you won't let yourself love me
but every so often your feelings
slip
through
the
cracks
and i catch them like fireflies
trap them in a glass jar
as reminders on the days
when things are bad.

the universe hates me because
it forces me to eat stale bread
and leftover feelings.

there's something scratchy in my throat. behind my tongue. between my lips. it's ever-present, ever-changing, ever-clawing to be set free. it sits solemnly as i wake, stretching its own claws as i wind up, holding out for the moment i realize that i am conscious. once again. for another day. holding out for the moment i'm smiling, thinking this will be a better day. then it howls. scratches up, up, up. itches my tongue. pounds against my teeth, slithers between my lips, hisses. **maybe not.

there are no words
in the dictionary
to explain the pain
i'm in it's
as if it's been
super glued
to my insides,
then tied in
a knot

i cannot convey
i cannot convey
i cannot convey
this pain

but please do not try to fix me;
my brokenness is all
i have left.

what is love
to someone without
a heart.

i don’t have something to remember you by.

i think these past few months
would have been easier if
i’d had a sweatshirt of yours
to curl up into, even after too many washes
had drowned your scent.

but i think you loved me
too much
to let me indulge myself
in your ghost.

i
never
meant
to
want
you
this
much.

i want to be like the bee
and sting you everytime you say
i feel nothing
i'll only get to sting you once, really
i'd die for you and it scares me
but what's more terrifying than living for nothing
and if i do -- die for you -- i'll know:
a little stinger
the remains of myself
will always be part of me,
will always be part of
you.

the people here are
static on the television
food with preservatives
plastic flowers.

on nights i cannot sleep
i blame it all on you
i let myself think back
to the very first day we met
and starting there, i fold
each day like the layers of an
accordian until i convince myself
that every note of yours
has affected every one of
mine,
and though yours will always be sweet
mine are now and forever off-key.

i am sick to death
of stepping on everyones toes
just to walk in a straight line.

when they say that they're
no good for you
b e l i e v e  t h e m.

words rack my body
like an exorcism
and i fear
if i do not get them out
i might cry

i'd rather swallow my demons
than let you see me
like that.

the summer we got together, we had nothing better to do.
in the autumn, the sun got low and so did i.
in the winter, you got cold and we froze.
in the spring, my inhibitions melted
and flooded the apartment
i took the trash out in my barefeet.

i came back inside with glass in my toes.
if you’re going to bleed, you said, bleed out the window.
i left ****** footprints all over the carpet.
you were so angry, you ****** on everything we had
i put it all in the washer, even our bodies.

when we were clean
you looked like a stranger
but i would still leave with you.

i've found it's impossible to
let go of someone
who's standing
across the room.

I love you so much
i'm so drunk
so drunk
but i love you so much
i love you so much

we haven't spoken in months but
just so you know, today
we're fighting
'cause when he tried to kiss me
in ohio
i wouldn't let him,
feeling guilty as my
heart
is with you
in california
beating on the floor
while you listen
to the sound
of hers.

i go to the hospital because thats what you're supposed to do. because everyone seems to change their minds about their ******* dads when they seem them lying helplessly in a bed for invalids. but i don't. i look at him and i don't feel a **** thing. until the machines shut off, he's alive. as long as he's alive, he's the man that grabbed my wrist so hard it still doesn't bend right. a terminal diagnosis doesn't change that.

all thats left keeping him alive is that life support and all the people in this room, people he's hurt, who are crying over him like he said a kind word to them in his life. *******.

when the doctor comes in and tells us its time, my sister starts wailing. i think its a stalling tactic. so i pull it out myself.

stop crying, its over.

i know i'm in deep
when thinking of you
feels like
thinking of me.

you could say the problem was
race; half white half japanese
you could say the problem was
passion; which never aligned
you could say the problem was
distance; a desert too vast to cross
but i say the problem was
love; because i loved you more
than i loved myself.

i swear to god i'm learning
how to gracefully release
those not meant for me.

but more often than not
my wishful thinking
gets the best of me --

why couldn't you
why couldn't you be meant
why couldn't you be meant for me?

he smelled like you
so i let him kiss me
thinking it would be
just like home

spoiler alert;
it wasn't.

*i miss you

i swear to god,
every bit of my body
is crying
besides my eyes.

there are hours before bed
i think i'll turn in now instead
i think i'll burn instead

i'll always wonder if
you forgot about it
forgot about me
or just didn't call

i'm not sure which
would be
worse.

remember when you loved me?
it's so strange to think
that you can't return me &
exchange me
for something better
to fill those three months
of your memory

no matter how long it's been
since you spoke to me
those 94 days will
always be filled
with us

i know i'm damaged goods
the blockbuster dvd
that came with a scratched disc
even if the case was pristine

my movie doesn't play
day after day
without you
my heart just sits
in this shell
of what i used to be

i remember the time
i was only damaged goods
fondly.

these days i am oh-so
empty
.

one day i’ll take you to the field
we won’t go together, i’ll take you there
because i’m not the type of girl to ever be “with” anyone

i’ll bring my boom box and wish it was from the 90’s
and i’ll find droopy flowers to play with
even though i know you think it’s stupid

you’ll pick through my cd collection
and i’ll pretend to be embarrassed when you find albums by the bands you hate
you’re supposed to think it’s endearing
you’ll pick country music
and i’ll pretend it’s a compromise
because i gave up awhile ago

in the dark i won’t see your ***** hair
and i won’t have to stare into your empty eyes
you’ll just **** me,
my back will grind into the grass,
and i’ll try to enjoy it
while you hold me close and wish i was Her.

i used to drink your *******
until i realized
i got the same effect
by chugging whiskey

i can't make our relationship sound
beautiful anymore.

i spit my love like seeds from a watermelon. my mother tried to teach me differently once, teach me that love was giving away the fleshy bits of yourself; my father tried to lead by example, baring the hairline cracks in his pride whenever she threatened to leave. i don’t take after either one of them (i never did.) i could never give myself away completely, like my mother. but i could never keep completely to myself, like my father. i tried — oh god, how i tried. but the dam of my ribs couldn’t hold back all that love forever, nor would it dare burst. my feelings leak out in spurts. so small, so fast, you could miss them if you blinked (and you wouldn’t be the first.) i used to collect them in a jar. now i just roll them in wads of paper & shoot them at your head.

you think i hate you.

i kissed her behind the couch so
she ****** the first guy she found
to try and fix it

didn't she know
i was drunk

there are horror films
where my heart
should be.

i told you congrats and good luck today
you said thanks
gave me a song title
and said thanks again
and that was that was that was that
was that?
was it what it should have been
when all i wanted to do
was ask how you were
and how you are
and how you will be
and listen to you talk
for hours
about everything and
nothing at all
like we you used to
but instead i'm stuck
with this ****** song
which is only ******
because it isn't mine
*just like you

i don't believe in being in love
i believe that there are people i love
and there are people you love
and there are a few people we love
but we will never love
each other
because that's
a fairytale --
-- and everything else in them
was false.

i kissed a boy
i had no feelings for
because his drugs
made me forget
about the boy who
took all my feelings
with him.

i don't want to meet you in a coffee shop several years from now, when i've undoubtedly put on weight and still lost half my hair to the e.d. when i starve for a week or bend over the toilet because i finally cracked i'm not thinking of  several years from now. i'm thinking about a year from now. i'm thinking about three months. two. one. next week, tomorrow, yesterday. i'm thinking about hopping on a plane, or a bus, or just ******* walking until i reach you. until i can show you, show you what you've done to me and show you the brilliance of it all. no, the insanity of it all. the way my skin stretches over my thighs like tiger stripes and the little ridges on my fingernails from not getting enough calcium. all for you. i want to show you what i've done for you, no, what you did to me -- is there a difference? i doubt it makes a difference when you've become the ******* voice in my head.

i just want to be beautiful enough for you. right now.

i write about wanting to
see you
talk to you
be with you

but in actuality
if i ever had the chance
i'd run in the opposite direction

because you'd be
all too
real.

two decades of purgatory
filled with temptation
that some wise guy suggested
the rest of my life be hinged upon.

sleeping next to a boy
without sleeping with him
is just
awkward.

women don’t die,
they vanish into thin air or
they melt
into a puddle on the linoleum.
plath didn’t die,
she dropped the deadweight —
see: her headless body on the kitchen floor
bloated & ready for consumption.

just because i know everyone leaves
doesn't mean it's stopped hurting
when they do
every time.

i loved your big, strong arms
but your beating heart is gone
your beating heart
is gone.

this is the world
and i'm supposed to exist in it
today
and i am not prepared
at all.

does she love me
or not?*
i don't know
i'm not your
******* flower
i have no petals left
for you to pick.

lost my **** last night. keys, wallet, id. i have a theory that this is the universe in which i take every wrong turn. i walked down high street until i hit a dead end and kept walking. with all this midwest in my mouth i’m lucky i made it this far, but i don’t feel lucky. my friends keep bragging about how dumb they were to end up here. they almost make me miss hating myself for not breaking 2000 on the sat. really, i miss addy. i went back to the white boy, but it isn’t the same. i left that version of myself in michigan. leaving myself was the first wrong turn, but when i tried to make a u-ey i spun out and ended up here.

i want to be everything all at once forever
— casually, like: **** dude, they said you could be president, too? i’ll rock paper scissors you for it
i **** at rock paper scissors, but i **** more at sticking with things that only make me ½, ⅓, ¼ happy
not to mention things i’m bad at but do you even know how good i am at a subject you don’t teach?
columbia, harvard, princeton, yale, brown, dartmouth, upenn, and cornell do
they just don’t know they do, so shhh. i wrote someone else’s name on those essays
i don’t care who knows mine, i’m just trying to keep it out of the obituaries
just one more year ‘till i’m too old to die young
— but who’s counting?
not me, not me, not me.

fragile [promises]
[are] the ones [made]
[too early.]

I was infatuated with you in another life
and by “another life” I mean
last week.

There wasn’t much between us, but
you are the only one who’s ever made me wet
without touching me.
So, it was good to see you
and it is good to see you
and it will probably always be good to see you
the way it’s always good to see the sun.

Sunlight brings my freckles out,
but it makes your entire body glow
until you’re the brightest thing in the room,
the center of the universe for the day.

But I’m a Cancer, baby.
Like the moon,
I revolve around the earth,
not the sun.
Not you.

So why can’t I look at you
without feeling like I missed out on something?

sometimes i feel like i spend
too much time creating
beautiful things
to be beautiful
myself
even if i'm
wasting away
in front of the computer --
-- as my mother likes to say
i'll never be wasted enough
to be considered
a tragic beauty
and the regular kind
is lost on me.

i care about you more than i should. there's no rational reason for me to; it's been long enough, with few enough words between us and small enough talk. we've dissolved into strangers, but to me you'll never be estranged; i think about you everyday, even when you should be the farthest thing from my mind. when i'm putting on my uniform for a school you never attended. when i'm driving down a road that you couldn't even name with a map. when i'm dissecting a cat, for christ's sake, committing an act so clinical it could be performed by a robot. i shouldn't feel anything, especially not for you. but i do. i still do.

it doesn't consume me the way it once did, thinking about you. you don't consume me the way you once did. i don't ache at the thought of you.

but still. there you are. you've made yourself comfortable in the back of my mind and something tells me you've no plans to leave.

and something tells me i'm okay with that.