If I were to explain the reason behind the mismatch of my mouth and hands,
I would only say this: displacement.

I choose to answer what I cannot hold.  
I wind up singing instead of touching.

Surely you can remember the time
I asked for your permission; you looked at me strange,

and not in a way that inspires
Freedom. What can I do except laugh?

Dare I turn this itch to clasp into something
as deliberate and precise as words?

Dare I spit volumes instead of throwing pebbles
and watch them sink instead of creating ripples?

When we argue, and I extend my arms to drive a point home,
it is only because it is better than the alternative, which is concession.

Inhale exhale i n h a l e   e   x  h  a  l  e
in lieu of our thumbs stroking the other.

I know when to keep my silence,
but forgive me when my hands do not know any better

than to shake and disturb.

all i notice is the glare of desk light, unforgiving
violins sounding, brown wood against horse hair

air from the fan close by, cold against my sensitive skin
bitter taste of medicine on my tired tongue

yet no one disturbs me
i am left alone to peruse the tiny dust motes on my laptop screen.

can one enlighten another with such simple observations?
the world is just a collection of useless objects interacting with each other.

i am tired. i have been cleaning,
solving sudoku and crossword,
writing, and playing my violin
with nobody around to witness
the way my hands are never still

i want them to stop shaking. once
in motion they never seem to listen
to me when i say "it's over, you can
rest", instead they find new ways
to involuntarily release my anger.

my shoulders are aching. i cannot
stretch and reach my toes anymore.
i packed my bags today. truthfully,
i wish i could just hold you again
(even if my arms tell otherwise).

i can remember, quite accurately
the day of your birth
the name of your mother
how you like your food spicy

how you have never had a first kiss
the shape of your mouth when you smile
the feel of your rough hands in mine
and all such simple truths as this

is it so hard for you, in turn
to remember how i cannot deal
with nights as lonely as this
how it is only your voice that i yearn

how i might not make it another minute
without checking to see if you have perhaps
acknowledged my existence, in a separate
universe than which we live in, that of pure silence.

so darling, it's funny,
i just had a swedish massage and
i cannot feel my bones
but for all the wrong reasons.

but it sure as hell isn't this silence, it is
not this gnawing sense of self-doubt
that seems to take over everything i do
for you, for me, for us.

i wish you would just talk to me.
explain why you just walked out
as if nothing happened, as if you
didn't care about the wrongness

and the seven thousand thoughts
in my head. i feel like screaming
a hundred times a day and you
can't even bother to call me.

you are not the only one
who's scared all the time.
i'm constantly shaking
and i am always alone.

i'm done being alone.
i need you but i also
need to know that
i can love myself.

i am so lonely. i
could hear the ticking
drag on and on until
i am forced to deal with
the thoughts in my head

and they are not pretty.
in the same way that you
have chosen me not
for my looks, but maybe
just by circumstance.

we were at the right place
at the wrong time. it only
felt wonderful at the start
and we watched as it slowly
receded to nothing.

but i also want to write without you.
i want to escape your pages and feel
the rough texture of my own. soon,
when all the want has vanished and the
thoughts i have can be fully unraveled,
when the flowers have wilted and dawn
has reached its maximum fluorescence,
when the pebbles stop skipping and we
cease to be a single entity, bound by
ink and rhyme, rhyme, rhyme,
then finally, I can be my own lines
my own paper, my own spine
my own verse, my own free soul.

i.
if you ever decide to disturb my life again
know that not only will i keep the door double-locked,
i will also put ***** traps under every step leading there.

ii.
you only had to say four words.
they didn't even have to be in chronological order,
but just enough to make a sliver of sense.

iii.
she was never just a fictional character come to life.
you were never just the attractive misfit that stole her heart.
i was always just the expendable one, disregarded at the soonest moment.

what am i feeling?

i feel our whispers
even though i have to strain to hear them.

i feel our touches
as if vast stretches of land and water didn't separate us.

i feel our love
beneath layers and layers of uncertainty

and it feels real.

the chamomile is waiting
it's groggy with sleep
it resembles the liquid
slipping out as you weep

what an unholy hour to fight
the sun isn't even enough
to distract us from the harshness
to call off this entire bluff

why did i wake up today?
why weren't you there?
did i somehow remind you
of your last vivid nightmare?

are we still talking?
what's it about?
i just want to crawl under the sheets again
and never come back out.

with guns and knives stowed in our suits
we may be called as sons of brutes
but even in this place of fright
we find our state of pure delight

delight me with your cunning smile
which makes false countries reconcile
firm grip and all that attitude
young girls will hope that you'd include

include them in your precious mind
and never leave them far behind
it must have been your glorious hair
that makes them stop and love and stare

stare at your retreating back
with me as selfish and intact
in truth, when all is said and done
you only have to raise your gun

Whenever you feel all alone and unwanted
Emotions are running, they leave you more daunted
Just let me come closer and make you feel better
Who knows who you want to be when we’re together

Who knows what tomorrow might deem us deserving
You might not endure this whole self (not) preserving
I won’t let tomorrow keep wasting your fine art
While I know there’s something that’s wrong with your glass heart

The heart moves in rhythms you can’t comprehend; yet
Your eyes let me know it’s not up for discernment
Just let me make sense of the mess in your head and
We’ll thrive in our solitude; blissful and golden

Let’s leave before sunrise comes prancing on over
Before you might change your firm will to recover
Come let us be gone before twilight’s proceedings
It’s quite hard to see what a fear you've been fleeing

doesn't have enough time to set.
and yet it does so,
over and over again.

sort of like the way i love you,
there's not enough time,
but i do it over and over again.

love isn't always
made of grand gestures
like poetry isn't always
made of big words

love can be as small
as a shared cup of coffee
a mismatched sock
or a familiar scent

after all, the ocean is
made of tiny hydrogen
and oxygen atoms
that have combined

the sky is merely
tiny specks of light
and all we see
is a vast and blue mantle

for almost all beautiful things
are often made up
of small, infinitesimal objects
that have collided amidst all

when my eyes are closed,
there is no one to tell me
just how worthless i am.

when i lay my head,
there is no where
i cannot run.

when i'm tucked under
layers and layers of blankets
i can never feel cold.

unless my subconscious
pays me a visit
then the nightmares begin.

to be held?
to just exist in someone else's arms
and escape from your own grasp
to just feel as if you weren't completely alone
in the complexity of the universe
in its dimensions and holes
and just feel
for once
wanted.

do we have together

how many until
we never speak again

does today count?

for i was just an asteroid in your belt,
but you were my entire galaxy.

quite recently i realized
hanging out with my favorite guy
doesn't make me his favorite girl.

lately i've been thinking about
how you walk with your shoulders back
at the same time
being so ridiculously awkward.

it's really cute.

I heard the question mark when you first saw me
and the exclamation point when we first talked

I heard your commas when we walked and spoke
your colons before you delivered the punchline

I heard the whispered parentheses
when you told me you loved me.

Then I heard the semicolons when we fought
with ellipses and brackets of contained rage

And finally, I heard the period
at the end of the sentence that was us.

My hands will constantly feel empty
now that they aren't holding yours.
But at least now I can write comfortably.

Listening to music is much better
when I'm not sharing
the other earphone with you.

Sleeping earlier is a better alternative
than talking to you until
the wee hours of the morning.

It's nice to not worry about
looking over or under dressed
because now I'm only dressing for myself.

And lately I have come to realize
I don't need you
at all.

And now I guess because
you're not replying
and your phone doesn't seem to vibrate
every time I send you a text
our relationship is in silent mode.

I used to think
you're gonna miss me when I'm gone.

But judging from this hollow ache I keep feeling,
every time your name doesn't appear on my phone,
I was wrong.

Why do you never say
what I want you to say?

Is it because I never ask
what you want me to ask?

I lose myself in your orbitals
whenever they focus on me.

I want to bury my cephalic
in the crevice of your cervical.

I long to keep your brachials
around my dorsum.

You have
amazing scapulars.

Thoracic to thoracic.
Or our palmars intertwined.

Digitals tracing patterns
on each other's abdominals.

Press your oral to my buccal
and we'll see how this goes.

you said.
But when was the last time
you lifted a finger
to text me.

When was the last time
you opened your mouth
to talk to me.

When was the last time
you reached out
and touched me.

The only communication
you seem to make an effort on
is this silence.

Your single patch of pale bare skin drives me crazy.

You call me sweetie, even when I feel so bitter.

And if we are so musically inclined
then how can you not hear the song of our hearts?

A melody that starts quietly
then makes a crescendo when you look at me

Staccato bursts every time we touch
a steady rhythm of our love

But why do you play deaf
and leave me to listen to this song

this song that's constantly nagging
at the back of my ear

this song that jives
with the beating of our hearts

or is it just my heart

The spaces between these words
The spaces between these lines

The spaces between these stanzas
is him talking to me.