I do not exist.
I have translucent skin,
I insist on the breath I take, I am responsible for no one.
muscle structure is a modern myth.
my bones only move on your command.
There is control in your touch.
and your memory is holding me down.

I question the laws which are shared among our youth during these hard times; we have no great war, no question that burns the nations to their knees blaring. We simply have our poverty and power, our endless struggles and our eating disorders.
                We are the nation of winners and runners; we are the hypocrites of our father’s religion. Welcome to America, so jam packed with fast foods and cigarettes that you can hardly taste the reality before it has bombed you down.
                And then there’s you, and you’re sitting there, staring at the screen… laughing at the mother with the black and white face have her daughter slaughter and eat her, and I’m laughing to, trying to hide the little girl inside me screaming.
                “Kiss me,” I’ve had enough broken hearts and sleepless nights to know what it means to have a hand to hold and a body to cling to when the street lights flicker and people ponder about your past.
                Talk to me, open your mouth and share with me the secrets of your mother, tell me what tragic car accident brought you to this position and how far you’d run to hold her hand. Question my beliefs and my relationships. Chose kind words over replaceable concerns, fight for my attention, and question my devotion. I want to watch movies with you, discuss some kind of universe beyond my mind, and our boundaries, hold me close while the lights in the theater are dim we’ll dance behind the stage. The lights will be our stars, predict my future with your soft hands and gentle grin.
                Because you’re a stranger, I can get away with wanting, because you’re new to me, I can fantasize, holding your hand in mine, resting my head on your chest, listening to your heart beat as you sleep.
                Because I’m alone tonight, I can ****** a thought, fish for a chance to be on my own with you. Tell me something; open your mind to the possibilities of me and you.
Of course, all this is wasted on time, and I’ve tried to send you signals, I want to be your friend, I want to talk to you into the late hours, stand in the midnight man’s circle sweating, calling out into the darkness, sharing songs and secrets until the dawn shatters our dream.
Then the bell rings, and you move, get up and leave, go outside to smoke, and my mind goes blank, the thoughts and dreams of the tomorrows that we could have spent together have disappeared, into nonentity. The audacity of my fantasies have brought me nothing, so I move back to questioning the laws which are shared among the youth of these hard times, and I am shaken into a reality of obesity and anorexia, of Christians and Muslims fallen in line with the atheists, I don’t mind, because tomorrow, we’ll meet again and I’ll smile and you’ll nod, and I’ll dream while you giggle.

I lose people, it's what I do.
While my friends lose car keys or pairs of socks.
I'm stuck losing people.
Tripping over shoe laces and old belongings.
Longing to look back and see familiar smiling faces,
instead I'm left with my own star dust, which rusts in the rain.

Notes from a broken heart.
1. It’s always easier to write poems in list form because you can always just rhyme the words with the numbers, like one and fun, and sun and undone and ***, and oh.. and um…
2. When seducing someone who is only in it for the physical don’t tell her that her cheek kisses give you butterflies, the power will go to her head and instead of wanting to ******* she’ll just want to cuddle and huddle around her favorite book and you don’t want that. Or maybe you do, but she doesn’t want that. Or maybe she does, but that’s beside the point because she can’t have that, and neither can you.
3. Never fall in love with the cute girl who is leaving, it’ll leave you heaving for air and she crushes you with her inevitable departure here after she’ll be nothing more than a memory and you haven’t shed a tear for her yet don’t lose that streak
4. I can still taste you, and I know that I never will again and I will never utter your name to anyone but the insane as a mantra to the boy I deserve better I can still feel your cold hands against my back you taste familiar like someone I used to know, and I wish it would snow outside I’m trying to hide from the fact that heart ache brings out good poetry and not very good studying habits no one is going to know this section is about you except you and that’s okay because I don’t even know if you’re going to hear this part, because these are just stupid notes from a broken heart that’s trying to mend.
5. I’m still alive, I’m still breathing even though I’m lonely I’m still smiling even though you’ve driven me crazy and I’m still shining because in the end there is nothing between me and the things I can’t do but a door way and if it’s locked I will hurl all one hundred and twenty… thirty pounds at it.
6. *** is never as good as friendship.
7. I can’t tell the difference between the pain I feel and the emptiness I enjoy
8. I don’t hate you though I think I should
9. I’m a diamond that you won’t be able to mine anywhere else. I’m a rare breed but you see you can’t have the cake and eat it too don’t be greedy. Behave.
10. This needs to end.
1. It’s much more fun for me to lie about you then it is to say that you wanted me to stay, because I spent all semester ogling about you when I should have been focusing but I get a clean slate now that I’m in control I made my bed and I will be more than happy to sleep in it because even though you ****** me over it’s not really me you messed with is it, no. It’s yourself.
2. This poems slowly becoming notes from the other woman, when really I only ever wanted to know what your lips tasted like
3. I can’t see past the lust in your eyes and the inside of your mouth where you hide your demons and you swallow your pills. The hill from my dorm room to yours is frozen over if I slip and fall there’s a chance I’ll land face first in the small river that flows under the bridge.
4. Did she know? Did she take one look at you and say “*****!” did she feel your guilt as you moved inside her? Did she hold you closer because she knew another had already touched you
5. I took three showers after I left your house I thought you were the one with OCD
6. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that he hurt you, I’m so sorry that I played along I’m so sorry that we let ourselves get caught up in the idea that we could be something that wasn’t a one night stand hold my hand and feel my pulse.
7. It’s beating just like yours.
8. It quakes when he touches me, does the same thing happen to you?
9. In time this will heal over I don’t know you but I know you deserve better
10. I can’t show this to anyone.

When a boy asks you to structure yourself,
break his fingers.
Find his weakness
and will
them against him.
hold him to the standard
that all that is not structured shall snap.
Sharpen yourself to a point and pierce him.

I was created to destroy
resurrected to ****
and where I hailed I was known as the rain
and now that I’m here I’ve been named.
Ashamed, but what is in a name?
What is called blood, by any other name would still taste as sweet.
And cause me to retreat into the darkness
leaving behind my sick mess and
your body,
rotting.
I was destroyed to create
killed to be resurrected
Where there is rain, I pelted like hail
Now that I am ashamed, I am but a name

Your body is nameless and stripped of it’s existence.

A sleeping river freezes
The fire that is lit at her base goes out and she's left there.
The hot coals will melt in imprints on her skin.
The residue will surface and those who depend upon her for warmth and solidarity will perish as soon as her body relaxes.
But we are not a river, the cold air has repelled that thought, I am a woman with a burning body leaping from the building in attempt to quell the flame.
You sir, are the smoke that rises from her melted contorted corpse.
Because falling is easy, jumping too.
Landing is difficult, when there's no one there to catch you.

Your tongue could start forest fires
With the songs you sing, you could spring winter forward.
You could taste like tomorrow, your trials could all be amounting to counting sheep next to me.
Your little words wrinkle foreheads and cause the catastrophes of nations.
You with little breath bring forth the wildest of worries from the wandering minds.
You of little touch take armfuls of truth and tackle the tortured.
You with mostly full mouth make magic when you tap your tongue against the roof of your mouth
Your rough and ragged hands rust around the edges like the sounds you make when the laugh escapes your raging soul.
You hold onto hope like masters picking up pieces, you could make peace with your mouth piece.
Picking at the scabs on your fingers, focusing on us.
On the ground they avoid you.
You with the sunken skin and swollen eyes – ******* on the end of that cigarette.
You’ve convinced yourself it’s all a good dream.
Days musty like the back of your car when we drive on the high way wondering which way we go.
You with time tattooed soul – sulking about the little time you have.
Holding onto the fear you foster under your ribs.
You with the smile I’d rush rivers to keep under my pillow
You twist your tongue around my image – wake to find me further from grasp.
Smoking grass holding onto the hash.
Hoping you have an interest in me.

Kind of a tickle
Sort of a trickle
Tastes like rust
And broken nails
I’ve given in, fail.
Slit a wrist,
Take a piece of glass.
Don’t worry this too shall pass.

Caress me with the shell of your fingertips
Kiss me with your teeth.
Show me whats on the outside
I can’t afford to fall for whats underneath.

Bumble bees aren’t built to fly. But that doesn’t mean she won’t. It has been scientifically proven that the wing span of the average one is too small to hold up its body mass, but that doesn’t mean they don’t, I like to imagine that every time her little wings manage to miraculously pick herself off the ground just high enough to hover about the flowers, she smiles triumphantly because she is doing something that everyone has ever told her was completely impossible to do,
I like to think this because it’s how I feel whenever I open my mind to talk to you.
Whenever I do, my strong words come out in mumbles, they tumble forth like crashing waves and the saving grace that’s saving me is the fact that you’ve held on this long already.
When I lift my lips to caress your palms, lay them flat against my cheek so the heat keeps moving between us can catch me off guard. When you hold my hand and disband the negative thoughts clouding my better judgement. I like to think that the width of my hips has only ever been measured by milestone makers, that the bones in my spine are the rocks we will walk on, that the spaces between my fingers had only ever been held by placeholders, that the broken hearts that felt like boulders were never louder than your soft voice whispering how beautiful I am in my ear, just soft enough for my demons to hear, and whenever you draw me near I like to think that it’s more so because I’m another warm body than the idea that you could find solace in the shape of my thoughts.
There are insects living undetected in the un-dissected regions of the legions of my organs. Butterflies with razor blade wings and they sting the sides of my diaphragm spiders biting the inside of my cheeks turning them fusica, I can’t write this poem.
I thought I would be able to pen exactly what it is that I want to say to you when the light hits your eyes and turns their emerald light blue, I overestimated my vocabulary and it’s twisty turny ways, I thought I could think of all that I wanted to say but I can’t.
Not because I haven’t been trying, I’d be lying if I said that I don’t think of a new way to describe your beauty every day, a new metaphor there was no doubt a Greek word for, it’s true that every inch of my mind burns with curiosity when you’re close to me. It’s just that I can’t write this poem…
I can’t capture you with these hands, they’d shake and snap you, I can’t carry you with these arms they are too small and they’d break too. I can’t carve you out of marble and marvel at my masterpiece because honestly the piece of mastery is how and why out of all the women in the world you would have chosen me! I can’t write this poem. I can’t blame the color of my cheek on the spiders in my veins, I can’t conjugate a verb to make sure it’s not only heard but understood. To understand my feelings towards you I have to try and understand you.
I can’t write this poem, like bumble bees aren’t built to fly, I can’t form a structure around the constant beat of my heart when it palpitates whenever we’re apart.
I can kiss you.
I can’t write this poem and offer you the better parts of me. I cannot be the strong and lonely bumble bee. I can base my laughter on the crinkled corners of your eyes, I can surround my words around the good deeds you’ve done, I can become undone under your patient and practiced thumb. I cannot write this poem, but I can’t stay silent. I cannot simply shy from the way your eyes pierce my shield, I can muster up the strength to stretch out my tiny wings and sing, I cannot write this poem, but that doesn’t mean I won’t.

Nigel had said a lot that day, he spoke of old love and Jesus and other such fun and ****** things, he swore only once, and the lines from the poem stuck out like bright pink bubble gum on the soul of a black shoe, special lines.
Sunday was a long day, I didn't think anything would come of it but he still made me nervous.
We went to the skate park and he sat across from me and we were together and talking about the terrible person who had broken his heart, and how he never really loved her, he loved the idea of her.
I thought of how dumb it was to think you were in love with someone and then only like them for who they seem to be.
The windswept us under a skate jump and we just sat away from it all tucked away, then it started, he was annoying,
His hands found my extremely ticklish sides and he wouldn't let them go. At one point I tried to get out and he pulled me
Onto his lap, I was sitting on him and every inch of my body was screaming about something, about how much I loved this man and
How on Monday nothing would change and we would just go back to being friends, then he grabbed me and we found ourselves cuddling
Out of the wind and my lips were too close to his I opened them as if to prelude to a kiss, that day he had been licking his bottom lip
Lip which was a sign that he wanted to kiss someone, My lips parted and I spoke the line that reminded me of everything I wanted,
"I wanna kiss you like a traffic jam."
He smiled and laughed without moving his head back, "I wanna kiss you so badly, I am willing to chop of my own head and throw it at your lips"
I taunted him, my nerves tingling. This was wrong, or was it... it felt to good to be wrong,
And yet...I challenged him.
"Bring it."
And then we were kissing.

Someone screams
Rain falls softly
My cat purs
Rain falls softly
Pain shoots through my body
Rain falls softly
Two lines to do
Rain falls softly
I miss Jesus
Rain falls softly
Bio test, Monday
Rain falls softly
You and I need to talk more
Rain falls softly.
France is beautiful and I hated it there.
Rain hails mercilessly.

Turth hurts me.
I’m tangled in your golden hair as that scene I never watched is played beneath my eye lids
Careful camera angles, make it hard to breathe,
But I’m no where to be seen, in a jelous **** stars dream.
I hide behind the smiles, pretend Im over it, but if I was allowed to, I scream and throw a fit.
Hurl things at your battered skull till it burst
Force my mouth on your wound so I know how it hurts
I’m not even at the worst
Stop,
Breathe… It’s just a jealous dream.
He screams…. Like he can tell them from reality.

My mother’s hands are soft as sand. She says something about where I'm supposed to be in my life and I'm nervous she thinks I should be standing closer the closure, she knows I'm not who I thought I'd turn out to be.
My mother’s mother made her the worrier she is today, and the warrior she had to be to get by.
The day my mother’s mother passed we mourned the progression of the woman we thought of as freedom.
Family has always had a huge part of my heart.
Now it's tattered and torn apart, everyone is aging and graying.
I'm only gaining so much knowledge on the subject.
I could write for hours - there is so much rage drumming against my rib cage.
I've saved enough sanity to grapple with the thought of losing you.
Looking at her now I see that she's been on the same road as me.
The mother of my mother made her promise I'd be better.
My mother's hands are as soft as sand - her sun burnt country betrayed her and now she huddles in the frozen north.
There's nothing here but our snow stung crowd.
My mother makes me smile, suggests it as fall back if my straight face falls.
I've never been able to keep anything straight - least of all me.
My mother made me, and I'm molded by her strength branded hands.
Soft as sand.

If I could tell you one more thing.
It would be a simple confession.
Something that I didn't realize.
Until after I had heard it again.
I missed the sound of your voice.
Like it's a melody that cannot be undone..
Like it's a song that cannot be unsung.
I won't get any notes for this one.
Because it's not a poem.
It's a confession.
I miss the sound of your voice.
Whispering my name,
S E
I'm sorry.

There is a homeless man sitting on the step where we first kissed
and I missed the mark by about a mile, and all I wanted to do was make you smile
with my mouth around your soul, you've got a tight enough hold on me as it is and I'm still wondering about giving in.
I wanted part of the sin, and I wanted us to begin.
now look at the trouble we're in.

If his eyes were stars she would wish upon them.
Perhaps then, he would look to her the same way.
If his breath were a poet she would hang upon it’s every expression.
Wishing for a day where her remarks would take his breath away.
She drinks in his breath, as if it would give life to her dull bones.
If he could tell her how she made his life light up like a Christmas candle.
She would blush at every line.
Her lips puckered with ****** request.
It was the most innocent of caresses. She held onto ignorance
with no wish of letting go.
Because when she’s with him, the voices don’t cry so loudly
she could write ten thousand poems about his gentle eyes.
Describing every part of it she would sweep with her damp burnt, licked lips.
Drawn into a line to stop the flow of words she wishes to whisper.
So she doesn’t open her dark bat filled mouth to his spring filled questions.
In the obscurity, she imagines his soft hand next to hers.
She sings a lullaby into his ears, and he wishes he could kiss her.
And she wishes he could too.
As of now, she’ll cry out to the voices to hush themselves.
And the dusk to enlighten her,
She cannot see the light at the end of tunnel; this façade is blocking the way.
All she knows is that she needs him closer.
If he could tell her a thousand times that the sun shone down from the heavens and through her expression.
She would glance down at the floor and hear.
He’s lying. ҉

her tongue tastes like ashes, her voice cracks when she’s lying.
you throw imperfections, because you know you can’t have her.
If you say it out loud you can’t keep denying. You need her.
you can’t go to sleep without envisioning her beside you.
Her hands entangled in your hair, she’s screaming.
her soft brown hair looks red in the naked moonlight
Your mind plays games, you awaken and she’s gone.
You’d give anything to taste her lips.
She’s dying to pass your way.
her size five feet dangle on the edge of infidelity.
while you wait for her to sway.  
Or stay.vigilant.
in your mind, you can hear her sighs from the next room.
Let’s pretend for a moment, she’s sighing for you.
*ah

forcing her knuckles
working them to the bone
she writes poetry
in verse and in rhyme
she keeps to the beat
she keeps to the time
her hands will never stop shaking
her mouth will be sewn shut
but as long as her poems are truthful.
she feels good enough.

Is this worth the pain in the end
Saying it’s over doesn’t mean it’ll end
Ask yourself the question,
I’ll burn the messages you’ll send
And all the rules we’ll bend
Ha, payback’s a *****.

Dear Thomas: I thought about you while I was in the shower today, and I know that that’s a really messed up thing to say because I’ve been spending all of my time trying to convince myself that I’m completely gay and, okay that’s kind of ******* because it’s not like there’s anything wrong with thinking about having *** with you…
Dear Thomas: I thought about you while I was in the shower today and I know that’s a really ****** up thing to say because as the hot water was running down my spine I realized how good our fingers feel intertwined. Dear Thomas, I thought about you while- I thought. I think about you a lot.
I think that I am a gypse in your body and in your head, like I’ve hibernated in your mind all winter but I’ve crept out of your aorta valve to find myself at your centre and beating at your ribcage, sleeping with the spirits you’ve swallowed, nestled into your lymphoid, dreaming about the expanse of your stance like it’s the void.
I think about the way your skin tastes with the water after another shared shower.
I think about your gentle hold and your half-hearted snickers.
I think about the advice you’ve given me, and how I’d reply with it times twice: Breathe.
Dear Thomas: I thought that you and I make a pretty good pair, and I know that’s just kind of out of the blue but you know that old saying “I am rubber and you are glue, all that you say bounces off of me and sticks to you,” but to be honest I think that we’ve got more things in common than anyone knew so how about I just stick myself against you?
Dear Thomas: I must admit though, lately you’ve been kind of distant and I’m afraid of something that might be growing in my chest, I detest the beating but I can’t stop it enough to rest, I know most of it is  because we’re both so completely stressed, but I think it would be best if we found common ground it would ground us both in this large aray of static sound, but before I get a head of myself let my mind wander out in the open where I can focus on your body and how it moves between my thighs. I think, I think I like this wild ride.
Dear Thomas: You challenged me to write something that tasted like mahogany, and wouldn’t you know that I’m searching for the metaphors that capture our hearts in syncopation, but the trepidation beneath my feet and the heat coming from your tired eyes lie to me about your circumstance. Just by chance I might find a way to make you laugh, it might be just once, I’ll cherish every second that it fleets across your face, undoubtly like mace my awkward words will trip you into cruelty once again, send me to your room again Thomas, let us be there together. I can’t promise you forever, no I can’t even promise today, but I don’t think you want anything more than this moment of mutual laughter on your bedroom floor.
Dear Thomas: can you smell the old books in the imagery I’ve conjured? Can you conduct a survey about the respectable spans of time it takes for me to take my mind off you and find an alternative subject, when I’d rather be subjected to your passion than anything else, Thomas, can you hear the cracking of my spine when I finally let myself relax. Dear Thomas, this isn’t supposed to be anything but the musings of your mistress, but I did miss this, Thomas, being stuck in the hit and miss that is... this, whatever this… is.
I think about the way your voice sounded when you said “I’m running out of time and gin.” And I can’t begin to mention how it felt to watch you melt beneath me non the less, the stress that washes from your face, and Thomas the point of this is that life is ultimately pointless, so let’s get undressed and share in the sweetness of each-others sweat.
Dear Thomas: I thought about you while I was in the shower today, and I’ve got to say, your kisses only taste bitter if the bite marks don’t linger.

Simon Timothy, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways!
You look like the sun, like daises smiling up at the moon. You make me swoon with your bad punch lines and imperfect rhymes.
You look like bees swarmed around honey pots soaking in the greatness of what they’ve created and you sound like serenades and smokers cough. And I want to be coddled by you. You smell like musky post rain September. You are so special and so patient, like you have been waiting for me to love you since we met and I bet when you look up faithful in the dictionary Simon Timothy will be smiling back at you. I want your name entwined into every line so all of our friends know I need you like a barricade needs people to hide behind it.
Like a breath needs a word to follow, like a bird needs a tree hollow, swallows need the breeze like birds need the bees like Simon Timothy how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
You bring out the best in me (more like the breast in me?) you bring out my worst jokes and my best one liners, you dress like an old timer and it makes my heart go wheezy like it’s a diamond miner. And your vest is fresh air. I’ve been drowning.
You, who showed me survivor and wrestling, you with your adorable obsessing. You, with your brilliant mind and the most charming laugh you, my rude dude with attitude.
Sarah Kay says: “you are the worst thing, that has ever happened to my poetry.” And it must be a twisted form of prophecy because I’m full of lovey dovey feelings I’m still reeling from the last time you told me you loved me, because I am broken at best. My body has cracks and crevices like an old rusty car and you still want to see how far I can drive. I want to thrive with you, I want to express every emotion I have ever felt, you make me feel secure like a seat belt but I am the buick beyond repair.
No matter how much mold is in there you still hold me while I’m crying and trying to tell you you deserve so much better but you don’t listen.
You, with the brilliant blonde hair I love running my fingers through, the one who kisses me like he already misses me even though I’m not going anywhere, you. Who lets me love whoever I need to because you know I need to and that I will always come back to you, you.
You, Simon Timothy. How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways!

So it’s 11:46 and she’s dreaming.
curled up beside me like fingers around luke warm tea.
I would kiss her head if I could
hold her in my arms, like I should.
but my mind belongs somewhere else
a seeping darkness pulling, pushing, pursing me.
To stay around, but not.
With her.
Just sit a little, she had said.
You need a place to rest.
That was three weeks ago,
Now I need to move
away from her beauty, as it intoxicates me.
Her smile as it fills me with dread.
I’ve been here before
it’s so easy to stay.
maybe I should just say…
“I’m not hungry.”

She starts, awake in me.
she stretches, like she’s been asleep for centuries.
“It’s nice to see you again, old friend”
I wish I could say the same to you.
I should get up, I should go…
but she’s so tempting…
I guess in the end I
am alone again.

For your hand I untie the laces of my corset to disclose the eternity of my mind and body on the cold cement floor. For your eyes I remove the molds which ever so carefully holds my insides in tact and allow them to flood the careful corners of our existence. For your mind I caress your knots, untie your passions and pry at your past. For your soul I allow your mouth to wander the brief and quick passages of my short exiled being.
for your heart I cut out mine own and press both thumbs on your disjointed limbs.
Severe heads and pass into the point of no return.

Do you know what I have just realized? Do you know what has just crossed my mind? I cannot have you.
Not like I'd like to, not like I want to. I can't have you because she does.
Which is fine, because you can't be mine.
I'm sad.
Which is okay.
I'm hurting.
Which I will get through.
For now I just need to write some poetry and draw and cry and hopefully soon.
I will wake up, and your voice won't choke me.
The memories won't ******* me.
I will get through this.
One.
Day.
At.
A.
Time.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m really alive, maybe this is just all a sick joke.
Then the pain in the core of my existence pounds against my rib cage
I realize that a pain that strong can’t be faked.

Sometimes I place my hands on my neck and squeeze just to make sure my pulse is real.
Because it seems I live in this parallel life of pain and numb happiness.
I’d give anything to be happy all the time.
But I’m bleeding inside.

Sometimes I feel like I’m completely alone and abandoned
like the stray on the side of the road
I push through today one step at a time.
I’m not real, is all I hear.

You know I’d forfeit it all,
for another night with you.

When the spider and the rabbit dance.
The tiger never wins.
The spider has his webs of steel and gold
the rabbit his tunnels and the stories he spins.
the tiger runs to his princes defense.
but the spider has a tighter hold
though the rabbit knows his way around.
the story’s left untold.

You drove me home in the rain.
The tension was driving me insane and i couldn’t withstand the strain of it upon my shoulders.
You should know i respect you way too much to let this go.
I just really need to let you know. That if you don’t i will. So just stop. Stop doing that thing with your mouth where you talk.
Because its hard to kiss you when your opinions getting in the way
Stop. Stop doing that thing with your mind where you lie. Next to me and whisper that I'm worth the risk
Stop, stop doing that thing you do with your eyes. When you see my smile but you know my mind wants to cry.
Stop, stop doing that thing with your hands where you demand attention because the suspension between us is too great and I hate that I'm writing you a poem because I only ever do this to people that I love
And I'm not in love with you. So stop.
Stop doing that thing with your smile. That makes me want to walk a mile just see it sprint across your face.
I don't want a happy ending I want fate
I want a nice smile and a bed mate
Not an intimate promise of tomorrow
I can't stand the distance between us
So I fall on my knees, take me please I'm yours to break and bond. I'm bound to the ground exactly where I was found. So stop.
Stop, stop doing that thing with your ears where you hear what I mean and not what I say.
You make my brain fuzzy, and I can't think
Can't cant. Can't. Can't think straight
I've never felt straighter in my life.
Which causes me no strife other than the fact that I can’t ******* talk to anyone without thinking about your taste and how fast I would surrender to you without haste so just Stop!
Stop that thing you did with your mouth when you talk.
Because its hard to kiss you when you're opinions are getting in the way.

Make me forget his name
I’ll let you say her name
Killing won’t help us now
Ending this will just hurt you more in the end
Jewel, diamond in the ruff, you’ll pay for the pain you’ve put me through
Ask me if this is ok?
My hurt won’t help you stay sane
Is this worth the pain in the
End
**** the heart
Organized crime is what’s left to find
Dead men running through town
I’m gone for you, now.

Do not. Think. About. Him.
I’m really ******* stressed, he says get dressed to cover the scars of the lies they’ve placed upon your head with sounds of the still screaming dead.
I’m really ******* stressed, because I have a million things to do and a million and one reasons to stop thinking about you.
Do. Not. Think. About. Him.
Your breath still lingers on my skin, and I can still feel you within me.
Do not think about him.
Your gentle fingers pulling at my hair and I’m here alone in this small town and I’m about to drown in the memory of your hands.
I’ve got to study, I’ve got to write, I’ve got to type and try to figure out the differences in my head between wrong and right.
Do not think about him.
I’ve drunken too many shots to fire anything close to fire into your iced over veins
I am trying to restrain myself from sounding too much like a sap, but perhaps there’s room enough in your heart for two beside me, besides her, beside you.
I’m likely to linger in this this place for too long. I’m more than likely going to hold you down with my tongue and torture you until you give in.
Do not think about him.
he’s out of your league, he can’t see your bones but he can feel them between you two.
I’ve still found myself in cased in chaos and caring too much about what you think, when obviously you don’t.
Because if you did you’d have stayed, if you did you wouldn’t have left me if you did I wouldn’t be standing so close to the edge because you wouldn’t have mapped out a way for me to get to it, you wouldn’t have plugged the location into my GPS and locked the doors on my car, no if you cared you wouldn’t have asked me so quickly to get dressed, ******* I’m stressed and I can’t win..
Do not think about him.
you’ve become a mantra, a saying to keep myself warm, you’ve become the warning sign that carries with it nothing but harm, because like previously stated you’ve sedated me into driving myself of a cliff and  my unconscious body can’t swim.
Do. Not. Think. About. Him
They say I write about myself too much, they don’t know that you’re my crutch. They’re right, I’m willing to try and branch out and stick myself to the source of my issues but of course I know what that entails and the extra miles between your heart and mine have been tearing me apart, but if we had this discourse it would be about discording and according to you I’d be getting too close for comfort, and I’m still losing myself in the opportunity of something more and I can’t hold myself up with these hands . I can’t stand the idea for loosing you and unwinding but I suppose that’s what it’s come to hasn’t it?
I’m all over the place at this point, I could spout out more rhymes but honestly, you were right when you said you were running out of “time and gin,” like it’s a big thing, like it’s more important for me to be there than for me to be thin, and the sin that keeps us together has been the same since the start, and the extra miles between your heart and mine is what’s keeping me together, you’re keeping me together. You’re tearing me apart.
I started with a bad deed, and now I’ve got about nine, I can’t count the amount of times I’ve tried to stop myself from tying off the loss ends and starting again, and it’s about time I stand up for myself it’s about time I start to think things through. The only things that are separating us, is me and I and you.
Hold on to me for another minute, hold on to me for another day, I can’t promise you forever because nothing good ever stays. I can’t reach you while you’re falling, but if it helps I’m falling too.
The only difference is the traps I’m not falling for, mainly the ones set by you.

The artist sits with one leg crossing over the other.
she doesn't look at him, draped over the sofa, eyes softly closed.
she wishes his lips were as soft as they appeared when he spoke to her.

The historian studies until it's too late to think straight.
The artist will be sleeping and dreaming in
technicolor.
He hurts her from the inside, moving but somehow keeping his body motionless.
making her wish, his whispers were as soft as his lips looked
in the sunlight.
but he only holds history, and she would hurl his head at a canvas
if it would make the memories mute.

You with the long fingers and the longing gaze.
You with the green (hazel, brown, brilliant.) eyes and the wistful sighs,
come. (Sigh with me.)
make memories, leave marks.
ignite me, like sparks.
Stay up with the night until the right larks sing.
Sin, with me. Wondering, what the morning brings.
let the moonlight light us.
You look like stardust, (and hair like rust.)
and there must be something.
Worth discovering.
(discover me.)

Once tall, he now sits stooped over a stool.
drool, dropping from his lips.
pen in hand and hardly a smirk to share
where he once mocked.
the clock now ticks
louder.
He’s still regarded as a ****.
by everyone but her.
and it sticks like gum under
table tops, and flips
and flops, because he once had a confident air.
Now there is a blatant obnoxious stare.
A history of charm does less good
and more harm than it should.

a relapse washed over me like the break of day
a firm and gentle wave caressing my every movement
this was only ever as far away as the edge of my finger tips
now I glide across the ice, and the blood flows red as your lips.

I've lived so long with you there.
Just sitting and waiting
it’s almost become calming, the way you press yourself against my skin
until you finally found a place.
Inside, I am reminded of you every time
I open my hand, to hold something more.

I live in a small room, overlooking the sea.
You are silent, breathing.
heaving my chest up and down, like the sound of solemn waves.
There is fear in me, that you’ve been in my lungs for so long
If I were to remove you, I wouldn’t be able to breathe.

I’ve lived so silent while you were there.
almost anxious of the sound of my own voice, rising up to
puncture the air, send sounds to bring you tumbling down
like the walls around my heart you crashed into,

I live in a big house, every window
Every door, is open.
People flood in
But so does the cold.
Trapping you inside of me, stinging my eyes
My throat is freezing, flooded with salt.
I can't speak so much to scream.

they think we die loudly, screaming and in protest,
in fact we die with our eyes ******* shut, so close to freedom
but afraid to see it.

I like you, like I think you’re cute, like I wanna kiss you, like I wanna go down on you… Wait, sorry.
Hey, I like you like, I think you’re pretty, like I want us to get along, hey! I really like this song wanna dance? I like your tight pants, I don’t mean to stare it’s just kind of there like Wow, sorry that came out wrong, Hey I’m Esther, nice to meet you, cute shoes. Who knew converse would create this kind of tension. Do you watch Dr Who? You hate Moffat? Me too.
I’m sorry this is supposed to be a love poem and I’m blabbering,
Hey! I like you, like I think  your finger tips are spider webs the way you pull me in, Andrew Garfield, spider man, have you seen that one? I’m a huge fan.
Hey, I like you, like I think you’re cute, like I wanna  take you out on dates and hold your hand in parking lots and line ups, like your laugh is contagious and your eyes are outrageously beautiful.

You’re pretty, smiling eyes and nervous laughter, not quite caught up in the moment.
I’d sing you a love song; I’d walk ten thousand miles. I catch my breath when your lips part to smile.
Your eyes sparkle when you see something you love; I wonder what it feels like to be the subject of your stares? The object of your affection.
So, I think you’re adorable; it’s deplorable how much I wanna kiss you.
Hey Tight jeans! Was that rude? Because I can be crude, and kind of mean, in the sense that I say what I think and a lot of people say I’m forward…
Take me out tonight; the stars are just bright enough for me to see your features, I’d paint pictures of your hands if mine would just stop shaking. I’m afraid,
because you’re just a little bit older and more bold than I’d have expected you to be, but you see it’s not written in the stars that we should be together, here I see in your eyes that you’re excited because you don’t realize this poem is about you, you idiot.
See what I mean, I’m not cautious. Torturous really I couldn’t stand to see you saddened, because  you’re beautiful which is trivial, I mean a man who looks like you must know this right?
Do you like romantic? I could say your eyes are waterfalls and your temples are the gaps in the sidewalks where puddles huddle.
I want to get to know you, I want to hold you while it’s raining, straining to keep my eyes on the movie we’re watching but your face in the half light is ignited
Your nose is the bookmark in the middle of my favourite story, marking the points before the hero has to leave and after he’s realized he can’t stay.
I can feel your heart beating from where we’re dancing, every inch of your body, I’d memorize, your curves and lines like you were my times tables and I wasn’t ever able to get those down so I might have to go over them a few more times before you’re committed to memory.
But now, in the blissful morning after sunrise, you lie.
sleepily kiss my forehead and mumble “I have class”
and I spend the last few seconds before you leave my room admiring your a-
… eyes.

If his eyes were stars she would wish upon them.
Perhaps then, he would look to her the same way.
If his breath were a poet she would hang upon it’s every expression.
Wishing for a day where her remarks would take his breath away.
She drinks in his breath, as if it would give life to her dull bones.
If he could tell her how she made his life light up like a Christmas candle.
She would blush at every line.
Her lips puckered with ****** request.
It was the most innocent of caresses. She held onto ignorance
with no wish of letting go.
Because when she’s with him, the voices don’t cry so loudly
she could write ten thousand poems about his gentle eyes.
Describing every part of it she would sweep with her damp burnt, licked lips.
Drawn into a line to stop the flow of words she wishes to whisper.
So she doesn’t open her dark bat filled mouth to his spring filled questions.
In the obscurity, she imagines his soft hand next to hers.
She sings a lullaby into his ears, and he wishes he could kiss her.
And she wishes he could too.
As of now, she’ll cry out to the voices to hush themselves.
And the dusk to enlighten her,
She cannot see the light at the end of tunnel; this façade is blocking the way.
All she knows is that she needs him closer.
If he could tell her a thousand times that the sun shone down from the heavens and through her expression.
She would glance down at the floor and hear.
He’s lying. ҉

This is not about you. This is about the demon who lives inside your mind. The one who is starving alongside you, so he gobbles up the good thoughts, the positive reinforcements we try to tell you.
He poisons your food, which is why you won’t eat.
Its the only explanation I can fathom, unless there is another.
Then PLEASE, tell me. I am begging.
This is not about you “habit”. This is about being scared to complement you on your good days. And holding you on your bad ones.
This is about telling you, you can come to me if you need it.
But never knowing how to fix it when you do.
This is seeing a mold infested wound.
By not having the guts to sever it before it grows.
This is not about the food. It is about the ashes you inhale with every drag of the *** between your pale pink fingertips.
This is isn’t killing you, this is suicide.
This is not about the help offered, but the impossibility of accepting it.
This is not about how well you understand yourself.
Rather, how well you understand the world.
Every starving woman I have ever talked to have the kindest hearts.
They see the world with wide eyes and hungry minds, hungry bellies too, but they cannot see to that. So they feed their minds with the sore sights of their over sized bodies in the mirror. CAN’T YOU SEE THAT HE’S LYING.
I’m lying, I love you, more than you love yourself, and it’s hypocritically because you look so paper thin that I look up to you, not just because you’re taller than me.
I stopped.
This is not about me.
This is about you, and loosing you.
To him.
This is about you.
About helping you,
“you’re beautiful, my broken mess”

This much I know is true.
It’s 10 am on April the 13th 2014.
Despite the ruckus caused by me packaging my books up my roommate is still fast asleep.
I woke up this morning with a sore throat and a rage that boiled like the water I use to make my coffee.
I pretended to talk to you this morning, like I’ve done before, on mornings when the sun didn’t quite rise fast enough, and my eternal clock is stuck on the look on your face when you told me to leave.
“It’ll be hard for you to come back”
I heaved a slow breath from my lungs and told you that I was angry at your inability to talk about the elephant in the room.
“When the doors are locked, and you don’t have a key”
The way I see it, the locks we rusted and you didn’t really want to keep me away.
That being said:
I’m not in love with you.
This much I know is true,
It’s 10:15 am on April the 13th 2014.
I’m wondering if I’m actually going to send this to you, or just let you slide out of my life.
Like I had wanted her to do the first time you kissed me. But I wanted you to miss me, not the physical closeness, of course that was also nice, but just the way my smile widens my eyes, or the bashful way I play around the diabolical sin were in the middle of committing.  
Not my soul, but the sound of my voice, not my heart, but the way it beats.
My roommate just woke up, it’s weird because I’ve started to put my life back into boxes, I still feel like I live in a fox hole, faithless. There is no god, I re-realize this fact when a book of poetry slips from my hand and lands on my foot, and I curse myself and continue taking things of the shelf.
I missed you, maybe the bitterness is just that I wanted you to miss me too.
Not because I’m your lover, but because I’m your friend.
Also, the *** was really good and I’d be kind of sad if that had to end.
This much I know is true.
Please believe me, I’m not in love with you.
It’s 10:30 am on April 13th 2014
I’m hungry and I want to get something to eat, this is the last verse and I can’t beat myself up about the things I wrote, I choked on my on imagination and when it finally passed and I could breathe I assumed it was best for me to let it be, and because it’s exam week and the stress has made me weak, I didn’t fight it, I thought that you had gotten bored with me and moved on, I thought it  was kind of ironic that it had taken this long. That was a joke, self-deprecation, when I reread the poem I realized it was a lie.
Like all my poems are, stretching truths over spools of thread to weave around the language I’ve been given. Stumbling across synonyms and subjects, pulling inspirations from different interpretations and sometimes that comes off too strong, but know all along I meant it when I said.
If I get to close I’ll leave, I need you to trust that that is
as much as I know to be true.

The science of missing you is the distance between the roughness of your tongue and the softness of your lips.
The exact moment we connected I've been separated from my mind since then, because you roam inside of it. Held my momentum down with a single claw.
the mathematics behind how it feels to touch you is a million to one, I have come undone under the pressure of your memory.
The exact science of missing you is an equation I can't keep myself from memorizing, your scent is still thrilling, your memory is killing me but I would rather die than never have myself
entwined with you.

Itsy bitsy spider
Crawled into rabbits brain
Then came the murders
They made bunny go insane
Out came his tiger
To take away the pain
But the itsy bitsy spider
Will take control again.

Itsy bitsy magpie
Pulled bunny down to see
Though the pills he took were great,
he’d never quite be free.
Bunny tried with all his might
to scare magpie away
but the magpie ushered him to the mirror
and whispered “ look, You’re me!”





itsy bitsy bunny
was tired of his game
he wrestled with the magpie night and day
but never felt okay.
Finally bunny had had enough
And threw his hope away
His tiger took him by the wrist and mumbled.
Just one more day.

Less is more.
Blood and gore.
Mount Rushmore.
Rush away from me.
Like ****** water, (what are you doing to me?)
Traveling sales men sell me his body and his bruises.
On the weekdays, when the son says he wants the world to go away.
We lock ourselves on hide away shelves and built – in beds. (washer and dryer sets)
We play house,
Less is more.

The world was cold this evening, hard as fresh rocks on the beach. There was no rain to lull us to sleep.
My love you and are floating.
There is no space more vast than the piece between our fingers.
millenniums pulled into the inches between your naked feet; and mine
bathed in the moonlight, the frozen grass.
We slept here, was it the pills which numbed our senses,
or did we only now feel the putrid sadness which emancipates all lovers.
lengthy discussions between my teeth and your lips, strong cheap tea.
and ***** toes.
millions of miles resting between who we were,
and where we were going.

Watch him work.
legs swinging,
head bumping to the music floating between his ears.
look to his hands hold pens, pencils, stylus.
awkward stance, laying.
look up,
there's the rub.
You cannot see the finished piece, but the work in progress is progressive enough.

Lola could laugh at his anger.
He could smile at her tears.
they could never be together
even after all these years
the policemen they came running
the officers had dogs
but Lola she was stunning.
even after the night time flogs
when the stars were high as drops outs
and the moon was wasted on air
the two of them imperfect
were perfect laying there.

To the author of the Huffington post “article” We Are The Generation Who Doesn’t Want a Relationship you’re wrong.
We Are The Generation Who Doesn’t Want to Be Straight, but you won’t let us.
I want domesticity like a fish wants a bicycle, which is to say that it would be nice but not useful.
I want the next boy I date to be able to flirt with the bar tender and to be tender and kinder than the last one. You keep putting us in jars with labels and naming us after stars and hurricanes but when we want to tear down your system you just say “shush now, just listen.”
I don’t want to hear your voice anymore – I don’t want to be told that I can’t love who I always have.
I don’t want any more halves, I want whole people to love me and make me more than the person who got called ***** all through high school because they couldn’t keep just one partner I don’t want to be an outsider anymore.
My darling says she wants someone to hold her hands when the world ends. You’ve put the fear of God in her and it makes her cry so much louder. My dearest says he wants to bring smiles to the people on the street and when he sees someone he thinks is cute his whole body goes mute I want to help him speak.
We keep swiping right like gamblers hoping for a chance at more than a second glance, we don’t want divorces or anymore court cases we don’t want second or third bases we just want patience while we pick up the pieces you dropped in front of us.
We want to keep believing in what you lost. We want pumpkin spice lattes and lately I want ladies, but not always because his smile drives me crazy and we don’t want babies.
We don’t want “consent is ****” we want control over our own bodies. We don’t want binaries we want multicolored beanies and maybe, just maybe, we want nothing but to be gay.

You never said you were scared, you never needed to.
You never thought I cared, but you and I adhere like super glue.
You have yellow teeth like a sunrise and you curse like caviar and I crave you like candy.
Can I be your desire? A drunken phone call on a Friday night,
You never said you carried the weight of the world on your shoulders.
Your eyes showed more truth than the circles we chased around the subject of who’s who.
And can I be with you? – I don’t need a train ride at midnight or a candle lit calling I just need your dry throat, coughing out last minute lies about not needing another hand in the darkest parts of the night.
Your soul has the shaping’s of something that sounds like heartache, beats like butchering romance and hurts like needles marking up my arms like foot-steps rushing away from what’s really going on in my mind.
You never spoke the words I wanted to hear, but here we are.
I never said I wanted to drench you in kisses.
Cover you with caresses.
I want to cater to your bad behavior and serve as a substitute for the sugar high
I never said that I kissed you in the rain, and again and again.
I never said we stood outside of that man’s house and held hands in my head.
I never said the space in my bed, could have been filled with you. – I didn’t think I needed to.
Maybe I do.

Sunlight; you’re out my window.
Smiling; I look down and see a friend, a lover
The perfect match.*

But my window is closed and the curtains are drawn, someone is laughing
But it is not me
My tired eyes scan the room
My dream has imprinted itself to the skull of which I cannot break.

Poems that do not rhyme,
Songs without rhythmic time
Footsteps and dollar store wine
Wall mart rings, of promise and other silly things.
The one that was laughing has left
And I feel she was part of the theft
Of the beautiful thought I once had.
I’ve gone mad.