dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.

I was young and wounded
And he was young, too,
But something about him made me feel
Together. Impenetrable.
Something about the mist
Dripping skyward from his cherry lips said,
"I've learned not to bleed,"
and so I followed him.

These days,
I willingly choke on my
Pretense of "togetherness,"
Smoke squares and sip shine
Till water sets fire to harrowed laughter.
Sun rises and I wish it wouldn't
Simply to spare the persistent agony
I consistently cause my tiring body.

It is the hypocrisy of my life
That I can heal with my mind
The cancer of adolescent isolation
And preach against the poison of pills,
Only to trade it for
the cancer of adolescent ignorance,
Encouraging other young people
To wither away just the same.

The crazy thing is,
I haven't a clue how good I should feel
Because I've never allowed myself
To feel it.
Now is the time to start.
I am not a sheep.
My eyes are open.
It's time to breathe.