step one she

pulls at your puppet strings

wraps your heart valves around

her fingertips. you fall for it every time.

step two she

breaks your heart like a glass

of milk getting tipped from the counter

top, messy and sharp. she does not cry

over spilled milk.

step three i

do cry over spilled milk, cut my hands

on the shards while trying to pick them up

and piece them together again. things that get

broken like that aren’t easily fixed. i’m not here

to fix you.

i am here to love you

and to cry over spilled milk.

it’s always odd being the off-color, the too-shaded one.
what exactly are we, anyway? not what we once were,
not what we shall be. there’s something odd about being
the in-between. silence is the only thing that can truly
stretch for an eternity, even if it is just within seconds.
their lifetimes are mere moments, and we continue to keep
our quiet. there are many things that they cannot understand.
there are many things that we only understand because
we were given them. a stream bubbles and runs through
the back of our brain, soothing. the cavern of our skull is
a safe haven of calm from the calamity of the mortal world.
leaves rustle and music plays. this universe will not last
for much longer, anyway. the stars are all falling into shade.
it’s okay. we will remain.

lemonade mouth taste, sugarless lemonade
thought we were past this phase but i guess
i was wrong again this time. my heartbeat is
breaking my rib cage, diaphragm disappearing
leaving me breathless and bleeding. you smiled
again today so i started digging my own grave:
six feet deep, shovel clanging like your laughter,
making me torn between slowing down and
working faster, eager to hear it over and over
but hesitant to let it be over. it’s a bittersweet
symphony, and you’ve reduced me back down
to cliches again. i wish that i knew how to just
be your friend, neptune and jupiter and nothing
more, but your eyes are just so warm. how can
we not be venus and the sun? i’m spinning,
reeling backwards with you at my center,
the planet of the goddess of love-- i’m mercury,
one day with you feels like two years (would
two years with you feel like one day? probably)
and my mood swings so drastically around you
because i’m too close to have any kind of
atmosphere, always running too hot or too cold,
no middle ground-- but who am i to talk, with
you and your solar flares, your cold spots. how
do i get into the goldilocks zone with you? just
right for life, just right for evolving into something.

i know i dont live in a movie
this isnt an episode of skins, my name isnt cassie
but i didnt eat for three days just so i could be lovely
and you didnt even notice me
maybe thats why the only musician ive really related to lately is josh ramsay
it's been a decade since its release but im still looping 'fix me'
when you hit the bottom of the marianas trench youve got to pick up a shovel and start digging
but once you get through the mantle and past the core
suddenly you're not going down anymore

i collect snapstreaks like monopoly properties, hoarding them to their fullest, raking in the numbers like they are the thing keeping me floating. a drop in number means a decrease in value, as if my friendships have numerical value. it’s all about putting myself on other people’s VIP lists and keeping them off my own. i never realized how great a desire i have for control until i got a sick sort of happy seeing that emoji telling me, “you’re on their top eight best friends list, and they’re not on yours.” what is this, myspace? i play it like it’s a public social media page but in reality what makes it so sweet is the fact that only i get to see it.
or maybe i just like knowing i’m important, at least to somebody. maybe if they see my contact name at the top of the list every time, then they’ll want to talk to me. maybe it’s less like chess pieces, piling up pawns, and more like sitting on the corner singing old sad love songs with a hat out to catch pennies. these interactions add up to pennies. we’re still playing monopoly, i think, but why is all this property not adding up for me? why am i still losing money when i should be, by all accounts, winning? maybe i just need to start another streak.

friendship tastes like
fizzy apple soda,
straight out of a glass
bottle, washed-out green.
it’s sugary sweet,
smoothly carbonated,
but kicks the edges
of my tongue with sour.
it’s syrupy, tingling as it
bubbles up over
onto my skin, sticky.
lick it off, wipe my hands
onto the hem of my
tank top. the feeling
lingers though, buzzing
on my skin like flies.
the bottle is empty now,
and i’m counting quarters,
scrounging up change
to quench my thirst
for green bittersweet.

lightning strikes when your stormy eyes meet mine like it’s for the first time and suddenly everything is charged, magnetic, pulling my blood from my heart to the tip of my nose, exploding embarrassment and twitching hands, the jolt of feeling like falling just before you finally fall asleep. i’m seeing your mouth move but all i can look at is your lips, the peek your tongue, and pride swells like tsunami high tides as i think about you, my nike, my victory, mentally running racetracks and hopping hurdles even though you never agreed to compete for anything. little eyes full of big stars, stretching the space between us until we’re solar systems apart, our hearts destined for different galaxies. i always knew you weren’t meant for me but that doesn’t change the way it feels when you reach for me: we’re the calm before the storm, the way we always have been but we never should be.