It's not very poetic
I just really want to
sit on your face

I never learned to trust myself because I never learned to ride a bike.

I threw up in the rose bush

hot yellow and thick

nothing has been on my stomach in weeks

yet over-exaggerated thoughts

nagging doubt

justified distrust

is upsetting me

I threw up in the rose bush

I hope they survive better than I can

He stands tall
proud
open
vertebrae linear
shining like the moon
sugar skin wrapped around  
delicate bones
and hardworking hands

He exudes comfort
like a warm summer night lying beneath billions of
constellations
they shine brighter with him
like crystals

Flowers grow from him
His heart is so much more caring than the sun
who berates delicate green tendrils with unforgiving heat
mysterious clouds can't shield his
effervescent energy
nor can smoke

He shoots electricity from his
fingertips
sparking life
igniting

He lifts massive weights
of time
of pressure
from the world's shoulders

He is now and infinite.

my spine curls
third party
two bodies
one body
oh
X

you rest a pipe in
the place between my
hip bone and stomach
it was cold
you were anything
everything
but cold

There is something about the twinkling in your eyes
as you smile
as you listen
to me say my useless words.

And I desperately want
to explain the rain
to that little twinkle.

And I desperately crave
feeling you
feel the spot behind my ear.

Because at 1:11 a.m.
the rain is pouring against
my window pane
and the sound of it
is happiness
in my soul.
And I consider
this summer
and I decide
I missed the rain.
I've found
one thing
I don't like about California.

And I see
your twinkle
from across 3000 miles.

I type out
a friendly message to you
and I pause
to write a poem about it
about you.

I need you.
I can't even explain
Because I've never felt
this before.
Which is such
a stupid
cliché thing to say.


I slowly
backspace
over my carefully
carved words,
and click
the x next to your name.

And I sigh,
Tonight is not our night.
And maybe,
It never will be again.

Her socks depict the night sky
because she's a little obsessed.
This morning she left on
most of the clothes she wore yesterday.
Opened her shirt drawer
and put on the first one
to avoid getting stuck
with a decision she'd have to make.
Bright red hoodie
clashes with purple tank top
clashes with striped skirt
clashes with blue night sky socks
but she has an exam she never studied for.
And she walks down the hall
stares at the other humans
dressed in clothes
that make them look
stable and
well adjusted
and she feels
a gray nothing
in response.