do I need to be burdened
to make the words flow?
do I need
a weight on my shoulders
to push poetry from
my pores?

words get trapped in my throat
but they flow fluently
through my finger tips;
i would rather get carpal tunnel
than die of asphyxiation.

did I ever really love him? its been almost three months
since I’ve seen him and he feels like a ghost.
my memories are washed out, and they all feel like
they happened years ago
or didn’t happen at all.
I read everything
I’d ever written to him or about him
and I do not remember even picking up the pen.
did I ever really love him?
or did I let him grow inside of me
like a virus and then flush him out of my system,
never to be seen again?
maybe he was a sickness, and maybe he crawled
inside of me to use me as his home
until he got bored
or I got wiser.
did I ever really love him?

secret rendezvous in a truck bed
gazing at the stars and at each other
watching and waiting
for whatever
pure and warm.
our fate has been decided and
we are doomed from the start but
every day with you is a new
adventure
mystery
spontaneous burst of life
just how they do it in the movies.

we will get ****** up
say words we should not say,
then we will make out
and lay in bed all day