i have never known how to love halfway
split between the extremities of
gut-wrenching, soul-consuming, burn-the-world-down passion
and tired apathy
and i would either walk to the ends of the world for you
or not even to the end of the street

maybe that's why i hated goldilocks
for continually reminding me that i've never been 'just right' for anybody
a bowl of cold porridge, a chair three sizes too big
someone you settle for but never really want

maybe, you argue, i should learn to stretch myself more evenly
but i seem to have a problem of only seeing things in black and white
(more often than not, i land on black)

the problem is, i spend most of life in retreat
face hidden behind hair, hands pulled under sleeves, soundproof headphones
shuffling down sidewalks to a soundtrack of alternative music on full blast

but when i give my heart away,
it is not release
like gently unlocking a tabernacle to let the blood breathe
it is artpoetrywar
ribcage torn open, red hands, stains on the bathroom floor
clawing out the fire in my chest
just to hand them the universe on a burnt-out matchstick

i can count on one hand the people i love beyond a doubt
and it takes the same fingers to count how many of them deserve more than my ashy soul
still, my body aches for the other ghosts in my life i want to care more about
so i guess i'm finally learning what my math teacher meant when she said two halves make a hole

july is ticking away
and i feel a little overwhelmed
no, scratch that, i just feel lonely
maybe because it's the second full moon of the month but i have no one to watch it with
not to mention that the clouds chose today of all days to return
it seems like some crept into my brain too
...these swirling thoughts no longer make sense
i think i really need a drink
for the moon is not the only one feeling a little blue tonight

do you still,
imagine
that you're holding my hand
instead of hers?

do you still,
care for me
when you hear
that i'm sick?

do you still,
ask your friends
if i'm doing fine
or if i'm feeling low?

do you still,
think about the what if's
like, what if we're together
what if we're not over?

because baby, i still do.

stars, the softest
prints, the watercolours
of the night, washed
in a rich green sea,
shining like prisms,
forgetful as the shadows of the moon
bold, restful bridge of the tide.

i am the moss that hides
in the crevice,
the forest dreaming of
wood-elves and
white clouds,
the ivories of
the stars.

I think we pray when we say
that sweet word "tomorrow"
that in a way we betray
our fear of greater sorrow
That we play monk and we play lover
in the hope that we'll see colour
rather than replay the grey
when we say "tomorrow"

And as we lay in the haze
of all that we don't know
perhaps we'll praise this great ballet
of what must surely follow
Or we may curse and we may rage
as we take unto the stage
as we dance away the day
when we say "tomorrow"

A spirited moon
   'neath furtive glances,
      anguished of despair
looked upon hushed
  entangled constellations
      and heeded a warning,
for he knew well of lavishing
    recherché intricacies,
mattered naught how exquisite
  nothing lasting could come
    of liaisons's effusive grandeur,
       'tween clandestine stargazers

Nose pressed to the glass
I'm smiling brightly
as you grasp my hand
My other hand reaches up
and touches the tanks coldness.
Aren't they beautiful?
I lovingly exclaim-
Squeezing your hand excitedly.
Lets come here again, okay?