i ran into myself today,
she was smiling and then she collapsed into someone's arms because she
couldn't believe he lost feelings for her
and she was stuttering,
her teeth trying to carve her thoughts into words that would make sense (they didn't),
her lips trying to soften them so they wouldn't cut her own ears
when spoken aloud (they did),
Maybe He Just Needs Time,
and
He Looked Reluctant To Leave Me,
and i cringed because i heard the familiar grinding of conflicting gears,
one turning toward He Loves Me, and the other toward He Loves Me Not,
and the screeching was unbearable
and i know she wouldn't hear a thing i said

if eyes are windows to the soul (or whatever)
then yours surely existed, but they were tinted almost black
and i'm sure you could see out,
but i couldn't see in,
and they were always turned away from me,
perhaps yearning to open to someone else,
(does it get hot in there...
do you ever air it out?)

he is walking on you like wet cement and every step,
no matter how light,
leaves a print
and it hurts,
but it's drying and maybe
many people will walk on the finished pavement
and their mark won't be as brilliant,
but they will wear you down
they will discolor you,
until someone decides you need some paving over,
and that someone will not dare step on you,
they will want to make you new
and won't want to ruin your baptized surface

love doesn't fit a formula
love laughs at your molds
love exceeds your expectations
love disappoints you
love has no reasons
love has plenty of reasons
i wish i could control it
but it is more creative than me and sometimes i like seeing what it comes up with

it was 9-something o' clock
and we were in your car
parked by the playground that would witness us 2 months later,
kissing despite the cold hiatus that wedged itself between
us because you didn't know what you wanted,
anyways,
you pulled out your AP Environmental Science notebook
and your handwriting was small and neat
and i held you because your stomach was hurting
and i kissed you because somehow seeing your handwriting made me fall in love with you
for the twentieth time,
and i wrongly thought
that the way you handled a pen somehow indicated a steady hand with which
you could hold my heart

you were mouthing beautiful words but
i couldn't hear them
it looked like someone put you on Mute,
but you swore there was something wrong with my hearing,
your words were crystal clear, loud enough,
and i believed you because maybe there was
something wrong with me and not you,
until someone came to me and said
"Why does no sound come out when he moves his mouth?"

a breeze would slither by and
my heart would ignite like coals that were thought to be cooled off,
and at first i liked the warmth
but then it burned a hole through my ribcage
and sometimes
in a bout of masochism,
i would blow on the coals myself,
dare them to turn scarlet,
but only get cool ash in my eyes,
no it doesn't hurt
i don't feel anything