I remember the exact moment we met,
You told me my blue eyes matched  my dress
And with blood taking hostage of my cheeks,
I made fun of your German name.

Yes, I can remember
the first time I snuck home to our bed, guiltily
lifting the feather comforter we spent hours picking out
in Bed Bath and Beyond.
A blanket that now weighed as much as a semi truck
crushed around your sleeping body.

Lying beside you, no dreams came
to relieve me from my reprehensible  thoughts.
But it became easier. So easy, that one night
I didn’t feel a thing when I slid under those weightless covers,
Kissing you goodnight, mumbling something
about ******* coming in late.

I remember the exact moment we met.
His black rimmed glasses and off balance smile
As he handed me a cup of jungle juice in a dim, packed house.
His compliments felt all wrong,
Like they should have been coming out of your mouth
But I drank them in
faster than the jungle juice in my ***** plastic cup.

Your face
the day you walked into our room,
that’s what I remember, and wish I could forget, most of all.
I’d coached myself for this moment a so many times
I guess I  never thought it would actually come.
I don’t know what was worse, the lies
falling from my mouth, or you believing them
because you believed so much in me.

You tread around me
like a crack in the sidewalk,
counting my vertebrae for fractures
after each time you toe the line.

I've learned to keep
an epi-pen on hand in case
you slip up and feed me the truth.

You can never be too careful.

I should have beat your *** last Tuesday,
spit in your face, and right-hooked
your loose jaw.

Instead, I pressed my fists deeper
into my things
while you ******* at me
like a sorority ******* Adderall.

After all, it would be hard
to give me that snide smile,
if you didn’t have any teeth.

I will count your teeth, naming them
for the reasons you smiled before me.
I will call her ugly and make fun of her name.
I will think she looks like me.
I will want to know what your home looked like.
I will hate myself for not having more in common with you.
I will hate that she had so much in common with you.
I will wonder if I'm artsy enough.
I will decide to buy a camera.
I will worry if you actually like how eclectic I am.
I will think you'll leave me for it someday.
I will love you with everything.
I will pray that you love me more than you loved her.

I think in family photos.
Always looking behind plastered smiles
and matching wool sweaters.
I think in mirrors.
Reflecting the person standing before me
searching for themselves in my eyes.
I think like a schizophrenic.
Deafening skepticism ringing through my ears.
I think in exotic dances.
Colorful and twisting
feeling every nerve in my body shiver.
I think like sushi.
In cold foreign textures sliding down your throat.
I think in Polaroids.
Remembering you the day you changed
before my resentful eyes.

He was a beautiful enigma.
A bonified butcher knife
whispering against my throat
on a wooden dorm room desk.

His hands drummed
to beats my heart missed.
My lungs forgot  the in and out,
we’d been perfecting
all these years.

He brought me closer to divinity
Than I had ever come before
I can see him now, eyes ignited
to match my joint.

Constantly moving
She fell into orbit around a desolate planet
Prepared to change, rearrange, alter pieces to fit flawlessly

A planet devoid of gravity made it seem impossible
to stay grounded in a system doomed for destruction

Promises exchanged, plans made
Easily pushed aside
preferring an unfamiliar one-sided view
through a crimson tinted telescope lens

Desperate for her dark reality
to converge with a bright future
no matter how brief the eclipse may be

She struggles to weave her life through the threads of a hopeless universe
leaving her, in time, to readjust her orbit around another.

I could die
of smoke inhalation
in a trailer park in Southern Alabama,
my hair streaked with lemon juice
and you wouldn't miss a breath.

My vocal chords throb from chanting
your name to St. Anthony.

I am a 17th century puritan,
nothing without you.

My man.
My grudge.
My emptiness.

Down and out, or better than ever, I can’t tell.
No matter where on Earth I am with you
I will wake up in cold sweats, panting
Because I can’t get this restlessness out of me.

Some days, I swear
In place of my blood there is kerosene.
My fingernails are growing yellow.
Skin equals ashes.
But I can’t tear the meat from my bones
If you’re busy loving it.


You and inferno are playing tug of war with my limbs
And if you win you’ll regret it.

Lend me your crimson
tinted telescope lens.
I can see you now
glittering out there
in alien sands.
Green lungs,
like neon lights,
ignite to match your joint.

Pantomime of a stoner,
I see you better in the dark,
while I lie wrapped in the sheets
of your second-hand smoke.

You are an eight-bit heart attack,
a box of dynamite in the basement
of a match factory.

You don't explode me,
you implode me, I struggle
to keep it all in;

to stay together.

Call it crazy, unreasonable,
sadistic, but this is too deliberate.
Call me a Kennedy, baby.
I die for you.

I am she.
The snow
at the summit
of the alps.
The absent
car keys when
you are late.
Like a test
you forgot
to study for.

I am a day spent
in bed watching
black and white
films.
A tray of
cookies left
in the oven
too long.
A penny
heads down
in the street.

Curious and strong
That is how I was raised
by you and your guiding hand

Truth was a virtue, as was sincerity
in the life you built for me
For us

I learned to see the world through
your hand-me-down blue eyes
so similar to mine

I learned to embrace life through
your arms wrapped tightly around
my small shoulders

I learned not to take life so seriously by
hearing your laughter fill our cozy home
and my tiny ears with joy

I learned to embrace life through
your arms wrapped tightly around
my small shoulders

I learned not to take life so seriously by
hearing your laughter fill our cozy home
and my tiny ears with joy

I learned to hold the weight of the world by
balancing on your solid shoulders and
never being afraid of falling

Curious and strong
That is what I have become
Thanks to you and your guiding hand

Upon awaking I felt the tears already soaking my face
scrambling to remember what had gotten me to this point

He looked just the way he did
the day he left us
The kind smile and caring eyes I had grown so fond of
now smiling back at me yet again

He told me all the things I longed to hear from him
He was proud of who I had become and how you raised me
He gave me the aged advice I've needed to hear all these years
and explained to me what I did not understand
in that way only he could.

He gave me gumballs, but made sure they were in the exact colors I like
and we walked.
Just walked and talked and caught up.
Like I wish we could everyday.

I was so young when he left us
but I remembered him as if I saw him yesterday
down to the littlest details

They say our dreams are our innermost desires
last night I think my dreams were a passageway.

I came to you as a pilgrim,
palms turned upward,
eyes empty.

You are a beautiful enigma,
a bonified butcher knife
taking aim at my cynic's perspective.

Your hands drum
to beats my heart misses.
My lungs forget
the in and out, in and out
we've been perfecting.

You bring me closer to divinity
than I have ever come before.
I can see you now, eyes ignited
to match my joint.

I have to move up north,
and forget your name.
I don’t know where my hands are,
what my lips want.
I’ll strip myself raw
with the hum of alcohol,
leave myself
sanitized of you.
I have to.

This isn't a poem about how I don't like to get drunk
because I show that, maybe,
I'm not as strong as I say I am.
There will be no metaphors comparing your eyes
to the most beautiful of nights, or
how I search them constantly like a map
afraid to see that you've finally gotten lost.
I won't add any clever line breaks to represent
the juxtaposition of our personalities.
I can only write poems about the terrible things in my life, and you
are nothing of the sort.

One day, I will meet you. My face
in ruins. Pink skin like thrift store taffeta,
and you will say nothing.
I will be with child. High school sweetheart
gripping tight to my left hand.
There will be mascara draining
from the ledges of my empty, hand me down blue eyes,
but the streetlights will fill me up effectively.

If I see you any time soon,
it will be because we miscalculated,
kept our heads up for a second too long on the street.
I will open my mouth to spill out my mirror practiced monologue,
I'm just like you, so they say. Callous and Shifting.
But my dry mouth will close tight around the first vowel, swallowing hard.

Your eyes will look through me.
Because you, like all things, must pass.

Enigmatic like a blank stare
on an unreadable face.
A lone tear from a left eye
watching you disappear with the right.
Not able to tell anymore
if the space looking
to be so desperately filled
is whats making you feel forsaken.

Go on. Fill yourself up
with what you're missing
and sit alone asking why
it will never be enough.
That's how you raised her.
Isn't it?

Leave them like there's something
pulling you along.
A flawed creature searching
for salvation in immortal
ideas and feelings.

The pretentiousness passing
from mother to daughter
like an epidemic.
She never had a chance.
Born sick of the flat earth
she was laid upon.

Doomed to forever leave
herself in blank pages of secrets
just to feel whole
even for a minute.

It was mid-february when I asked
to put a cigarette out on your neck.
In July, I stopped asking,
and started doing.

A fiend waiting for a fix,
I took hit after hit until I inhaled
every last bit of you,
careful not to miss a breath.

It is mid-February again
as I sort out the rainbow pills
into kaleidescope patterns
on my bathroom floor; carefully counting
the ways I loved you.

Why
lovely eyes
have you happened upon me?
Drawing a map
with precise directions
just when it was believed
I would wander
aimlessly searching
through windows and doors
for something
I wasn't sure how to find

If I could
I would go back
to the very start.
Erase all others who have dared
to come before you
and your lovely eyes.
Erase all who taught me wrong
and trained my heart to believe
it was love being traded.

I beg of you
not to become a prophecy
self-fulfilled by time.
If this is too good
to be true
I don't want to know the truth.

I dreamt of tears
falling softer than the skin
on the underside of her
bended knee.
The knee she used to pray.
For salvation. For hope.

Toward me,
she looked for answers
to the riddles
plaguing her mind.
Turning thoughts
into open sores
incapable of scabbing over.

I simply watched, waited.
Wandered her chaos like a nomad searching
for a safe place to nest.
The help I yearned to give
lost somewhere behind my teeth
aching to spill out.

Pretentiousness passed
from mother to daughter.
An epidemic.
She never had a chance.
Born sick of the flat earth
she was laid upon.

I dreamt of tears
Falling softer than the skin
On the underside of her bended knee
The knee she used to pray
For salvation. For hope.

She looked to me for her answers
To the riddles plaguing her mind
Turning thoughts into open sores
Incapable of healing

Pick on someone your own size she pleaded
To the universe as it poked and
Prodded her yet again
Challenging her to break under its weight
Under the grooves it wore into her shoulders

The help I yearned to give lost on my tongue
Like so many other regrets
I simply watched, waited
Wandered her chaos like a nomad searching
For a safe place to nest

She has a sadness, and swing
and something else--
like her voice could bring you back from the dead.
She never had a chance, born sick
of the flat Earth she was lain upon.
arms dusted with a film
scrubbed until she was raw,
sins bleeding out in the yellowing shower.

Little one, Don't get so used to the leaving.
Don't let it become a part of you.
Learn from their mistakes,
but you must know that you are not one.

You are young with so much to learn,
but I know that look.
I have had that look in my very eyes.

With an abundance of life ahead of you,
remember that you decide your future.
Not those who chose not to be a part of it.

She found the one who felt like home. Gave herself
fully to this last chance man, but a difference in distance
led her to a bed that, although strange, felt like home.

You counted her last; meanwhile, she counted you
as first and only. Knowing how easily
you would let her go, it would **** her
to walk away from this last chance love.

We will wake in the morning; pink and repentant. As if the words strung above our bed mean any less with the sun upon them.

If my face reflected the hell it has seen.
If my body resonated the abuse it has been through.
If my feet wore every pair of shoes I have walked a mile in.
If my mind screamed the insanity it has known to have crossed.