sometimes i feel as though we are the same person,
but you are the version that is more refined and more talented and more effortless
we do all the same things,
but you take the time to brew beauty
as i let emotion crash through delicate crystal i once tried to create

you are also darker; more solemn

you have long legs
a slender waist
milky skin
and deep brown eyes
that are serious
thoughtful
and earnest

I provide the imperfection,
the blind confidence
and the willingness
to make mistakes
i provide thick thighs
and a booming laugh
that makes it known we are not here to please

we are a literary device;
two parts of one character
that morphs into one
complex heroine by the end of the folktale

Have you known? Awhile

In coffee shops I sit for hours
Trying to compose a symphony  
As eloquent as the words on the pages of the novels I’ve read
But nothing comes
Sweet Lullabies - I hear
Black Swans
Float away

I’ve seen the way the light hit the maple
Small delicate bites across the table
I’ve been waiting for summer days like this
Hoping to be inspired
But nothing comes
Sweet Lullabies - I hear
Black Swans
Float away

She smiled at me
I smiled back
The words echoed through
A slap to the face and I woke up
Sweet Lullabies - I hear
Black Swans
Float away


So underneath a chandelier of forgotten hours is where I’ll be
Surrounded by open windows staring through me
Dancing on a cloud of thorns and bleeding ashes on my tattered pink dress
Wondering “Does it make a difference?”
After all, I was promised your undivided attention
As soon as you walked through those doors and took your seat
The lights dimmed, the curtains rose
I came out, ready
Yet my movements were ignored
My voice forgotten
My masterpiece shattered;
Sweet Lullabies - I hear
Black Swans
Float away

I've written love stories for strangers in the street,
Sang sonnets for puppy love crushes,
And sketched the delicate details of lovers I've only met in dreams.
Yet somehow, I cannot seem to muster the strength
It takes to write a single line of text for you.
The melody to our story escapes my memory,
It almost seems too painful to imagine how your face wrinkled in a smile.
Your name rings a hundred times over in my mind,
I can feel it's claws deep in my chest
Crawling up my throat, begging to be said aloud.
As your ghost walks by my side,
Offering a transparent shoulder to rest my head against
I immediately become lost in your absent touch.

Unbeknownst to me,
I made even the most vivid of my almost-love stories
A distant shadow of memories clouded with delusion.  
Rather than confront the truth of our incompatibility
I hide between crowds in the street and the indents of building entryways,
Afraid your eyes will meet my painted on smile
And decide, in an instant, to look the other way.
As if I'm merely a passing image, instead of an old half that didn't quite fit.
As if you didn't know me at all, like perhaps you wish you never did.

I've composed symphonies in the fleeting names of thousands,
Erected statues for flirtatious, one minute interactions,
And created masterpieces for those who don't remember my name.
Yet the thought of putting you into art seems to crack my soul
And leave the contents spilling out with no one to return them.
To consciously put in order the tornado of a romance we shared
Would be to admit it actually meant something to me-
And that it still does, somehow, have a hold of my mind.
But that would also be to admit that you belong with all the others,
Which you so clearly stand apart from.
To make such art would betray everything I ever felt for you.

For you, every novel will go unwritten.
My canvas filled with landscapes and still lifes,
I'll paint every face blank with your shadow.
Love songs and beautiful melodies remain only for ten digit number exchanges
That die as quickly as they start.  
Every word I write about the stranger from the coffee shop,
Or the chance encounter while buying groceries
Will be dripping with your memories,
How you glanced long and touched soft.
Slowly I'll forget how your voice felt on my skin
And the way my body intertwined with yours at night.
Never again will your image hover over my head and drown me in my sleep.
Everyday I walk without your ghost in the back of my mind
Will be your symphonic, poetically sculpted masterpiece.