sometimes my heart aches a little
when people can't keep up with my growing
like i'm being pulled back to a version of me
that i don't fit anymore, that i don't even know

like when an old friend still gets me things in grey
even though it's not my favorite color
and i was a very sad person when it was

and i blame myself for not showing them enough
this new person that i feel i've grown into

but really, it's nice to look back and see how far i've come
and remember everything that we shared
and if they loved me as a bitter sapling,
they are sure going to love the flowers i've grown this spring
i just hope they take the time to stop and smell them

how do i reconcile my warmth with my machinery?
mechanical contraption checking the boxes
poet longing to form a beating heart with only words

the colder parts of me suggest i have some sort of surgery
creativity can be threaded to the bone with stitches

the softer places whisper in my ear a cure of sugar and cinnamon
logic is only an imagined intention

but i feel the pendulum swing
and it stops not for compromise

my nerves made me a
'pleasure to have in class'
even as they chewed through my sanity
like a caterpillar through a cocoon

keeping to myself made me
'mature' and 'independent'
even as i made myself the **** end
of another self deprecating joke

people don't notice when i'm
'quiet' because i'm always 'quiet'
but being 'quiet' made me unproblematic;
the only thing i was good at being

so now that i need
help

i can't-- i can't

i wasn't ready to be a butterfly
i wasn't ready to fly at all

i told you my mom said no before i even asked her
though it wasn't because i didn't want to go
i just knew asking wouldn't change a **** thing
and my chest can't take the water today

black lipstick in my room
i wear it for the mirror and i hope she likes it
i don't know how to wear eyeliner
but i still wish you could see how it brings out the sin in my eyes
and my eyes wish they could see your sins tonight

i'll read about them in grey conversations
as your contact photo smiles at me
that smile is too small to be my whole world
but i'm afraid if i lose it, the earth might stop turning

sometimes the earth feels no bigger than my bedroom
and sometimes i can hear every mile outside my window
like the booming music of a party i wasn't invited to

my walls are as bare as my journal
since my mom broke in and saw her worst fears in ink
i don't have any pictures of you because they would be stolen
along with the things i forced myself to stop caring about
as a self defence mechanism

i can't love you in this house
but i can't leave
and when i do the memories will cling to me
like cobwebs in a place that hasn't been loved for too long

i wonder if i'll ever be able to shake these thoughts from my head

i heard that laughing makes you live longer
you make me feel like i could never die

i can tie my shoes
all by myself
am i all grown up yet?

i ate a whole subway sandwich
without ever putting it in the fridge
am i all grown up yet?

i cried on the bathroom floor
at my first party
am i all grown up yet?

i held the pieces of my heart
in my hands
am i all grown up yet?

i wish i was a kid again
not knowing how to tie my shoes,
and taking three days to finish a sandwich.
going to parties that still served fruit punch
and believing in true loves kiss.

i think that means i'm all grown up, now.

numb fingers
but not from the cold

my heart
is just so tired
of missing you
that the blood
falls asleep
in my veins

we used to talk
every single day
about
every single thing

and now
we nod
in passing

and it leaves me aching
for the careless laughter
we used to share

but you seem perfectly
okay with
this turn of events

i want to apologize
because this is all my fault

but you seem fine

so the only person
that needs my sorry
is me

i haven't watched les miserables recently
maybe that means i'm happy

or maybe i'm just tired

the branches
broke open the sky
and made it
bleed

i lay my head on
your shoulder,
looking at that
bleeding sky
with you

watching
as the blood was
washed away
by a sea of sparkling blue

and i thought to myself:
maybe we can
wash away
our scars
with stardust,
too

i.

i wore ur sweatshirt when i wanted u to hold me; when i wanted to feel safe
i fell asleep with it next to my pillow so your scent could keep the nightmares away every night

my sweatshirt hung in ur closet
i saw you wear it once. one (1) time.

i wish this was one of my twisted metaphors, but it's just a fact.

i should've seen it sooner.
i was never ur safety, never ur comfort.
i couldn't keep ur nightmares away
so i guess it's time for mine to come back


ii.

i need someone to keep me grounded
one thought can ******* into the clouds

i thought you were the answer
but that was my imagination again

you were on the ground
but you had no interest keeping me there

kisses that sent me flying
meant nothing to you

you could let my lips go with an unfazed smile

i saw it on her story
as you rode the ferris wheel

the same one you would give me
the same one you give your mom
even when you're mad at her

who means something to you?
who knows you?
i thought i did
you mom thinks she does

i bet the ******* the ferris wheel thinks so too


iii.

if i knew that would be the last time i kissed u
i would have done it differently
i would've left a sweeter taste in your mouth
and more of me on your tongue
i would've given you a piece of me so tender and secret
that u would regret losing it
every day for the rest of your life.
i would've poisoned you
because i am spiteful and vicious
a storm rages inside of me
full of memories and want and desperation

i don't think you would've changed a think about our last kiss
it was just like u
short and a little sour
with nothing to say except goodbye

tw// homophobia (especially due to religion)

a small, clumsy child
in a room full of glass
is told to look, but never to touch
and it's the child's fearful obedience
that makes the parent revel in their victory

a naïve, desperate teen
is admonished for looking at someone
they never should've touched
(for a bible verse told them so. even kissing was a sin for them)
and it's the teen's desolate silence
that helps the parent sleep at night

don't worry, parent
now i know not to look or touch
please rest easy
my life will not be broken glass

you haven't answered my calls in a few days
it shouldn't mean so much
but when the phone line lay empty,
i told the trees all about you through my tears
i left out the part where i said 'i love you' first
because i still pretend it was you

the moon listened when the trees went to sleep
and i asked her if she could keep a secret
she said she could, but i know she told the stars anyway
i whispered real quiet, so the wind couldn't carry it too far away

i'd love you, even if you broke me

i wanted you to be
my home
turns out i was just
your cheap motel

i've decided:
i don't like christmas without you

saying a few words should be easier than it is
i get lost in concise conversation
i need you to ramble into my ears until our lungs are touching
from sheer lack of airspace

i need there to be more words than air
for our limbs to be tangled in ideas that keep pressing us together
knotted so tight we can finally tighten around all the sound
and make silence

watching star wars in chronological order
taking pictures of the old cars i know you would like
checking the mail every day for signs of your letter
wearing the clothes you left in my dorm room
fidgeting with the necklace you got me for christmas

i drink the cheap lemonade you like,
hoping to taste a bit of your smile

you were my
forever
but i was just your
now

i'm no poet, no artist
maybe that's why i can see
we're a lot more beautiful
when you're just you, and i'm just me

i got some things to do, but i don't want to do 'em
i got some things to say, i will never say 'em to your face
i lost my lungs, i don't really need 'em
i lost my heart, i don't really need it anymore
I AM IN LOVE WITH SOMEBODY AND GUESS WHAT? IT'S NOT YOU
IT'S NOT YOU
you are in love with somebody, yeah, you love yourself so well
love yourself so well
smokey hands and sweaty palms
black water and half-clear lungs
and now i'm not going home
broken bottles and ***** dishes
acid flashbacks in your kitchen
you know i'm not going home
i am in love with somebody and guess what? it's not you
it's not you
you are in love with somebody, yeah, you love yourself so well
love yourself so well
there's someone else
they love them well
someone else
they love them
i got some things to do, but i don't want to do 'em
i got some things to say, i will never say 'em to your face
i got some things to do, but i don't want to do 'em
i got some things to say, i will never say 'em to your face
to your face
there's someone else
they love them well
there is someone else
they love them

i say every smoke
is the last one
because it's fun to pretend

but i'm starving for another
and i can't even make believe that it'll be my last

i'll never say
"all rights reserved"
because
these poems aren't
really mine.

as soon as you
resonate
with my inky words,
they are
yours.

i'll hang on to tomorrow
until my fingers are fiery and blistered
and even then

everthisng feelmss lkie a
typo

i used to think our love was a sonnet
timeless, and completely without measure
twirling, intertwining words within it
containing phrases sparkling with treasure
i loved you like i could be a poet
i said all the words i knew how to say
to create a love you wouldn't forget
when our song came on, we'd get up and sway
like our love could be put to the music
i sang along and you stayed quiet
but your silence was almost intrinsic
my love for you, you needn't requite
yes, i thought our love was a sonnet
a poem that you would never forget

guess it's a haiku
lovely, ambiguous, but
already over

i'm falling porcelain:
okay for now.

i miss the idea of you a little.
is that wrong to say?
i miss it when i could look at you and imagine what it would be like to make you laugh.
i miss memorizing your routes to class and pretending that we just happened to cross paths.
i'd smile at you without meaning to, trying to take my heart off of my sleeve.

i miss crushing on you a little.
the same way you miss breaking curfew.
but now we're all just so tired.

i just want you to kiss me and say it's okay. say it's okay that i miss my imaginary you. because i miss the real you more.

love,
b

sunflowers seeping into her skin like rot
an uncontrollable summer cancer
bones breaking ahead of time
a tombstone blissfully cool

her smile was all
that i needed

the laugh tumbling
from her lips
drenched in 'aloha coconut' chapstick
the only thing i allowed myself to
want

without her
i am a hollowed out rind
sitting on the
sidewalk, with
the chalk fading away because of the drizzle
and
no one
to draw in the lines
because she and i
were the only ones
that ever played
hopscotch

the way i clean my teeth
before i taste your tongue
seems obsolete
because your lips are
muddy with unsaid lies

mute and listening.

"my scars are so open."
i say. shaking. tears mixing with the numbness in my eyes.

                                                       "so... not scars, then"
                             you say. uncertain of what to do with someone so...
                                                           ­                ... in shambles

"if not scars, i don't know what to call them."
looking at your polished skin. my irises cracking open.

                                                          ­                "wounds."
                                       ­          as if you know what that word means.

"but wounds would have healed by now. i am not supposed to still be broken. my blood should have scabbed, my skin grown over. the thorns are gone, why not the pain?"
each word growing more quiet. my hands trace the cuts and smears follow my fingers.

                                                      "­are you sure you aren't doing this to
                                                                ­       yourself?"
                                              the pen in your hands hasn't made any
                                 words. i wouldn't know what to write either.

"i put down the knife a long time ago."
memories cascade.

                                                  "no, no. not with a knife made of silver.
                   a blade to make those marks would have to be made of
                                                              ­         thought."
                                  you try to remain patient. it's okay if you don't.

"oh."
and
i
shatter

i read and reread telling myself i'm checking for grammatical errors
but really i'm just trying to get a glimpse into myself

i never quite meet my own eyes between the lines
and i wonder if it's even me behind the words
or just a keyboard trying to make sense of itself

i paint things gold quite often,
does that mean i hide my problems behind shiny coats of denile?

i overuse the word rot,
does that mean i'm just waiting to decompose, eaten by the mold of my own terrible decisions?

i used to say bones more than i said love,
does that mean i feel like a skeleton without a heart or soul? or maybe love is what wore me down till i was bare;

i used to say love more

it's like flicking through my old playlists

why do i only write when i feel like hiding? or rot? or bones?
i wish i could write when i felt like flying. or music. or even just

human

i graze the comments with a loving hand
thinking of all the people that broke in the same places
thinking of everyone feeling like rotten bones, hiding from their demons
and clinging to the hope that it was sympathy and not empathy
that brought them close to my wilting garden of poems

i hope

and every tear stained poem blends into the next
the ink bleeding

i look at the scars on my fingers and i see myself
i listen to my voice singing songs from an old playlist and i see myself
i feel the flesh covering my bones and i see myself

and i don't write it down

sick and tired
of eating until i'm sick
and pretending i'm not tired

today my wish at 11:11 was that the fire alarm would shut up
some freshman had pulled it, trying to get out of class
but it was making my sensory issues go crazy between the blaring sounds and flashing lights

and at 11:11 it stopped
"all clear, false alarm, all clear"

i beg my lungs not to let go
as they hold in the million scents that make up
you

i wish your smell was like muscle memory
always coming back to the tips of my fingers

like those songs i still know how to play on the violin

i wrote so much poetry for her
because she was always busy not loving me
and i had to fill the time loving her somehow

but see the problem is
now he and i are so busy loving each other
that i don't even know how to write him a poem
and valentine's day is tomorrow

writing poems in the notes app
on a cracked iphone 5 that doesn't have a sim card
well past the moons rise into the sky
thinking about leaving this
dry, cracking, miserable town because i'm done
aching for rain

there's too much of you and i here
and i'll never forgive myself
for folding all those paper lotus flowers for you on valentine's day
i now know the dangers of
putting so much of yourself into something so fragile

my teardrops
are hanging on strings
and you pull them
just right

i grow, but not like flowers toward a healing sun
i give up, but not like the kids in calculus
i love, but not enough for you to love me back

my teeth ache from clenching my jaw
my jaw aches from tensing my neck
my neck aches from sleeping on it wrong
my sleep aches from missing you
i miss you because you don't miss me
you don't miss me because i was never yours
i don't know why i was never yours

i wish my house had a basement
i wish this town had a lake

maybe my stories would be better if i could tell them right

i can't connect my thoughts these days.
i can't connect my own pieces together.
my heart is in my arms, holding you
my mind in some far off movie scene,
catching the rain on it's tongue
i gave my lungs away because i don't need them anymore
my blood evaporated on the surface of the moon

and your lips taste like **** and peppermint chapstick
mine taste like ultra violet monster energy and aluminum

but i don't love you, and it isn't poetic

my coat buttons rolled down the drain on 4th street
i watched them as they were carried away by wind and rain
the ring on my left hand got caught in between the couch cushions
i left it tangled up in the coffee-stained threads
records go on playing until silence fills the room
i don't even take the needle off

but i wish i were the buttons, the ring
i wish i could put the record away

i just want to want something

my teeth at your throat
jaw clenching
i taste your sweet cocktail
sweat and fantasy
love is there too

the blood in my mouth
it has always been yours

we try to stitch
each other up
with dull needles

and still gasp
in surprise
when we start to
bleed

humans
are so tangible

like paper
we burn
and rip
and if we get wet,
we get soaked

like paper
we come
in colours

but those colours
make paper more beautiful

humans
are built
to
self destruct

some just
hit the
button

there's someone
inside of me
that is good

but i wouldn't
know them
if they looked
me in the
eyes
and told me
i was
human

my skin is under my fingernails, now
a daisy caught in my throat
maple syrup dripping from my eyes
bloodshot heart from reading your texts past midnight

i'm not sure if you love me
even though you wrote the words all over my neck