there are a million stars and half a million gas stations between you and me but that doesn’t equal distance. day breaks, day shatters into evanescent pieces that float on the edge of my conscious mind, but you are the constant. your eyes the color of ground hazelnuts have always been my constant.

it doesn’t matter that we are separate beings because, here, in the light of a setting sun and a milky twilight, we are one. we are melted together like hershey kisses in a bowl on a summer evening and worry is not a word and slowly, you become my kryptonite.

missed phone calls, missed deadlines, missed laughs. i used to count your sneezes in the biting chill of early february and wrap your arms around my waist so i could feel like something was keeping my balloon from flying into the void where lost balloons go. i blame myself for letting you hold on until i finally took flight, spreading my wings out behind me like an angel's and kicking the invisible dust into your face.

now there are two million stars and a million gas stations between us because i am trying to forget that you ever broke the carefully crafted walls that contained all of my closeted skeletons.

i’m starting to remember why i never liked hazelnuts.

There's an itch on my wrist
That I refuse to scratch.

I will stare at my wrist and I will say
"You will not win this."

that moon is nothing
short of super

how could I put it
in words?
there are no words,
there are no words

I struggle to find the words

and that tree
something I've never
seen

drowned in silver
fabrics,
cosmic silks
stellar feels

the moon could
encompass
the universe

but that tree is
defined by its roots
and its roots grow
so very deep

and that tree is dying
and that tree is real

and in death it radiates
absolute grace

absolute elegance

complete serenity,
morphed &
wronged by nature

but so pure
so purely pure

& in the tree's shadows,
stars in the sky
sort of waver, they
flutter lifelessly

the moon and
the tree,
yew I believe,
are the peak
of all I've ever seen

a moon that big, has
a lot of room for sour
thoughts
but that yew tree
is all that matters

that yew tree
is the most beautiful thing
I've ever seen

that super moon,
that literal super moon,
universally incredible
thing

something that emanates
all happy thoughts,
all tides,

it cradles romance
it embraces wonder

it is everything

and that moon,

well, that moon

that moon is (almost) as beautiful
as that yew tree

She taught me that I miss having a mother.
She taught me I could cry.
She taught me new ways of kissing.
She taught me who I really love.
She taught me how to sever mutilated limbs.
She taught me that everybody can be selfish.
She taught me that laughing only eases the pain for a day.
She taught me that scars never go away,
*They just get old.

But none of them can be heard.

I smile more.
I laugh heartily.
I kiss and love.
I don't obsess.
I don't harm.
I am fit.
Physically.
Mentally.
Emotionally.

I read.
I play.
I drive.
I am free.
I am Marshall.
And by God,
*This feels good.

My teacher once said
That protagonists of novels
Are teenagers in a sense.
Commonly.

These characters are new to life,
But not brand new.
They take chances that wisers
Might not.

They steal things,
Have ***,
Feel hope.
Adults do not.

We all want to read about teenagers
Because teenagers remind us
That life can have a bright outcome
If your teen years set it up properly.

We throw our lives away,
Then spend the rest of it
Reading novels
*Wishing that we didn't.