
(the shards cut through my jeans, stab my thigh
dyeing my pants red)

I have tried to take it
out, pick
the pieces
out of there                      

                      (it's easier to just leave it.)
I end up with only ******
fingertips, I smear   my
                    blood on the rugs
I sleep on,
                               the bed is too soft, too warm
                                                         to sleep in

I'm not used to kindness
or- - - - - even
        liking someone

                         so I become
scared, that things won't
                                              work out

and when you try to pick these
shards out of my leg,




(turning your beautiful
          fingers red&raw;)

when you try helplessly

to erase my pain

                                           I will lay on this blood-  
                                                                ­   stained



rug                              and think






Why are you doing
              

                      this
  


            for me

Your letter came
Did I not tell you?
It's not as if
I've housed it
(little treasure)
In the pockets of my jeans
Or as if I pull it out
All the time
Because then it'd surely
Have been aged by my eyes
Which dauntlessly would
Explore the vast landscapes of your words
And, in each one it meets,
See everything you do
And feel
Surely if this were true
It would've been softened
Into tissue paper
By edacious fingers
Who can't help themselves
Because they think they're
Touching you