she is smoke
drifting, she is always drifting;
you say breathing her in hurts
but still, you inhale deeply

drifting, she is always drifting;
She disappears before you can say her name
but still, you inhale deeply
because you love her

she disappears before you can say her name
but she’ll be back again someday
because you love her
because you both can’t stay away

but she’ll be back again someday
because smoke loves the flame
because you both can’t stay away
and you love the ash in your lungs

because smoke loves the flame
you say breathing her in hurts
and you love the ash in your lungs;
she is smoke

In my dreams, I lose my teeth
and packs of wolves howl at me
I run toward them in the moonlight

And when I wake, you're lying there
I'll start to smile, I'll touch your hair
but you'll just turn away

I'll get a coffee, maybe two
whenever I go out with you
in case I start to fall asleep
in case I start to dream

In my dreams, I'm running free
across the land, between the trees
and all the wolves run with me

And in the morning, I am sore
from dreaming hard, from wanting more,
from all these chains that bind me

You say that I've been acting strange,
sleeping all of my days away,
but I'm not tired, and I'm not sleeping
I'm awake, and I am dreaming

In my dreams, they call to me
the mountaintops, the evergreens
and I hear the haunting echo of a howl;
so this is all to let you know
that when I do decide to go
it's really, truly just because of me;
it's only ever been about my dreams.

T H E  B E G I N N I N G
It's always blue skies,
glittering eyes,
red wine on our lips
when you say goodnight.

It's always new highs,
butterflies,
everything I think I need
to feel right inside.

T H E  I N E V I T A B L E
It's always grey skies,
white lies,
red wine on the floor
when we're fighting
for hours 'til you say
you don't love me anymore

and the door closes behind you
and I beg the sun to rise
and it's always
always
always
you who says goodbye

I grew up
reading books about
boys
who say things like,
"You're so beautiful,"
or
"God, I can't believe
I've never known you
before"
and they kiss the girl
and they fall in love
and maybe there's a struggle
somewhere in the middle
but everything is
o k a y
and in the moments after
hearing how beautiful
and wonderful
and amazing
she is,
the girl is happy,
the girl is loved,
the girl is l o v e d.

The last boy who told me I was beautiful
didn't listen
when i said
NO
and I sobbed in my own bed
for three nights
and I couldn't touch my sheets
for five
because it takes a long time
to get blood stains out
when you use the cheap washers
in the dorms.

The last boy who told me I was amazing
left me at five in the morning
and said he'd call
and even as he looked me in the eye,
I knew he wouldn't.

The last boy who told me he liked me
said so as he tried to push my head
in a direction I didn't want it to go
and it seems
that all of these compliments
are meant to be segways
into getting something more.

These compliments
have turned into warnings,
red lights,
get out,
get out,
he only wants you
for your body
and I don't know
how I am ever supposed
to believe someone
when they actually mean it
when all I know
is sugar-coated bullets.

I am reading a book
where the boy whispers
promises between kisses
and I realize
I have never kissed anyone in
the light
and I am numb inside
and I do not want to be called
beautiful
anymore because to me
that means I am
about to be shot.

She woke up under a sheet and didn't realize it right away,
but she was lying right next to regret disguised as a
beautiful liar.
Her clothes are on the floor and her head is pounding
and she remembers pushing his hand away but when
she sneaks into his bathroom while he's still passed out,
she sees the blood all over her torn underwear and it becomes
fairly clear what happened last night;
she keeps the bloodied garment only because she needs to say
there was something he didn't take from her
while her vision was blurry
and she texts her friends saying she's home and fine and just
so, so tired, but she stands in a scalding shower for an hour trying to
wash away the disgust and the blood and the bruises
and they won't go, so she tries to sleep, but she's haunted by
everything and is so angry with herself and with him and now it's
midnight again and she hasn't eaten all day and her friends think she's
thrown up seven times because she drank too much,
but the nausea came from the memories,
and now it's been a week and the bruises are yellow
but they still hurt the same
and he never texted her
and she's still bleeding
and she burned that pair of underwear
and cut her hair short
and stuffed that ****** black dress in the back of her closet
and told God she'd happily keep the bruises on her arms
and legs
and hips
and neck
if He would just heal
the ones covering her heart.

You call all the girls you mess around with "sunshine,"
but none of them light your dark spaces,
your loneliest places.

I'm there at one in the afternoon
with you and your flat tire
and then at three in the morning
with you and your ******
"i love her's,"
your groggy, slurred words
about a girl from the bar
who you won't remember
and you thank me in the morning
when I bring you water
and all you ever call me
is a friend

Imagine honeybees drunk on heaven.

She says, “Don’t you ever stop believing.”

Imagine thousands of stars whispering,

“You are beautiful.”

She says, “Navigating the earth is a danger

I expect you to face.”

Imagine angels passing gentle and cool at the gates.

Imagine a ragged chain of promises Imagine people

ten kilometers above the kingdoms Imagine no danger

Imagine no war Imagine Imagine Imagine.

She says, “You are ultraviolet.”

He thinks, “come into the stillness.”

He thinks, “Grow wild, intoxicated.”

Perhaps, he thinks, we are cannonballs.

Perhaps we are glazed and dazzled,

drunk on clarity.

Must we be wiped off the earth?

He sits alone, at night, again.

Shuts off his memory.

He writes: “I am fine

I am fine

I am fine

open your eyes

I am fine.”

Why didn’t he return?

This becomes the question,

the faint heat;

Why didn’t he make it?

She radiates fire;

He becomes unreachable,

futile.

He never arrived.

She is throwing whispered

rhymes across the afternoon,

burned, trying to summon courage,

but failing. She no longer wakes.

He Is Not Coming Back.

I try to make it him.
I try to stare into his eyes and
feel the same but
I don't and I wish I could,
I wish it could be him,
I wish it wasn't you,
but it's you,
it's you,
it's you and I
do not know
if that will ever change.

Last night - no, wait, this morning - I swore I heard thunder and I wondered where I was for a moment, as I had never slept through wind and rain in this place, and in fact, there are many things I have not done in this place but would like to do, and maybe I won’t get through all of those things in my first year, but I’d like to check some things off my list, you know, stay out all night, be able to say I stayed sober, sleep in all morning, watch all nine seasons of Criminal Minds on Netflix (bless), wonder if he likes me too, know he likes me too, try sushi again since I just tried guac again and ended up loving it, try loving again and maybe end up feeling okay after, not used or tattered or torn, not in the way some people do of course, but really only just scratched up, or maybe I’m shattered, who’s to say how broken someone is, and more importantly, who’s to say they can’t be fixed, and maybe I’m already on the mend, away from many of the things that pulled me down, left me floating in the ocean (i’ve always been afraid since The Fish Incident), just the front of my face above water, struggling for air, a fine line of salty water creating a border between skin and ocean, and who knows where this is even going or what I’ll draw from it but I love the possibility that even a few words could form something great, in the same way I love the possibilities here, because last night while my roommate was sleeping I realized that one day my work may be on a bookshelf - should they still exist come the publication of my novel - and my dreams could very well come true, quite soon, with just a little help from the people and places i’ve been waiting so long to discover, and another thing, another realization: it is possible that my future husband is somewhere on campus, oh my, how mind boggling, do people even say mind boggling, probably not, I don’t usually but then again I don’t usually do this and look where that’s gotten me, but in all seriousness, I know people joke about finding it difficult to believe someone would want to marry them, allow you to share their last name, have a family with you, genuinely want to spend the rest of their life with you, but that really is a problem for me, because I’m strange, but not in the way you’d think, or maybe in the way you think, I don’t know how you think, after all.

Here is the thing:

I do not want to be your favorite thing. I want to be one of them, but not your only.
I do not want to always be your last thought before your eyes flutter to a close at night. I'd like to be on your mind, but not always, not always the last thing.
I do not want to be your first hello and your last goodbye. I want to be a part of the conversation.
I do not want to be your passion. I want to be the only one who can pull you away from your greatest passion. I want to be your greatest distraction.
I do not want to be the center of your world. I want to be a continent, an ocean, a landmark. I want to be a part of something bigger.
I do not want to occupy the entirety of your heart. I want to fit into your heart in a way that if I were to leave, you'd feel the gasping loss of me, but you would carry on.

You see, this is the thing:
I do not want to be The Greatest Thing. I want to be Something.

And I felt my lips crack,
broken from the cold
and lack of contact

And I felt my heart crack
two nights ago,
bare legs sprawled on the tile,
heaving,
throwing up everything
that didn't make me forget
about you,
and you would never love
a girl like me
and I don't
blame you.

You can feel your heart breaking.

I watch you walk away
and wonder how you don't know
how much I love you,
because I've all but run to you with
arms wide open,
screaming "YOU MAKE ME WANT
TO CHANGE MYSELF TO CHANGE THE WORLD
TO BE OKAY TO BE FREE TO BE
IN LOVE AND NOT BE AFRAID YOU MAKE
ME FEEL ALIVE."

You can feel your heart breaking.

And maybe I'll hold you when she breaks
your heart,
wipe away tears when you fall asleep
so the rainfall doesn't wake you,
and maybe you'll never let me be the
one to keep your heart whole,
but you'll always be the one
who shatters mine and puts it back together
all at once, always, I'll feel like this always,
feel my heart breaking.

She avoided the question for the same reason most people avoid things - she feared the answer, that she couldn't handle it.

It would be so easy.
Just three words.

Who is she?

She wanted to know.
Desperately.
But if her name was not his answer,
everything would surely turn black.

What do you do when the one you love loves another?

She decided she did not want to know.

It's cold and these blankets are not enough
It's cold and I am not as tough
as I used to be
back when
it was you and me
and though I love the snow,
I think I loved you more.

Or maybe that's what I let myself believe;
that I miss you because you don't miss me.
I cannot name this feeling,
this emptiness in my bones
But I can hardly feel the fire
and all I really know is that

Sometimes when I get lonely
I go back to missing you
I step into the shower
Like we always used to
and feel the flames
as they cascade down my face
it's not the same,
it's not the same,
but maybe this hot water
can replace
your embrace
for tonight.

It's quiet and I miss the lovely sounds
of your singing from when you were around
and I still
feel your touch
lingering
and it's too much
to know that I may have been the one
to throw it all away

And maybe I'm losing my mind because
all of my friends are deep in love
while I'm deep in a rut
but this lack of sound
is threatening to shatter me
and I don't know if I could recover,
but I do know that

Sometimes when I get lonely
I go back to missing you
I step into the shower
Like we always used to
and feel the flames
as they cascade down my face
it's not the same,
it's not the same,
but maybe this hot water
can replace
your embrace
for tonight.

My skin is red from all this heat
won't you please say that you need me?
My temperature is 102
oh, don't you know that I love you?
And if I do disintegrate,
If you find me here too late,
will you make the water cold?
Will you make sure our story's told?

When I was little,
We would play kickball
In the cul-de-sac.

You would scold me
While I was in the outfield,
Told me not to puppy-guard
The bases.

I told you to run faster.

Last night,
You wouldn’t let me
Leave, wouldn’t let
Me sleep alone.

I told you not to puppy guard
My heart,
To have faith in yourself,
In me, in us.

I told you not to puppy guard my heart.

You told me to love faster.

I told you I couldn’t.

You seemed broken, frozen.

The landscape is a thought thing.
It’s an art thing, but it’s also a thought thing,
because thoughts are art.
Think about it.

As you think about the past and
dream about the future,
you are a painter.
As you work your way toward
a goal, you are
a sculptor.
You criticize your reflection
in the mirror and create
a self-portrait in your head
that would be unrecognizable
to others. In these
moments of insecurity,
you are an abstract artist.
When you try to remember
the face of that person
on the crowded city street
who briefly stole your heart,
you are a
sketch artist.

This is the thing:
you may aspire to be a
business owner,
a doctor,
an author,
an actor,
a dentist,
a professional athlete,
but do not forget that
no matter where life takes you,
you will always be an artist.
You have always been
an artist.

Why won't the tears flow
why can't I cry
I am numb from the cold
and slowed by the alcohol
running through my veins,
my brain;
there is not enough
alcohol
running through
my veins;
my heart still aches -
I can feel it.
My pulse still shakes -
I can feel it
in every part of me.
And he was beautiful,
and i told you that,
and you drank a little too much
and showed me how it's done,
how i'll never be as pretty
as skinny
as enchanting

and that other boy is
beautiful,
too,
but he'd never think twice
because he's a good guy

i thought the first one
was a good guy
but he was just good
at making me feel
special

i thought the second one
was a good guy
but he was
no different
from the first

i have felt used
and i have felt
wanted

but i have never felt
needed,
never felt
loved

and sometimes
when i feel the heaviness
throughout me,
I feel like maybe i'll
find someone
who will make me
believe i'm worth it,
but it's nights like these
that make me question it,
make me wonder if maybe
i was meant to walk home
alone
in twenty degree weather
in a skin tight dress,
catcalled,
called a *****,
because apparently loneliness
equates to promiscuity,
and i suppose if i
was worth it
i wouldn't have to write
about being lonely
because i wouldn't be lonely
if i was special
if i was worth it
if i was worth
anything

It's always at night.

I remember the first one;
the air was heavy with the heat
of summer, the bonfire
at full blaze. The sprinklers
came on and everyone ran,
but you just laughed. I soon
came to learn that your typical
reaction was to laugh. I soon came
to learn I loved it.

The second night, we were
uptown, our path lit by
traffic lights and flickering street lamps.
I walked next to you.
It was enough then.

The third night came unexpectedly;
I was supposed to be in bed by midnight,
but suddenly, it was four a.m.,
and we were sitting on someone else's bed,
in darkness, our only light being the illuminating
laptop screen, music in the background,
and you were inches away
but I felt farther away than ever
and your hand brushed my leg and
I have never wanted to lie with
someone so badly and
you are exhausted but still smiling,
still focused on the music and
I have never wanted to kiss someone
so badly and i do not know why
i do not know why but i know
that we are not possible,
and it is all a fantasy
and desperation is a bitter taste,
a hollow feeling that burrows itself
in your bones,
and when i think of how much love
you have for her,
tiny cracks begin to form in my crystal heart.

I've heard you tell them you're going to marry her
when you're drunk.

Last night,
you read my poetry
and listened to my playlists
and how am I still so willing
to give so much away
and risk so much
for someone
who may never
give a ****?

Allow me to make a confession:

I did steal.
(I did not know.)

At the time, I was
waiting outside a
wedding hall.
She
was listening:
to engines idling,
the muffled sound
of music.
She was beautiful,
graceful;
she lit a cigarette -
noticed me -
and her feet
were bare.
She offered no indication
that she felt it.

She wore sunglasses and smoked.

I did steal.
I sat outside,
and I did steal.

I did not know.

"Don't make me beg.
Don't go back,
don't go cold,
somewhere in
the dark."

She slowly
rises to her feet,
wonders how
she will learn
to leave, how
not
to go back.

Through her eyes,
the fire stops:
her heart begins
to die.

"Don't leave."

She pictures it:
No kisses.
Alone
In the wind.

"Don't."

She walks.

She is porcelain,
shattered.
I remember her yelling,
"Oh
dear
oh
dear,"
blank in the face;
a single tear
on the edge of
her right eye.

She is broken,
sudden mayhem.
I remember her,
grabbing my shoulders,
her gaze lifting
over my head;
and then
I witnessed
the most
extraordinary
thing:



her eyes.

Who?
I'll flirt
my way through
who?
You.

What
are
you?

Brilliant, funny, filled
with liquor.

A faded sign,
her every
exhalation unsignaled.

Sobbing, sudden.

A mix of whimper and scream
and cigarettes and wine and knock-knock
jokes and ***** and

it was our
last day, Saturday,
our
last
day.

I am a heavily folded
sheet of stationery.
A Roman
nobleman.
She is
so
so
sick.
You are
Shakespeare;
you are
wrong.
It took me
f o r e v e r
to decode:
The fault is
NOT
in our stars,
but in
ourselves.

She is a letterhead.
She is in
my empty bed.
She is
enough.

Unable to fly,
unable to
shimmer in
the light.
I move like a
d r e a m,
soundless.
Icy air makes
me feel
e x t r a o r d i n a r y.
I finally have
s o m e t h i n g.
I've woken up
i n v i n c i b l e.
Purple,
plum,
almost black -
the bleating
in my heart
without anyone,
made for me,
custom,
s k i n t i g h t.

It
was
a
gift.

Zero;
You
Xenophilic
Wanderer,
Vastly
Unaware
That
She
Remembers,­
Quietly
Pondering,
Ominous.
Nothing;
Maybe
Love,
Kaleidoscope
Je­alousy,
Igniting
Hatred,
Grieving
For
Everything.
Done;
Can't
Beg­in
Again.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
That’s what you told me, voice strained, quivering,
as we made our way to the edge of the proverbial
cliff, as the needle began to break the skin
covering our love, as the overwhelmingly dark
cloud began to cover our sun, as I began to
recall every second every moment everything.
My mother would have told me the same -
I know that’s why you said it. But, my darling,
you’ve never been a very good liar.

And Bravery Came,
Darling, Effortlessly,
Forever Granting
Her Invaluable Justice.
Kryptonite (Love),
Maybe Not,
Or Perhaps
Quixotic (Remember?),
Stolen,
Taken,
Undercover,
Vendetta,
Wonderfully Xenoglossy,
You Zorro.

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.

I remember August, four years ago;
Trembling hands, climbed the stairs, found my place.
They said time would fly, but I didn’t know
We were all on a rocket ship in space,
Winking at light as we passed it, waving
To past selves before we realized they were
Past selves, suddenly older and craving
Freedom, wanting to leave but quite unsure
Of what occurs outside of our bubble;
We grew up in this kingdom, unaware
That we would have to turn it to rubble
One day, goodbye friends, are your hearts breaking?
Now the future is yours for the taking.

The polaroid says you are exquisite,
With your midnight hair and sapphire eyes,
Your rose petal lips, oh so delicate,
And the sound of your voice (what lovely lies).
And I can’t argue; it was me, after
All, who swooned at the mere sight of you, who
Got lost in the tan of your skin, your laugh,
The way you said my name and you, you, you.
But the camera couldn’t see your heart,
Fiery red, from all the stolen love,
Kisses and hugs you collected like art,
Displayed in places I only dreamed of
(your mind, I dreamt of it so often, I
Regret those nights, I wish I hadn’t cried).

Were they lies, or broken promises?
The times you told me you’d stay,
But fled the moment a better opportunity
Presented itself; what can I say?

I was foolish. Time and time again,
Alone, that was where I found myself,
The walls caving in just as quickly as your
Promises, the room collapsing in on itself.

I looked up “promises” in the dictionary,
But they got it wrong; the definition should read:
“things you may have meant for a moment
But threw away so quickly…” Do you see?

Perhaps the worst was “I love you”;
An unspoken promise that leaves me crying
At your blatant disregard for my heart;
I should’ve known you were lying.

Clear and slick and frozen,
The ice coats the ground,
The trees, parked cars,
And any tangible thing around.

My breath makes the air visible,
Just for a moment; it’s 25 below,
And I am frozen, chilled to the bone,
Shaking everywhere I go.

The city is an ice sculpture,
Glistening, so beautifully hazardous;
Frozen solid, doomed to melt –
An existence quite precarious.

The sun is stunningly silent today;
Does it believe its fate has been chosen?
I don’t miss it now, I suppose, but only
Because I’m enchanted by all that is frozen.

You scared me, Augustus, you really did;
I hate the feeling of smoke in my lungs, and yet
I found myself wishing I was cancer-free
So I could stand with you as you pulled out a cigarette.

But you just held it there between your lips;
It was the epitome of a metaphor,
And I stood there in utter disbelief,
Wanting more and more and more.

And the more I got, the more I loved -
Even your horrid driving (I’d drive with you
Until the end of time, Augustus, it wasn’t your
Time, Augustus, I’ll say it again, “I do.”).

These tears are a side effect of love,
And the fault was in our stars, but someday
We will unite again, Augustus, because our
Love is immeasurable and immortal, okay?

Three a.m., you’re at my window;
I am half asleep, mumbling,
Asking why you’re here; I’m a mess.
I make my way downstairs, stumbling…

Four a.m., we’re in my backyard,
And your eyes ought to dot the night sky.
I cannot look away; your face is a galaxy.
You catch me stargazing, but you don’t mind.

Five a.m., my eyelids are fluttering;
The moon, your smile, they start to blend.
I think I hear a melody, maybe…
No, no, it’s your voice; I cannot pretend.

Six a.m., the sun is set to rise again,
But we’ve lost track of time to keep;
The dawn is slowly breaking now,
And we’re alone, in love, asleep.

I
The sky was brighter when you were four,
You think, but what do you really know,
They say you haven’t any knowledge at ten,
You are too young, maybe when you’re sixteen
You’ll know a little more, about heartbreak,
About driving a stick shift, about life.

II
Maybe when you’re twenty you’ll see life
With fresh eyes, a different “fresh” than four,
You were so young then, what is heartbreak,
You didn’t know, you didn’t know, you didn’t know,
Do you want to understand, do you want to be sixteen,
Or would you rather stay innocent, stay ten?

III
You feel small, confused, you are ten,
You needn’t be, you have a decade of life
Under your belt, but you are not sixteen,
You haven’t driven alone, what is freedom, four
Is young enough to know love, know
Why the sun sets to rise again, but not heartbreak.

IV
It’s a long life, but it’s a short life, you know;
You dismiss four and yearn for sixteen;
Don’t yearn for heartbreak, live for ten.

I
Get up, little warrior, little dynamo,
Do not frown at your affliction,
Stand tall, you are stone, you are fearless,
They are irrelevant, so merciless,
With one goal, to see you melancholy,
But you are titanium, you are strong.

II
They are the opposition, you are strong,
Sword in hand and heart and mind, little dynamo,
You know better, you do not deserve to be melancholy,
No matter what cards you are dealt, this affliction
Is sand, they are sand, they are merciless,
But you are the captain of the S.S. Fearless.

III
Your eyes scream it, “I am fearless,”
They will know it, feel it, you are so strong,
Don’t let your ears near their words, ***** and merciless,
You are a diamond, little dynamo,
Their minds are limited, can they even define affliction,
Your heart is too warm to be melancholy.

IV
Four feet tall, so strong, what affliction?
Little dynamo, who is merciless?
You cannot be melancholy if you are fearless.

I
And suddenly it is mid-October,
Everything is ablaze with color, all of the leaves
Are descending, the air is comfortably cool,
The sun reminds me of the approaching equinox,
The earth is standing still, it’s lovely, enchanting,
The scent of fresh apples engulfs me, hello autumn.

II
Gourds grace our front doorstep, autumn,
Don’t you love them, don’t you love October,
The way the leaves crunch, their demises are enchanting,
But did they ever die, I don’t know, they are just leaves,
But they are autumn, they hug the equinox,
Love its embrace, its temperature drop, so cool.

III
Where are my sweaters, it’s getting cool,
But I’m not worried, it’s only autumn,
It’s only a Halloween equinox,
Time is changing, it is still October,
But things are changing, even the leaves,
The fire is fading, but it’s still enchanting.

IV
Hello autumn, have you seen the leaves?
Hello October, are you ready for the equinox?
Prepare for enchanting colors and temperatures cool.

I

I wish I’d seen it sooner, you are parallax,
Your lipstick fooled me for so long, you catalyst,
You trapped me in my own heart, you are Calypso,
I kept my fears hidden behind a mental citadel,
You tore it down, your touch was selcouth,
But only to me, you were too beautiful, you are kalopsia

II
Even your fingernails lied, you are kalopsia,
I shouldn’t come down from cloud nine, this parallax
Should’ve been more apparent, not selcouth,
Not how I thought it, you are TNT, a catalyst,
You demolish with your winks, even my citadel
Fell before you, but you still kept me in, you are Calypso.

III
Tell everyone you’re real, you are Calypso,
You are not a myth, you are simply kalopsia,
A breathtaking lie, you didn’t need a citadel,
Nobody could break you anyway, you are parallax,
But you’re evil at all angles, you are the catalyst
Of all things lonely, this no longer feels selcouth.

IV
You are kalopsia, the gorgeous catalyst.
You are parallax, wrecking citadels.
You are not selcouth; you are Calypso.

I

You said all you could see in my eyes was passion,
But you were staring down the barrel of a gun, Russian roulette,
Go look at your journals, you always knew love was quixotic,
But you continued to fall deeper into a terrain uncharted,
Leaving me to plan everything, all the adventures, “spontaneous,”
We were never “we,” it was all faux, like my smile, maleficent.

II

Tattooed in a place you never saw is “maleficent,”
I had to remind myself who I was, you were so full of passion,
Waiting for the trigger after every outburst, each as spontaneous
As the last, you always carried a deck of cards but you preferred roulette,
You’d lost so much anyway, but this game sent you somewhere uncharted,
All you did was watch the stars, you needed a compass, this love was quixotic.

III

My love was there for the taking, it was I who was quixotic,
How did you miss it, I am Miss Maleficent,
My name is on broken hearts everywhere, in places uncharted,
But only to you, I’ve been everywhere, recognized your passion,
Loaded my gun, tried to fire, ended up blinking, **** this roulette,
I had to end it faster, I blinked till I cried, that was truly spontaneous.

IV

I am Miss Maleficent, you fell to roulette;
Curse your passion, and feelings uncharted;
Our love was both spontaneous and quixotic.

She is five years old,
And her heart is sold
On a giant teddy bear;
She begs her mother,
Claiming no other
Toy is worth her tender care.

She is ten years old,
And her heart is sold
On the boy that lives next door,
As if he’s a prize
(His icy blue eyes
Are what she truly adores).

She’s sixteen years old
And her heart is sold
On that shiny, new black car
She says, “I can pay
And though I won’t stay
I will never travel far.”

She’s eighteen years old,
And her heart is sold
On a book of memories;
Her parents will cry
When she says goodbye,
But she’ll miss them - can’t they see?

Things they used to say:
“Poetry is gay”
“Nobody likes a bookworm”
“That’s an awful song”
“You do not belong”;
Their taunts were painfully firm.

Things I used to think:
“How do they not know
Edgar Allan Poe?”
“Why do they stare when I write?”
“What is wrong with me?”
“What can I not see?”
I was always stuck in night.

Things I know today:
I still love the way
Words and music intertwine,
And despite their words
(And though they still hurt),
I’m perfectly fine.

Love like paper cuts,
Stuck in endless ruts,
Frostbite in the heat of June;
Shattered crystal doors,
Oil covered floors,
Lonely in a crowded room.
  
Love like Friday night -
Strike a match, ignite
Everything we see and feel;
Endless summer skies,
Your glittering eyes…
None of it was ever real.
  
Love like caution signs,
Walking fragile lines,
Blindfolded on a tightrope;
Hanging by a thread,
Ignoring the red,
Still clinging to my last hope.

These April showers
Will last for hours,
Days, weeks, until it is May,
And sweet petrichor
Leaves you wanting more…
Addicted ‘till the last day.



These flowers will bloom
In an empty room,
Fueled by the hope in the air;
A new beginning,
Children grinning,
Plenty of daylight to spare.

These days will be fair,
Making you aware
Of the life that surrounds you,
Like bright butterflies
That head for the skies…
So splendid, so vast, so blue.