your eyes are my favorite kind of blue.
baby, I just want to get to know you.

even if I went back and changed things,
it still wouldn’t have made a difference.
but ****, your last name
would have looked good on me.
I think that’s what hurts the most.

two years later, I can finally
listen to our songs without
thinking about us singing them.
that's what they call progress.

I cup my hand
capture water
pour it over
the little black ant;
it is washed away.

And instantly
my brain
demands
Do you know what
                                     you are guilty of?

I stare at the drain.
The ant is gone.
I am guilty of this.

Who are you
                         to decide
                                          who lives and
                                                             ­       who dies?
What makes you better than an ant?
From his perspective you are just as
Anonymous
and Meaningless
as he looks to you.

Water drips down my back and it is silent
save for the melody of droplets on tile.

What gives you the right to this space?
Why was his mere presence so offensive?
Why are you special?

Is it the ease with which you killed him?
You could do it
                             and so you did it?

*Does your power make you feel strong?

Imagine letting him live
wandering these tiled walls;
Aren't you glad you stopped it?

Sometimes, post ******
you lie in someone's arms
simply because they are comfortable
and you need a moment
before you'll trust your legs to walk away.

Sometimes you will linger
kiss their shoulders
trace little circles with your pinky
out of appreciation,
Thanks for their sounds and the sensations.

But I am drawing fractals on your chest
and studying your eyelashes,
Every few moments
you lean over and we share three tiny, little kisses.
And each time, you feel my smile
so you smile back through the next kiss.
I sneak one extra
on the tip of your nose
because I am glad it is on your face.

And your hand comes up
to rub the skin beneath my ear
I let out a happy humming sound
you return it,
You leave a kiss on my forehead
and I keep making fractals

there might be other worlds in which
this behavior would be acceptable,
but this is not one of them.
there are people who would let you
string them along like old Christmas lights
on a freshly cut tree, but I am not one of them.
not anymore.

the only way I’m moving forward
is if you’re in my passenger seat.
but I don’t know you anymore
and you don’t owe me anything.

Close your eyes, b r e a t h e, make a wish, and blow--
release the seeds of your dreams and let them g r o w
wild, like weeds... unappreciated by those who
don't understand them but resilient and persistent
for those who know how to handle them.