we both admit to still having our pictures on our phones
the one where you shredded yourself into pieces,
and tossed them into the air,
telling me to catch you
but I lay on the ground--
waiting for you to reach me

Birthday cards, I keep stacked that I’ve made
copies near the entrances to my window—
the virtue of having a friend
bitterest of ways, I am daffodils, saltwater.
mason jars of onions, old peanut butter we save
singing together, little notes of you
pieces, bit by bit— scatter into summer

Do you still play vinyls
rolled up Japanese jeans
you smelled of crushed hibiscus
roads after a thunder, pine needles burst
with the sky-blue beetle
zooming, trampling with blank ink
with white polka-dots,
how to hide a lesbian body with the carpet
rolled up tossed into the closet
it was the day you taught me how to samba
it was a windy day cracking open the side windows
a tiny bit, just enough to lick your fingers
how you breathe with waiting, how you wait until have to breathe
It was storming outside, it was the first time I had horchata.
and the sunlight broke drying the ground,
how you appear - gently, into someone's heart

I am, will always be, behind your back
That, I will, in the worst time of your life,
Try to be the best part of it, that, you are, to me,
The best thing about here, that, no matter,
How hard, trying, how much it is
I will, spot you, walking across the street.
Running towards, my life like a shelter,
That you are, dumb as ****, with me, at this bar,
At Starbucks with playing cards, at parks, through heavy winters,
Without money, for gas, together above, my house, on the roof,
throwing firecrackers on the driveway, in the neighborhood,
stealing golf ***** from country clubs
you are, a buzz, dank with life, tall as you could be
that so many things have died in my life—
I am happy you haven’t. I am happy—
you are here.

Someone always left the canoe sled up on the suburban hill
where my parents lived in Lancaster
when my father was still alive
the hot button of bronze rusted park bench water fountains
mustard grime on fujianeze chemical roads,
factory capes bustling out diet coke smoke plumes
over ornate Qing green shrines, the sky congested
congregates in the priest’s hands
passing out grilled flatbread stained with silver coins
on the shivering blades of velvet grass up top to khaki canals
behind the town where empty six-pack rings swim down
to where the homeless sleep
and feed the water with blistered feet—
but underneath a vale of Caspian light
lanterns red as congealed hearts
the smell of fireworks overtakes gas
and for one night it is the country
my parents remember

In the summer,
we run around the house
open all the windows
have the wind sing through our rooms—
that you are a wind chime—
and —
when I pass through you
it is my favorite song

you have amnesia
except the painful parts
where I’m a house hiding dynamite
you don’t want me to open up
that,
not an elevator or staircase, your mother’s hands,
your father lies—
I won’t let you down

“the hardest thing is to come back—” he says

no,
the hardest thing is to stay.

My grandpa who eats steamed sweet potatoes on foothills textured in green rice patties
dreamt up a tall brick house with a black iron gate
barbwires sprung around the tips of the entrance to keep out thieves
right now he wonders how long he can keep fibbing to my mother—
their rotten hut at the end of the massive foothill, not fleeting
monsoons come early, swells the ground till it gave
a landslide takes four people and a child

that day, red stars hung above Tiananmen square gates
grounded bones came in sacks, white cement hauled by green skin trucks

My grandpa who loves sweet potatoes constructs an ivory wall.

after the revolution, the sun peeks out in montages
peering through the smoke
gunpowder stuck to the tank tire roads
black heads roll off yellow tar dirt into a pit
My grandpa gives his best friend one thousand yuan—
visas for my mother and grandma,
His best friend disappears,

writes my grandpa
an apology and, leaves him a large white sack of uncooked sweet potatoes

light tan, severs in half and plops down on the lumpy cutting board,
dusty orange inners, grandpa tosses them in the boiling water
and later, while gnawing down,
he pretends they are oranges for once

Grandpa, who’s kneeling on our dried front yard with a worn out copper pail
waters the salty earth slowly until it sprouts sugar canes
chops one down, breaks it in half, the sun beats
peering through palm leaves
a viridescent river of silk and pale honey
my small three year arms grab a hand full
sliced by grandpa into pieces neatly placed
in a blue flowered ceramic bowl
years later, I chop a stalk down and chew until
English becomes a second language again
and in my twenties, I grab a hand full
sliced my mom into pieces, places them in a weaved basket
made of reinforced bamboo
I put it in front of my grandpa’s grave
in Fujian on the foggy mountainside of a small retirement town.
The edge of the South China coast covered in a thick plastic smog,
I sit on a stone eating sweet cold potatoes with my grandpa facing outland,
a red kneeing sun, barely visible past the trees

It’s morning

The light hurts your eyes:

Yesterday is hurting you: You were moving in.

This is how they welcome you to the neighborhood,

The toothpaste is making everything bitter—

he’s dreaming of rivers

you’re awake staring at the ceiling

at clumps of runaway white paint—

on a pillow that smells like your sister

At the beach

The sand is bleeding—

the water rinses away the stains,

You’re making circles out of sugar

She’s laying on her stomach—

The sun pouring maraschino cherries on back

That exact moment, right before it
You can hear cereal being eaten slowly
And the bones of thin skinned people
Rubbing against each other squeaking
You hear keys crunching into a new house
And you’ll realize the secret happiness of
The other side of the pillow
The secret happiness of kissing in movie theaters
Or the secret sadness of crying when no one’s around
That exact moment, right before it.
Before you throw the ashes into the river
Stuttering like the words before the last words
Trying to make sense the gibberish before the first words
The caterpillars before the love

I was sitting outside on the curb in front the venue
With Spaghetti string lights that curved into shape
Spelling out Baby’s Alright
Spilling out green and blue, green and blue all over the pavement
And thought if Care-Bears could ***** it would be like this
The band was finished and they were packing up slowly
Reluctant to leave
Maybe because they had a four hour drive ahead of them to Philly
I was smoking like I do after big crowds
The sun was setting here and rising at another place
And I was thinking about what to do for the rest of the night
Because I didn’t want to be alone but I didn’t want to be in a crowd
Everyone was talking about drinking and if not drinking, smoking
And if smoking then eating and all roads leads to Rome
So if they wanted to **** they might as well have just said it—
But I guess they wanted to be nice first
It was cool outside and the wind was kind to let me smoke in peace
I kept staring at the schizophrenic buildings changing voices one after another
Which is to say I just eavesdropping on the windows again
And I always have this strange habit of thinking that the people in those buildings are free
Or willing to spend sometime with me and talk about whatever
Like they had sometime to waste and I would have taken it

Maybe because you look cute in
A purple bra
Maybe because it’s just the image of you
In a bra
Maybe because you have *****
And I can’t distinguish Love from ***
Tonight
But tomorrow I’ll hate you
I might hate your hair changing so much or I might hate
What you text late at night or I might hate how often
You talk about yourself
Which are terrible things to hate but I just might because
It’s you.
The truth is it’s late, all the windows
Are closed, I ran out of ideas, 2 hours from now everyone
Will wake up and
I want to call you

I’ve been squeezing moose all over my body in an attempt
To give it more volume
Which is to say I was trying to give my life more depth

When you’re finished reading astronomy you’ll end up
Throwing oranges at pedestrians because **** it, Earth is
Meaningless and everyone needs to cheer up

**** it because being content is the hardest
Thing you can possibly do
Which is to say throwing oranges at people is the hardest
Thing to do without getting your *** kicked

**** it because when an orange concentrates hard enough it becomes juice
And if I concentrate hard enough I **** myself
Which is to say I need to have a seat and calm down—
Enjoy this cigarette while it lasts

I am no longer able to print Handle-With-Care labeling
And tape it to my body like someone who actually believes that works
While the sun laughs and harasses me with oranges all day
**** it, there’s too much moose and I’m wearing a white shirt.

I found myself peeling the skin off post it notes
I was lost
You okay they said, like a statement than a question
People get annoyed like I’m adding oil into their drink water
When I sprout about my sadness
Relax, I’m not asking you to hold an anchor
I’m asking you to listen
Happiness is a bridge on fire with no one on it
Sadness is a metal detector through the streets
Depression is when the roof tops, knifes, and middles of bridges
Start being friendly

I’m stealing thumbtacks off walls
And putting the in people’s
Pizzas to teach them
How to swallow sadness

The problem is I like to pretend,
Which is to say I like to fall in love
We would date for a while
And then I would realize
I’m only in love with the story we made and the ***
Which is to say I was looking for poetic material

Like, Teenage poetry is awkward
And Young poetry is selfish
Middle-age poetry is about my ex-wife
Old poetry is boring
Dead or Near-Dead poetry is what we remember
And all poetry is filled with cigarettes stains and mistakes

Life is short. He says
I hand him a cheese grader
And said back
“Make like a slice of parmesan
and go **** yourself”

Life is long for the people who wait

I was on the bridge with the sun high above
Taunting me and pinching the back of my neck
Do It, You *****!
Around me were families
So I decide not to,
And never again;

I’m running out of pages to keep myself calm
I’m running out of time
And I’ve only answered so many questions
I am no longer authorized to print
Handle-with-care packaging
And I am running out of blue crayons to color in the oceans
As fast as it takes to finish this Carpi Sun
I’m running out of words to make you forgive me
And running out of Uhms in between sentence
To buy some time—
Maybe, I’m losing my ability
of a first grader gazing among tall buildings

She would sprint to her house and tell her about the windy weather
And the two of them would bike to Lake Erie—
watching the trees undress themselves in the water
using their feet to flirt with the waves
they felt so restless in the process that they hijacked golf carts from the course nearby
and cruised around the neighborhoods
Millennium Falconing it through suburban Michigan,
spray painting quotes from Ginsberg, Milk and Lucas on the rich white walls
dubbing it “The Battle of Detroit ”—
and eventually they would afternoon on the asphalt, cul-de-sac, kissing.
Making the sky blush purple—

their mouths full of Jolly Ranchers,
and necks full of bug bites,
some from each other

Watching the childish sun being tucked into the night slowly,
While shining one last time through The Ruins of Detroit

I thought you bought me for a sandwich or something
I thought I was going to become butter toast to you—
Now you’re pouring paint into my ears while I sleep?
Stop,
the dreams are nice but I always wake up with a headache
And what are these you tuck inside my dough,
Indigo? Great—

You go to the coast and have the ocean tempt you with freedom
While painting me black from the inside out—
Good job, You’ve managed to convince everyone I’m a rock
I give up
Pour all the colors you can inside me, I suppose
Paint me scarlet red,
stick a few pieces of fresh green grass on top
And Start telling your friends I’m a tomato
Then feed me to seagulls when you’re done,
they’ll **** me out somewhere over Nantucket
And some tourist there with an obnoxiously large camera will shout out
Wow!, what a colorful lighthouse!

She was dancing absurdly on a bread-shaped roof top
She checked the direction of the wind with her dress
She took photographs with her thumb and index
You could find her planner on her palms:
Do laundry, Write Essay
She made February 31st a thing because
It was unfair for people to be forgotten
She would say her eyes were falafel brown
When everyone would describe them as muddy
She said once, the ability to see is the ability to catch the sun

There would be Garage rock playing in the back ground—
Yeah, that would be her theme song
And the smell of Brooklyn would follow her
That one time; or first time
When I walked along the Brooklyn Bridge Park
And there was fog; that time
She was standing underneath dim lights with a strange
San Francisco flavor
Tossing notes in to a notebook and tossing that into her music
And tossing that towards everyone else
On her back she had a tattoo: If lost, please return to;
Which I guess was her way of losing that smell;

He would run to his house, emergency or not
And they would go to Lake Erie to bathe in April,
They would watch the seasons go by in the water,
hijack golf carts from the course nearby
And cruise around the neighborhoods
Millennium falconing it through suburban
Michigan, dubbing it The Night We Took Down
The Empire
And eventually they would tucker out and
Afternoon on the asphalt, cul-de-sac, kissing
Waiting for the Detroit to catch up to the sun
They dreamed of places to go
And he would often say Where?
And his response would often be
Anywhere;

Will you stop pouring paint into my ears while I’m asleep
The dreams are nice but I have to address the pigeons
perched on the window in the morning
what are these you tuck inside ice cream sandwiches
They taste like Indio during spring
Let’s go to the coast and have the ocean temp us with freedom
Like it used to
Remind me of the clouds, untouchable to everyone except fireworks
And the children who light them, even if it’s only for a second
I suppose I can’t stop you from painting inside me
Just be careful of the water lilies you left
Pour all the colors inside me, I supposes
Feed me to seagulls, they’ll **** me out somewhere over Nantucket
And some tourist will say
*wow!, that lighthouse is so colorful

Gnarl your toes,
Know that you can’t catch everything
That comes flying through the rye
We are rosebuds trying to
Find the right window.
The right person to pluck us apart bit by bit
Trying to make up their minds
Yes’s or No’s
Gnarl your toes
Because either way, you will face
Him, Bruce Wayne
And cast your conscience in to the dark
but somehow you’ll come out of it
Harry Pottering your way through the darkness
finding her in front of you
And you’ll show her all the reasons
To the hate the sun
You’ll pour galaxies in cups
Trying to measure what this feeling is
You’ll take her words like nebulas
meek and hazy swimming inside your
ears
Show her where the stars sleeps
Where they go when you die
tell her the stories that your
parents told you at night
you will love her until the snow falls
upward
and when she’s gone the streets will no
longer be slippery
So gnarl your toes like you use to do
For there’s plenty of things to be scared of
Plenty of things to be angry about
Plenty of things to corrupt you
To change your mind, to make you Darth Vader
Down the path you did not want
and if you do, know that it is fine
because you will grow like the universe before you
and in that process you will find
poetry etched in between chopsticks, lips, fingertips, maps of big cities
and small towns. first loves and second dates .
you will find them on the places you hate—
On your parents graves.
know that they were the ones that left them for you

I will call you
And tell you
I love you
Not after when the train comes
Or after when the streets lights turn red
But after I’m done
Finding pennies in
Precarious places
I will call you
With my lips chipping
Like sugar on a glazed donut
My forehead a red neon sign
Flashing Day Dreams

I will call you
When the earth binges on ice cream
She’s trying to form new oceans again,
Trying to get back what the sun took
From her
I will come, harnessing the speed of light
With sun rays for arms;
Lightning in my heart
And oak trees sprouting from my head
And you’ll know
That I was trying my best to find
You in places that existed
When we were younger but no longer
Now that we aren’t

I will hand you all the pennies
I find and though there’s not many,
There’s enough
Because theses—
Are for the wishers
The people who stare at the distant suns
And get nothing back but a wink
For the pessimists who keep trying
To see the glass sideways
And for the earth that keeps fighting
For the right days
Give them two
And tell them all to wait for me
By the nearest pay phone—

Maybe this is our generation
The batten down the hatches
Singing songs of the east coast kid
With west coast dreams generation
While the A.C. is singing songs for
The ocean sea
And ocean breeze
I could feel
My skin remembering
The blue sounds
And blue piers
Blue hands
I’m blue behind the ears
I remember how much my heart
tendered her
And I wondered
How high that bonfire burned—

On the beach,
she told me the truth
about her arms
That this one was for her ma
And that one was for her pa
And that one was for her brother
Fighting overseas

“What about that one”

“Well, that one’s for you
And for me
For proof that I was here,
That I was alive before all of this”

I talked about it once
The place where in the distance
Everything looks like
Dots of light
And where our skin would
fold and unfold
like pages from
A book about god
Not bible—
Because in the creases at night
I could see him dangle on the edge
Of your eye lash—
and he’s begging you
not to blink;
and when you go—
overnight
shifting to the other
side of the sea
asking the moon how to get home—
I’ll come to you—
I’ll tell you how these pages
In your skin are only temporary
And that the crashing coast is only a mile away—
So don’t listen him. Leave him out
Let him dangle like he’s done to us
And when you stop trembling,
When your chest closes
When your heart starts beating enough
To make an ocean
When you’re ready
when he’s holding on by a thread—
blink

Leave it by the gate
Behind the red flowers;
And In the library
Near the encyclopedias labeled,
Firsts
Leave it on your way to her
Leave it on the 5th field during gym
When they’re beating you senseless
And you have no choice
Leave it near the white ivory doors of
his offices
Leave it near the sun
Have it bake in the light
Grind its face in the asphalt
Have it taste your two thousand tons
of spit as you speak
Let them know—

Throw it at the lake let it dance off into the distance
Let it spin itself to pieces
Leave it in the creases of her lips
her Fingertips—
Chinatown misfits
Graffiti your name on every single  
Williamsburg, post no bill, post no hate
Post some self esteem
Let them know who you are
Have them find you in the fine print
Whispering sweet hymns in her ear
Have them chase you down the icy slopes
Towards the crashing coast
Leave it with them
Let it wash away in the swirling vortex
Of her, dancing till the sun sleeps,
Have it lie in the wake of your dust
Let it fall
and fall
and fall—
Let it tremble off in your voice
Watch it snow away with every move
Leave it in the pages
Close it in your book,
Let your tongue crash
Inside the hall of your mouth—
Let them know.

Tell me about the dream;
where you found yourself surrounded in a sandy vacancy
and the sweat on your face glistened like wishes in a American fountain;
Tell me about the dream;
Where you saw the remains of the house your mother grew up in
And how you were amazed by the black shade that skeletons could take;
Tell me about the dream;
Not the dream you had when you slept all night wanting to go back
inside to your mother’s womb; the dream about the inconsistency of light in your apartment;
Tell me about the dream;
When you were five in Philadelphia, it was snowing like bed sheets like falling stars like—
I can’t remember; is it amnesia— no I just can’t remember;
Tell me about the dream;
Where rain kamikazes across your windows; shattering themselves into millions,  for the sun to take back
Tell me about the dream;
*The inconsistencies of light; how a bulb dying is similar to us; the way
Its flashes in front of itself just before it goes dark;

Our bodies are untouched hallways and finger painting has never been more fun
I was there once and I left believing that swirls were the only good
way of trying to get my point across
But things aren't so subtle when it comes to understanding the physics of how to dance
I move like scattered leaves trying to collect myself against the wind
You can imagine how I am at galleries with a living room full of broken paintings
I accidentally bought.
But I don’t regret it and I think that’s the best way to live.
A mouth full of teeth collisions
A lot of people compare love to an instant but I think it’s more like discovering the warm ghost
of the person still lingering on surfaces in your home like metal bars, the ps3 controller, and the toilet seat
finding the body wash disappearing quicker than usual
Inhale not for the enjoyment of it but the possibility of finding a soul somewhere in all that smoke.
We wear all this black. I bet if I jumped into you there would be another dimension on the other side
Where the people wear nothing but white and all they speak is truth
and I’ll end up asking them what’s the point of everything
and they’ll say nothing, all they’ll do is place their finger on my chest and start swirling

Here to a lifetime of laughs
A lifetime of wondering
why you’re still here
your past is full of cobwebs
and there nothing I could say
to make the spiders go away
there’s a future, where you never finish
your books, watch only the first
half of movies because you’re afraid
of endings
you’re underneath a waterfall made from
tears you’ve collected over the years
and your body cups it
holds it in-between the spine
and heart, where they’ll never find it

One day, after a year
you were walking on a path coated
with fallen leaves
along the sides magnolias grew
endlessly
there was a bench that you sat on
holding tattoos from people
that didn’t know how to express
the way they felt
so they whispered it in to the wood with pens
or anything sharp
and this guaranteed them a way back
you sat there reading them
running your fingers across the markings
back and forth slowly like hieroglyphics

One day, after your first year of college
you found him tucked behind
the corner of the library
reading encyclopedias about the modern world
and you asked him
“Why are you reading that?”
and he said
“Because I want to know if the ending’s good or not.”

We shouted the things we wanted
The most on unguarded roof tops
Thought up things like new colors
New feelings
we lived like messy hand writing
like abstractions
our souls mosaic
we took things that electrified
our senses
we felt love more intensely
felt it like a ******
felt it like a magnificent burden
it wasn’t a lump in our throats
but a swollen yearning for the truth
like an inflamed tonsil
a piece of someone on our tongue
left from a kiss that we can’t seem to
spit out
a vibration in our teeth
telling us that this
this here is what it felt
to hold fire in your hand
and not regret it
never regret it
we burned with this for days
stayed up all night
drank coffee by the galleons
punched ourselves numb
coated our skins in alcohol
and linens
peeled off scabs from our lips
left there by words we never said
blank objectives
cleared our schedules
cleared our wasted minds intoxicate from pine
wine, girls with confidences and odd mirrors
of *******
we wanted winter to kiss us
leave us frozen but not that she already had
we wanted to remember like an old photograph
like a worn out stretch book
a L shaped couch left behind burned
like we did
there are tons of things we needed
but what we wanted was a good ******* a really
good *******
Something to keep away the suspense
The terror, the anxiety
the failure
we are tired of saying anything
cursing is our second language.
sarcasm is our first
and a blank page is our third
We’re speechless
We’re exhausted
We’re afraid
We’re old
We’re young
We’re tired
We’re loose
We’re *****
We’re yearning
For it
Whatever it is.

And then I noticed that all I wanted to do
Was decorate your skin with my lips
while you rambled on about Baroque Art
I came here to focus
To collect all the piece of myself that scattered around
the world
from the time I had the biggest piece of me yet
to be yanked out
I didn’t want this
I forced myself to not want it
But that became impossible when I found so many
Pieces of myself inside you
It was like sailing all the oceans with only
The stars as navigation
It wasn’t hard but rather tricky to understand
Understand all your layers of black
And intricately woven sweaters
I imagined you plastering yourself
On the floor of your one room apartment
While the moonlight poured on your skin
And I could see every speck and pore
And everything would be so defined
You’re not a mystery but instead a character
That carried the plot of a beautiful story on your lips
While mine had nothing to do with the after thoughts
Of *** or kissing or walks along a dramatic skyline
But a poem about how much I want your story to
Mix with my
This is it

The best places are hidden
like stones in central park
secret roof top not
accessible except
for the morning staff
overnight, the sheer weight
of moonlight
paralleling through a Brooklyn
window pours on
to a frozen floor of
patterned tiles
where touches are like
turning on a lamp
dimly at first. Flickers
a bit then
bright as Chicago (1871)

I haven’t started to pack anything yet
trying to find a way to bring
you with me first
only to discover
that airplanes can only carry so
much baggage
so set it down
plot it in the Himalayas
where it belongs
it’s not about letting go
it’s to make sure a part of you stays
when you do
they will always tape that yellow line
in front of you at museums
and at train stations
the difference is whether or not
You're brave

We spent so much time drawing on sidewalks
with chalk
leaving messages for old friends
threats for enemies
and instructions for our future selves
how many years did it take us to reach the end of the pavements
spilling cheese puffs all over the place
the clues were on your fingers
once in a generation there are kids who always speed when
they turn 16; reckless loose and free like an avalanche
towards the sea I made a bet with you that I could swim to the horizon
but I can’t swim
I’m a body full of empty threats
but I always kept my promises close to me
did it take long for you to forget
so many nights abroad with them
once in a lifetime for everyone
the world swallows the sea
so I didn’t need to know how to swim that night
there was you and you would always wear sundresses when you went out
and when you died they donated all your clothes to the children's hospital
sometimes when I go there I still see you running around outside
drawing on sidewalks

I want to be able to tell you something
Not sure what I want to say
All I know is that I want to say
Something to you
Something that won’t leave you
Something that leaves an impression
Something from the deepest part of me
Something that makes up for
All the other times I couldn’t
Something to make you stay

Black clothed kissing
in the subway
she smelled like 6 months of
soul searching
digging through herself
with **** and coffee
he grew a bit, not physically
but something inside him
wasn't there before
they held each other
the same way you held
a sinking ship
Carefully at first,
and then completely
as tight as possible

I want to be able to kiss you
And now feel like the sun
Is dying inside of me
Want to wake up to the sight
Of you and not remember
How long we have left
Want to hold you for as long
As possible
Until I can feel the thunderstorms
In-between us
The sheer weight of an anchor
On my stomach
When my heart drops another meter
Filled with stones that you’ve carved
Words like two years or six months
On to them
6 shots of ***** will make me throw
Up
I hope 10 shots will lighten the weight

I feel like trash being ready
to be picked by whoever has
the worst taste
finding out later
that they only needed the bag.
emptying my contents on to the grass
half broken and dismembered
pieces of glass left behind from the time
I broke my mirror
unfinished 40 ounces from winter break.
the first time I ever got drunk and threw up.
It felt good.
Half a dozen 8ths
I smoked for a whole month
after she left me and my parents
kept lecturing me about
how much I ****** at
being alive

Drunk- half passed out
On the sofa, the cat
itching for a fight
again.
Tea infused *****
A regrettable drinking
game
a full shopping bag
destroyed in a night
stomachs full
scorched eyes from too
much crying
we’re high again on
the steps of a few
apartments
went back in
she was crying, threw up
twice. Once of the bed.
Again in the toilet
he was nice about it thought

She’s a desert and
you’re just another drop
of water for her to
soak up
you’ll feel fury and pain
a Hiroshima heartbeat
decimating the skyline
she carved on your back
you won’t feel anything
but he empty touch of
an ice cube
her fingertips criss-cross
your torso like a kite
Stamps her lips on
yours and sends you
Away; express mail
no return address
In to the palm of her
hand

Everyone wants something worth fighting for.
Something to wake up to
Something to justify all the pain
To make sense of why we keep doing the things we do
And you can tell me all you want about love
About the craters he leaves in your teeth from kissing
And the amount of flowers she plants in the places
Where you thought only cigarettes belonged
It’s beautiful to think that we live for that kind of stuff
The stuff that makes us wish days were longer
Breaths were shorter
And nights were infinite

Fireworks are a lot like promises
But I like the ones during New Years
Rather than the fourth
They have more meaning
Like:
Bang! : I promise to treat my parents better
Bang! : I promise to spend more time with the kids
Bang! : I promise to cherish her more often
Bang! : I promise to never look back

And then there are fireworks that
Can be heard more than once
The ones that shatter the sky and
Echo throughout the whole neighborhood
The ones that are lit to make a statement
Like:
I wish you were here right now.

I really miss those nights
listening to songs we would
have hated 3 years ago;
talking about
5 years from now
when we were at the beach
sitting on the benches at the pier
when the sun had already
died
we didn't know how
easy we had it
of course, we didn't experience
everything
we didn't fall in love
like everyone else
I didn't think we we're
ready
I don't think we're ready
now-
but we want it now,
more than ever
it's because we finally figured out
what they never told us
or tried to tell us:
that out there is everything you've
ever wanted and everything you don't;
every where you want to be and
every place you're trying to run away from;
everything that you hate
and everything that you love
all together, thrown at you
at the speed of a waterfall
and you taste it splashing in your mouth-
it needs a little more of what we didn't have

I remember how amazing it was to get high with you that night
in her car, everyone looked alike back then Black leggings with tight Black shirts
Black hair and Black shoes
everyone wanted to be mysterious and wanted by the sun
I wanted you furiously but I was running out of time
running out of excuses to give myself
tired of running in general
so I stood still while I sat in her car next to you
back in the passenger seat
nervous as a stone on the edge of everything
all I could think about was how many kisses
would it take to fill up the space where our
lips touch like two galaxies
your hair a magnificent avalanche of night
my eyes digging through the whispers tattooed
on your hair strands dyed in yellow shading me
from your eyes
I sat there
and imagined an infinite number of scenarios
where we ended up having ***;
passing out and waking up the next
morning decorated in tiny red bruises
but no
you were something I felt for a moment
high sitting in the back seat of her car
while you debated about Lana Del Rey

I don’t know what I’m doing
I have no clue where I’m going
Parts of me are scattered in people
Who no longer think I care
Days melt into month and
I’m being devoured by a girl
That has eaten more men than
Cigarettes
My hands are sticky; been going
Through my parents old photo album
Divorce is hard when you’re 18
You chose who you go with
And I’m terrible at decision but
I wish I could say I didn't have to pick
My mom
Honestly, I would chose either of them

And you wanted to drop in to the sea
We’re not rain drops
No matter how much
We want to reflect the impressions
of clouds burned into the afternoon
and you wanted to spend evenings on a roof
around us the cache of our future
embodied in skyscrapers
found near parks where everyone lives
and you wanted me to metalize my organs
store them somewhere cold where only
you can retrieve them;
A safety deposit box filled with things
To make you feel better  
and you wanted us like a locket
sealed by the feelings from the last guy
you wanted.

When I was eleven I came home
with a piece of paper
back then I knew
how much those five letters  
would determine how much
you were worth
and as a kid, I felt pretty
worthless
there was a time I remember
before the paper
where all I would do
was draw

Mountains fascinated me
and that’s what I drew
all the time, mountains
I drew them with snow caps-
Without snow caps
I drew trees at the foot of them
Plaster a setting sun in the distance
Made them look like teeth
And a road came from them
Leading nowhere but to you

I was eleven
When I tasted the value
Of myself
Slapped across my cheek
Like a tattoo
And the first word
To be printed on me
For everyone to see;
Failure

And they all knew that
Was true
I could never turn my mountains
Into Everests
My trees into the Amazon Basin
Or my lakes into the Atlantic
And I ran through the world;
A blank piece of paper,
All of a sudden everybody had
A reason to use a sharpie

I’ll never be able
To make my mountains
Into Himalayas

And I can never stop them from
Using their Sharpies,
After a while your skin color
Doesn’t matter anymore
What they see on you is a story
And they can tell me what they think
But they’ve never seen my back
The things that I’ve carved on to the
surface of my spine
She feels them sometimes when we
have ***
trying to figure out where the period
ends.

You’re the song that
The sky can’t stop
Singing after the sun
Broke its promise to
The afternoon and left
Inside my head is the
Sound that the rain makes
After a big storm, leaving
Stains on my shirt
Rusting the brakes so you
Couldn’t leave
The sound of subtle bells
I tore it open once
Just to see if I could find you
Somewhere in the storm of myself
I searched for a while and my feelings
Came pouring out like a waterfall
Rivers began to form and you followed
Them to the ocean of my vulnerabilities
Stripped yourself naked and swam through
Me, riding my skin like tidal waves.

I going to run my lips
through you like acid rain
Every drop of me
is going to leave a mark

My eyes are heavy
from to many nights
thinking about an
hour glass.
the ticking sound
coming from a Disney clock
I threw away when I was 11
If I knew back then how being
an adult would break
everything in your body
I would have stayed after school
a little bit longer and probably
should have kissed her while
I had the chance.