Teach your demons how
To speak, and let them write your
Poems for themselves.

I poison my own wells
And wonder why
The neighbors are still sick,
Even after I've given them
Some water.

My last name-
Because it is tied to people
Much greater than me &
That I refuse to let any man
Try to take it away from me.

My grey eyes
That no one will
Ever convince me are blue.

The fact that I somehow
Managed to walk away
From you.

That it's my number
That'll forever be
his emergency contact;
Even though I missed
The most important emergency.

That I AM good at math,
God ******.

That I write poems
About someone who
Isn't even real but
I know that you're here,
Right now,
Telling yourself
That this is about you.

We met in our freshman year gym class. That sounds like the making of a romantic comedy, right? We both know that that's not how this will end.

I'm watching a single broken thread
Of a spider web
Bellow in the sunlight
Of my bedroom.
The spider keeps crawling
Up his broken thread but
Keeps hopelessly
falling back to the bottom.
I named the spider Charles,
Cause it sounds like
One of your many nicknames for me.

I'm trying to make Charles' web into
A metaphor for you.
Are you broken like the string,
Are you doomed like Charles,
A modern day Sisyphus?
I have an English degree.
I can make anything a metaphor.

I've known you for 11 years now; how many of them have you been dead for? I'm tired of you being dead. Can't you just make fun of my hair again? Remember how good we were at algebra?

I miss you not being dead. I drove you to your best friend's funeral. I hardly knew that kid. My only sustaining image of him is the memory of him breaking down a door, drunk, because he wanted to **** one of my friends.

But the truth is is that I sobbed harder than anyone at his ******* hopeless funeral.
You told me you were gonna go out like him.
And because I looked down
into that cheap (bargain deal) coffin,
Which never should have been
An open casket, and
Into your friend's half-lid
Blue tinged eyes,
And suddenly,
it wasn't him.
It was you,
My sweet, old friend.

I never thought it wise
To wear my heart on my sleeve.
So for me,
My heart will lie
Encased in ice,
Anchored to the bottom
of some unknown lake,
unmoved by even
the gentle waves,
where nothing will ever
again be at stake.
Just another
forgotten
unmarked
grave.

Gather all appropriate materials:
Pen or pencil
Or Popov
Or needle,
Or knife,
Whatever sin
Most suits you.

Make a list of every *****
Who has ever hurt you.

***** your finger directly
Onto the page, or
Write directly to the *****
Who last left you.

Dream aloud about the
Brown-eyed *******
That Boston subway
Who got off two stops before you
(Who we both know would
Never have actually slept with you.)

Never tell yourself that
You're not as dark as you think.
Stop smiling and take
Another drink.

Yearn for the ones
You have lost.

Teach your demons
How to speak
And let them write your
Poems for you.

I was raised on The Beatles and
The Rolling Stones and all the Oldies
serenading me through the speakers
on long trips to Gram’s house,
And on dixie cups half-full of beer t
hat I sneaked downstairs
During the late-night news
during your nightly rituals.
I was raised on stockpiling
the pillow mints you saved me
From your many hotel nights
when you’ve been gone on fires
For what felt to me to be
several years at a time.
I lived for your homecomings,
with the smell of deep smoke
Still clinging to your work clothes
when you finally came home to us.
I lived for even your shortcomings,
which always feel to me to be
imperceptibly small.
I was raised on fishing trips
by the lakeshore
where you would
Let me reel in your fish so
that I could always get all the credit.
I was raised on Star Wars
and Star Trek and all the
Friday night Sci-fi movies that we could finally
watch weekly after you retired.
I was raised on our solitary Quincy trips
Where I saw you take better care of your mother
Than anyone else could.
I was raised on the trips you took
That you probably would have never taken
To Arizona and SoCal and Philly
and to a cafe on the side of the road outside of Redding,
after my car crashed into twisted mounds of
metal after I was ran off the road,
the day you thought I might have died.
Because you always knew when I need you.
You still always know when I need you,
Because I always do.