The sun was fading, that day.
I was folding laundry. It was winter? A winter sunset.
Chilly blue sky, highlighted with bits of faint, warm, coral clouds.
And i sat on the biting granite counter, nestled in cottony heaps
Cuddling with shirts and sweaters; simply feeling.
Perched in the laundry nook,
I knew things without knowing them.

Everything was glazed peach;
everything is okay.
Everything was okay, and everything will be okay.
Even with the moments of the not-okay,
the ones that plague us during the
In-betweens,
We find our okay.
And perched in the laundry nook,
I knew things without knowing them.

It swam through my arteries, gifting life to each cell
Within my cell of drywall and tile.
And with everything,
I loved you.
And with everything,
After all of the not-okay.
Sometimes i still find myself feeling
That love.

I am sad
And my words have abandoned me
The force that once inspired greatness
has sapped all creativity out of me,
And i am left with fragments.
Worthless, bland, incomplete phrases,
that mean nothing to me or anyone else,
Are all that i can dream up and release.
I am sad, and i am stuck with no way to get rid of it.
No words fit.
They are metallic and clunky in my mouth,
shoving their way between my tongue and teeth,
they are braces on my emotions: painful, sharp, and wide,
Leaving a tinny aftertaste,
Smelling of copper and dirt.
They are not beautiful or sweet like the words that i once had.
They tumble gracelessly from my lips
and clatter onto the keyboard without rhyme.
I am sad,
and my cheeks are bulging,
Nonsense words fill my throat and nostrils.
Soon i will not be able to speak at all.

I teeter back and forth at your will,
Stuck in a limbo of who I should love.
Sometimes I want to kiss you so badly,
I want to hold you close to me,
Pull your shoulders into mine.
But I know that it can never happen.
Your heart belongs to someone else,
And mine is out for lease at the moment.
That one; I care for him so much,
But I will never be able to stop loving you.
Your eyes have the universe in them;
My life dances at the ends of your fingertips.
For so long, you have enchanted me,
And forever, we will remain in this limbo,
Waltzing intimately with despair,
As he and I have become quite close recently.
In the wake of the storms you bring me.

but the moon is beautiful,
and in little over a month,
we'll be sitting under that moon on a mountainside,
far away from everything were going through now.
in a little over a month,
that same moon will sing us to sleep,
its soft lullaby blowing through the trees.
in a little over a month,
i'll be saying goodnight to you again.
and for now, i'll say goodnight to you,
simply, well, and plain.

This is how he'll disappear:
Slowly, then all together.
As I try to sweep up the grime of his absence,
and try to make myself better.

But the shrill screeching of knives
will shudder through my bones.
When I try to remember it's over,
I'll still rock in the corner alone.

Back and forth, back and forth,
Clutching my frail chest.
The dog's ribs are poking out,
And the cat bit a hole in my dress.

Oh, What a life to live,
Oh what glorious stress.
For even the fourth time he's broken my heart,
I always return to that mess.

why do we even have memories
or are even able to remember?
we forget the nicest things
but can recall the greatest offender.
the blink of an eye,
a cell's neuron wave,
that's how fast you can lose a whole day.
why can people remember what i can't?
why do our brains partake in this dance?
losing, forgetting,
creating, remembering,
what a mystery is the mind.

Why must you
Be like this?
Why cant I
Ever know where
You are?
Why do I
Miss you so
Viciously?
Really, you
are just a
Daydream.
Ideal, desired,
Unattainable.
Nothing more,
No
Thing
Less.

I want to write music;
I can do it.
But i can’t,
Because nobody will listen,
And i don’t know how.
But the melodies bubble inside me
Making me sick,
And i want to get them out,
But i don’t know how.
So i hum
So i mumble
So i listen to other people's creations,
Hoping one day to have my own
But knowing i wont.

they all say
that tomorrow
is a new day,

hold on to
the hope that's
inside you.

but oh, tomorrow,
tomorrow will be
worse

than yesterday.

being at peace
is something
that is more difficult
than I would have imagined.

peace
actually requires
a lot of work.

feelings fight
in my mind,
encouraging me
to just stay
where I am
and struggle through
what im experiencing
to wallow in it
let it consume me
until it rips me apart--
but no.

i will not allow it.

Of all the things you make me think of
I wouldn’t have imagined it to be the sky
I have fallen in love with your depths
But still admire your beauty from afar
I may never truly understand you
But i’ll try with all of my heart.


Another day, another song i’ve written for you
Another thought, another page,
Another journal entry or two.
Of all the beauty and wonder of the sky
Sometimes the clouds turn black
And they can't help but cry
For days on end, sometimes it will rain.
For days on end, I‘ll miss you again.


A laugh, a joke, a smile or two
Of all the jokes we have come to share
This biggest joke here is me.
The sky may not always be beautiful
But is wonderful beyond all that compares.
And while you’re not perfect
You’re way out of my league.
I don’t even know what you see in me.
But in you i see the sky
So im grateful that for now you’re my guy
And i guess you can call me your girl for a while.

“My love, come with me,” she whispered.
“Would you abandon this life with me?
To Explore the world courageously?
Or will you stay here.
Here,  where the rest of those who judge us,
The ones that call us different, stay.”

“My dear, But that would be cowardice,” he returned.
“Would you live here in this place with me?
To fight against discrimination and ridicule?
Or will you go?
Running from your problems like the wind,
As you always have before.”

Everything is perspective, we are told,
From your attitude to your observations.
If your glass is half empty or half full,
It still has something in there for you.

What you do with it is your choice.

Love is an odd phenomenon
It was what i used to live for
And now i run from it
But it has me cornered
And i don’t know how to escape.
I’m drowning.

Things people say,
Things people do,

Why do they do them?

Things that I say,
Things that I do,

Why do I do them?

Everyone has a theory,
A thought, a notion,

But I have none.

Everyone has a will,
the desire to be free,

But where is their soul?

A reason to do,
A reason to say,

An explanation,
A truly free nation,

At what cost do these things come?

It’s not truly about the cost,
Or is it?

No.
It’s about if you’re willing to pay it.

A rat's nest
Is a big mess
But not to the rat who lives there.

But in the opposite way,
My mind these days
        Is a mess;
But not to those who don’t live here.

He feels like sharing memes and finishing burritos; like snuggling on a bench when I'm shivering and letting me wear his jacket the wrong way. He feels like long phone calls and sarcastic remarks; like feeding ducks, and helping kids, and going kart racing, and being terrible at Mario kart. He feels like silly puns and bad humor, all the while still putting butterflies in my stomach. He feels like the heat in my cheeks when my classmates ask me about where my bracelets came from, and the pride in my heart when they say that he's cute. He feels like kissing in a park, holding hands next to fireworks,  and giggling at the movies. He feels like sunshine and Rex Orange County. He feels like home, like someone who will always be able to make me smile, like someone who will endure a hug even if its awkward.

But he also feels like crying at 10pm in my room on Thanksgiving and clutching my chest because I can hardly breathe.  He is in every sad song I've ever heard, and every depressingly artful photo I see. He is the bittersweet memory of a lost young love, and the fractured, splintery aftermath of trying to recover. He is sitting in a park alone for an hour, crying because you dont know if he's even going to come.  He is the anxiety of being ignored for three weeks, then showing up to a party I'm at. He is the tear stained pillowcase from every time he has asked, "are you a waste of my time?" -- each one a separate fist to the stomach. He is the fear of never knowing what is going on in his mind and the constant worry of not being enough. He is the sadness and frustration of every Sunday morning with an empty chair. He is the moments I lie on the cold wood of my bedroom floor in the greying sunlight, salt mixing with my hair, and feeling empty. He is like the ache between my ribs everytime I'm left on read.

But he still feels like home, and he still feels like the only love I've ever known. And it's all about how it feels, right?  And it's okay as long as he doesn't hurt those feelings...

Right?

Today is a good day for creation. It is a mellow day.
The light filters through my window, soft and grey.
It is eleven thirty in the morning, not quite noon, but still hazy,
like it should be early.
Like nothing has happened yet, but something is coming.
Something good is going to happen.
I want to sit and sing and listen to music and create. Write. Paint.
Play music with my untalented hands.
I have the drive, that imagination, but i can't think of anything that fits in this time, so i am describing what i am feeling.
It is nothing special, but it is everything and anything special all at once.
A moment when i just want to lay down and look at the sky,
Lay on may back and stare at the clouds.
I get that feeling a lot. Mostly during spring.
But now it is autumn.
Perhaps it is a coping mechanism.
I want to be a great writer, but how can i be a great writer when nothing i write is great, or memorable, or organized?
I cant even produce decent prose when in a perfect environment.
And when i can't focus i just get caught up in my thoughts and i can't do anything about it and i am so...
I am so...

so nothing.
And nothing i ever write makes sense.

Usually there is elation
When I see your name
On my screen.
Excitement!
Anticipation.
Just from one
Notification,

But tonight.
         There was
                       a crack
in my conscience.
And I missed you
So bad
That when your name
                appeared,
I left it alone.
In hope that it would
                    make you feel
Just as lonely
As you left me tonight.

silly girl.
     silly
        silly
            silly
                             girl.

the only one you're
making feel
                   anything
is
      yourself,
and you're just
                          lonely;

all over again.

Rolling
Rolling
Skating fast

Hands,
Head,
Street.

Everything is black.

Fuzzy colors
Sharp pain
Where are my legs?

There they are

Sit up
You’re fine
Get up n skate

Just a scratch.

Gotta get to school
Can’t be late

Why can’t i see?
Geez, scraped hands
My head hurts.

My glasses
Where are they?
There they are.

Broken.

**** it.
My favorite pair.

Should i just go to school
Deal with it there?
Wait

What's that

Drip
Drip
Oh, its blood

Rivers down the temple
In my eye
Ha, like in cartoons.

Gotta get home
Walking, though.

Air, air
I need air.
Breathing is hard

But i'm fine
Why am i crying?
It doesn't hurt.

Stop.

Don't embarrass yourself,
People saw.

Do you need help?
no, haha
Im fine,

But thanks.

Do you need a ride home?
No i'm just going
Around the corner

Would you like a napkin?
Hm...
Yes please,
thank you.

Gotta get home
Call mom?
No

Tell ryon.

Get inside, clean yourself up.
Not that much blood,
I guess.

Ring
Ring
Oh, it's ryon

Hey, are you okay?
Tears, laughter,
No.

Do you want me there?
The show,
You can’t

I’m coming.
Okay,
okay,
Thank you.

The world is swirling
Vision's getting spotty
Black, Purple, Blue.

I’m gonna pass out.

No, just sit.

My hands,
I didn't notice cuz of my head.
My wrist

O   u   c   h.

Wash your hands.
Wipe your face
Eugh, it's cold.

Ryon?
Yeah, I'm still here
Are you still coming?

On my way.


...

Car door
Footsteps

Knock
Knock
It's ryon

Oh my goodness
Ha, I'm a bit of a mess

HANNAH!
Sorry, I fell.
Ha, I might be late.

Ice
Ow
It's cold

Call mom now?
No
I'm calling her.
No!

She's coming.

Hey
My phone is gone.
Oh, there.

Isaac.
Oh, what do I say?
No show tonight
Haha

Not anymore.

Please don't worry about me.
Please.

*** ARE YOU OKAY
HOLY F#@K WHAT HAPPENED
I fell

But I'm okay

Are you sure?
Yeah I think so.

Okay,
As long as you're safe.

i'm sorry that i'm an idiot.

where are you
where are you
where are you?
                              Not here.
please come back,
I miss you, but
would never
                               say.
your presence; I've
become addicted
to your presence.
                               where?
a five minute walk
north of where I
sit in this minute.
                               you?
please just return
your face, your smile
your voice, warmth
                               are.

It was vibrant,
In a nostalgia-dipped way.
The evening was a blur of
Floral shirts, black pants, and
Laughter that bubbled over like
A glass filled to the brim
With sickly sweet carbonation.
Memories circulate in the images of
Indigo Jackets, and Alien ball caps;
Sitting by the water,
Feet dangling off the east side of the tiny bridge
And words flitting about on the wind-
Mumbles about the future and the past.
Imagine the feeling,
The raw emotion and uncertainty,
As You tell someone of the memories that haunt you,
And they tell you of their torments,
Leaning forward on your arms, swinging your shoes over the side,
As they are laying back on the wooden planks, unafraid of splinters.
A Sigh:
An escape of breath that sends the wind scattering.
Puffs the air, turning it white in the cold.
Peace.
But the peace goes deeper than a slow bat of eyelashes
And the inclination of a head
Towards the one beside you
The deepness of the euphoria-
The colony of butterflies that have taken residence
Inside your stomach-
They no longer flutter uncontrollably,
But float along to a soft melody
Keeping time with the electricity
That hums through your fingertips
As he passes you the book.
The book that olds all his secrets,
All his dreams and creations;
And he is trusting you with it.
And those butterflies
They continue their looping dance
Still smooth, increasingly rapid
They Twirl,
Spiraling down into your gut
But still calm, like a babbling brook.
Chaos, oh, the soft chaos is
Overtaken by the beauty of the entirety.

I hate singing.
But I love it.

There are songs that make me feel
like I’m on top of the world
And songs that make me feel
Like I’m sinking back into that old spiral.

Songs that evoke anger and rebellion
Where I’d like to watch the world burn
Songs that make me giggle and dance
Like I’m seven years old and immature

Songs that make me silent and melancholy
Where sleep takes me by defeat too often
Songs that make me daydream
About the wind and the stars and light that softens.

But there is one more song
That i particularly hate.
It's the song of time, truth, and pain.

The steel song of cynical reality
Clanging against the soft copper
Of my hopes, my positivity.

It's the song that feeds into my mentality
Until It is plump with romanticism
And hopeless fantasy.

I love singing.
But i hate it.

My veins have been replaced with ink;
Down, down, down I sink,
Skating on the unstable brink
of eternity and what others think.

What is special about love?

When they don't care for you,
But they're all you can think of?

When you begin to think,
Am I not enough?

This is the love in which
You'd give your all for that person with every action,
The love where you care so deeply
But they only return a fraction,
and they just...

...kinda care.

It is the most painful form of love.
Worse than the unrequited.
Worse than the forbidden.

It is the not-enough.

The you-don't-measure-up.

Where the person you'd go to hell and back for
hardly notices when you're down.
Only slightly cares when you're not around.

The not-enough.

The why-do-you-care-so-much?

Where the person you'd stay up to listen to
Until your eyelids force themselves shut
Only listens when it is convenient for them too.
You may think they care too, but...

This is the not-enough,
Where you are never enough.

And this is love.

But it is destruction.

I wrote you a poem
That you asked to read,
And I said
Maybe Someday
But i never let you
Anywhere near it.

I wrote you 37 poems.
And You only ever
Knew of one.
And You forgot
I even wrote it.
And I have forgotten what it said.
But five months later
I still fear it.

Crunchy, Bitter, sour, sharp, simmering.

Luminescent, iridescent,
Shiny, sparkling, shimmering,
Glitzy, glimmering, glittering

Garbage.

people have told me that i ask too many questions.

Is it wrong to seek the truth
or even just to wonder?
to see the beauty of the world
and stop to sit and ponder?
to think of something thats never been thought,
or to discover a deeper meaning to things,
to inquire if people can feel what you're feeling
is apparently a crime
when you ask "why?"

The aching in my chest hasn’t left
Since you texted me
That you were leaving.
                         I stood in the grocery store
                        And cried as I read the words
                        Hovering above your head.
I lost myself that night.
Told you I was fine,
But i spent the rest of my time
In those two days after
Trying to get you
Out of my mind.
                         It didn't really work.
Sleeping used to be easy.
Every night, i’d see you,
And in the morning I’d cry.
                         In a week,
                         I stopped wanting to sleep.
The only thing
That helped me drift
Was listening to your music.
Pretending it was written
For me.
                        A month and ten days.
When I last saw you
Guitar in hand
Head swaying to the tunes,
                        I wish I had gotten to at least
                        Say goodbye.
I didn't know
It was going to be
Six months
Until I’d be with you again.

                        I miss you.

Little typing fingers
That should be tucked in bed
Are wide awake and nervous
Picking apart their head

Little twitching fingers
That should be staying still
Claw at all hair and clothing
Against an act of will

Little tapping fingers
That should be calm and cool
**** frantically across
Every desk at school

Little skipping fingers
That should control themselves
Find different ways to torment
Both the soul and shell

Little dancing fingers
That should pay their respects
Jump from their gloves and pockets
Tearing sequins from their dress

Little frozen fingers
That were never still before
Have found the cure to keep them
From freaking anymore

Stable
If you imagine the embodiment of stable
He is stable
He is sure. And honest. And shy.
And competitive. And saucy. And kind.
He is warm and inviting. And i feel as if
He has opened his heart to me.  

The one
that turned my head
from the road i was
blazing down
alone, and unafraid.

then you came,
unexpected,
and ripped away my blindfold.
no longer was i raging towards my own destruction
on a path
that i forced myself down,
cutting through unmanageable terrain.

and i look over,
and youre there.
have you ever tried to run through knee deep snow?
or to sprint against the outgoing tide?
everything dragging against your progress,
yet still you push.
out of pure will power.
pure defiance.

and i ran. and ran.
i tried to get as far away from feelings as i could.
go. go. go.
no boys. no breaks.
no pain, and no pressure.
but here you came along
and stole my peace.
but really.
all you did was bring peace.
since youve been around
im much slower.
much more balanced.

and i dont think i love you. but
i really want to say I do.
Love is a scary thing.
I am terrified. I am terrified and all I want is you.
I am so scared, and all I want is you.

Again,
a case of everything I want.
but really something I dont need.
And its not as chaotic as last time.

you are the land
in correspondence to my sea.

I push, and pull and rage
against the idea of you
but still you stand.

stable. warm, inviting.
and no matter how my chaos
wrecks the other things that come towards me
the way my anger and sadness
swallows nations in their waves,

you remain.

you are so cool
writing poems that dont rhyme
with imagery
hyperbole
and similie
to tell perople whjat your terrible life is like.

he may love me,
he may not.
pluck the petals and
watch them rot.

those leaves of three,
let them be.
don't be who they
think they see.

Beautiful things
come to mind
when i think of you.

Lovely colors in faded hues,
smiles, grass, skateboards,
sunlight, bike rides, sneakers,
memories of times
that have never happened.

You have caused me
fantasy beyond the extent
of my former imagination,

it is a mystery
shrouded by
the possible and the plausible.

How will we end?
Are you just my friend?

I don't know yet.
I'm not sure , but
I think i might...

I think i might...

... I think i may be capable
of loving you.

Bumblebee
Blue, and cold.
He stares up from his perch
of raspberry and goji rose--
the neck of his resting place
hooked between my fingers, swinging.
Back,
And forth.
Back and Forth.
The rhythm of my stride
In time with his dance,
And entire existence suspended
Within the fringe of my hand.
Yet I trip,
I slip and his world
Shatters--
Glinting, Indigo, and
tattered.

Ah,
What are these thoughts,
These foreign, intrusive spots,
In the cavern of my head?

What is their purpose?

Is it
A disease which i have caught?
If it’s love, I’d rather be shot.
To be unloved is worse than being dead.

it's truly Art:
the crafty way in
which you made me fall
so desperately in Love with you,
the way you knitted the strings
of my heart into careful knots,
that even with Time and
Patience and Healing,
they have not yet
come undone.

it was so Clever
when you stole my
Reason, and Clarity, and
Peace, and sense of self Worth.
when you made me feel so special
in turn to only make me feel so
Unwanted. Unnecessary.
and so very Unloved.

and it was so Charming
when you brought me flowers
and thought that I was going to stay,
even after how you made me feel like
I was nothing more than Disposable.
after you left me Alone on that
day I should never have
been remotely Lonely.
You truly thought
that I'd stay?

how Naive of you
to  believe  that  you
had  that  much  sway
over my Sad Little Heart.
you really did, but
I would never
admit that
after we
split, I
Cried.

All
Night.

You are yellow,
And so am I.
Up in the powdered sky
We’re the color of the sun
The hue of lemon lollipops
The taste of summer and fun
The color of daisies
And the down of chicks
The aura of the 70’s
Like my favorite old kicks
In a mustard form:
Yellow, tattered, and torn.
So while the sky is dusty blue
And our faces are warm
Rosy cheeks and calico skies
Blue from after the rain had died
This yellow tints it all
Because yellow
Has made
Me fall.

Of all the sunsets in the world,
I’d like to sit and watch one with you.
If I could wish to go to any place,
it would not be a where,
or a when,
it would be a who,
and that who would be you.
I don't know
if i'm supposed to feel this way,
if i'm supposed to feel anything
towards you at all.
Because, truly,
despite my effort
not to collapse,
you have become
my biggest downfall.

Simply put
You are very lovely
And often times
Put my mind at ease.
And I think that I
Love that about you.

No,
I’m not saying I love you
In American Sign Language.
Obviously,
I'm pretending to be
Spiderman.

I guess that’s what love is-
Caring for someone.
I mean, really caring about someone
Caring about how their day was, caring about how they feel
Caring about what makes them happy and what makes them reel.
So yeah I love you.
But not in the romantic sense
But not really like you’re just my friend.
I love you in a different way, not like a sister or a mother, either.
Like a Best Friend, maybe.
But, like the best friend you could ever have.
A comrade?
I don’t know, but I love you
In some weird, strange, confusing, caring way,
I do.
And I want to be able to smile with you.
And cry with you
And just hang out with you.
I...
I...

I don’t love you, haha.
Can’t you tell?
I’m just using the ASL
That you taught me
To say that I’m spiderman,

But my own web had caught me.

You are home
But he is mystery
You are comfort
But he is adventure
You are laughs and smiles
But he is butterflies in my stomach
You are late night conversations
And watching the stars
And playing competitive video games
But he is yelling at the top of my lungs
Blushing for no reason
And stage kisses
You are life,
and friendship,
and coming home to a smile
He is running in the rain
and skating in new york
And swing dancing
But you, you are childhood
You are adulthood
You are everything
At seventeen.

And I?
I am yours.

Your insecurity:
I’d like to eradicate it,
Free you of it's grasp.

Your doubt:
I’d like to help you with it,
Work through it 'til it's passed.

Your issues,
Your fears,
Your flaws,
Your worries,
Your confusion,
Your anxiety,
Your anger,
Your sadness,
Your blues:
I’ll walk through it all with you.

And if you'd like to,
maybe someday your life,

I'll let you hold my hand.