There is a flame in the corner of the greenhouse;
It rises up, alone, the child of a lighter and gasoline,
Surrounded at its base by envy – green leaves.
No wonder it is the only of its kind
No wonder it is nearly isolated –
Too much of this fierce sunset
Would set the place ablaze,
Leaving only embers
And the faint hiss
Of an ebbing
wildfire.

Shouldn't have worn that ****** blue dress -
I was asking for it.
and no,
I don't mean it in that way.

I was asking for someone to see me
the way I want people to see me;
but what a flawed idea that was.
How can I ask that of others
when I do not even know
who I am?

I shouldn't have stayed outside until 3 a.m. -
I was asking for it.

I practically begged for someone to save me,
"show me your armor,
look at me,
such a damsel in distress,
reading isn't a good escape,
so won't you rescue me,
baby?"

And This Is What I Got:

your eyes
(I couldn't look away)
your smile
(still staring)
your touch
(I began to doze off)


This Is What I Did Not Get:
your number
(the first sign)
your love
(I am such a fool)

This Is What I Saw:
the prettier version of me
+
you,
in a picture,
all smiles,
two
days
later.

This Is What I Learned:
do not wear your favorite dress
outside while reading a book
in the early hours of the morning
unless you want to learn
the hard way
that sometimes,
being caught
hurts worse
than falling.

Sometimes I wonder
If I ever truly felt anything for you,
or if I was just looking for something
to write about

Or maybe
I was looking for something
to dull the pain
that loneliness brings

Ever lonely
ever lonely
searching for
my one and only
and everybody
in between;
a foreigner
to care and love
and a veteran
of empty spaces,
seeking isolation
because it is all
I've ever known
I walk the crowded streets
with my head low
I walk the crowded streets
alone
and would I rather
be a writer
known for my pain,
or a liar
with a boldly
beating heart?

And this is how it goes:
you will talk for hours.
he will tell you
you’re
b e a u t i f u l,
that your eyes belong
with the stars,
that your smile puts
the sunrise to shame,
that you are nothing short
of perfect.

you will believe him.
this is where
the trouble starts.

Lips will crash
and so will walls
and skin will touch
but he won’t feel anything
other than what he wants
to feel
what he always planned
on feeling
and when you ask
why he hasn’t called
why you no longer talk
for hours,
he will twist and turn
his words
until he’s back to telling you
how the smell of your hair
is intoxicating
and you will ask
if he loves you
and he will tell you
your laugh
is adorable
and your hands
belong in his
and you will ask
if he loves you
and he will tell you
that you look so good
in that little black dress
and you will ask
if he loves you
and you will ask
if he loves you
and in his avoidance,
you will find your answer.

Dear ***, do you recall last night?
Of course you don’t – so let me remind you.
Twelve a.m. (four hours late), right-left-right,
You stumbled up to the door, she was through
Many, many months ago, but she stayed,
Hoping that you’d change, come home sober for
A change, in her red dress that night she prayed
For bravery, for the courage to leave,
She wasn’t religious until you went
And made her feel like a sinner, believe
Me when I say every penny you spent
On *****, every night you weren’t with her,
Was your loss. Sincerely, her sister.

It hits me right when I open the door:
The sweet, sweet scent of rain on the pavement.
Each time I stumble upon Petrichor,
Her halo is blinding; she’s heaven-sent.
She’s friends with the bluebirds and butterflies,
The neighbor of freshly cut grass, the aunt
Of the insects, first daughter of the skies,
Leader and lover of each lovely plant…
Only ever all around you, even
When the ground is dry and for a fleeting
Moment, she’s just something to believe in;
But Petrichor and her honeyed greeting
Are worth waiting for – because here’s the thing:
They’re simply a welcoming sign of spring.

It’s like you are stuck in winter, hiding
Away, trying to escape the late nights
That threaten to pull you under, guiding
Yourself deeper into an abyss; lights
Cannot guide you home when your eyes are closed
And I know you don’t want a saving grace,
But you cannot control who loves you, no,
I won’t let you live in this lonely place.
And maybe your rage will rise up in flames,
Or maybe you’ll swim; an ocean of tears
Is frightening, but you can float. These games
In your mind wreak havoc, these fears
Are taking you over – what could I do?
I am not sorry, because I love you.