It finally occurred to me
that some spaces
have the ability
to be mean
- brutal, even.
Like the spaces
resting
between our lips.
Like the spaces
occupied
by oceans
and countries
and pure **** air
that limit us
from fitting
our hands
together.

Just say that you love me '
if you do.
And tell me
if you don't.
Because
all these
running in circles
are breaking me
in cycles.

See
that
The poet
Within me
Breathes
At the exact
Same rhythm
As you

Single-
That’s not her.
She’s in a constant,
Long-term relationship
With
Sadness
Itself.
It shows-
By the way she looks
And the way she adores
Books and nooks.

I realized that
the loneliest hearts
are not found
within abandoned
rooms or between
furrowed sheets.
They’re not in bars
where bitter gulps
can wash away the
saltiest tears.
They’re nowhere near
the darkest hallway
or the blurriest
of all the paths.
But the loneliest hearts
are found
squeezed underneath
the loudest laughs.