There are people you've never met
who remind me of you
and that means I'm thinking about you
and chances are
you're not thinking about me

I
used
to
cut
when
I
would
disconnect,

but
now
I
think
I'm
hurting
you
instead.

I dropped out of college one month in.

I quit two jobs over text.

I only retrieved half of my belongings after moving out of my parents house.

My library card was cancelled because I never returned the DVD I rented, because I never watched it.

My exes all still have at least two articles of my clothing because I told them I'd come get them. I intended to. I just never got around to it.

I started to write a suicide note.
I just never knew how to
end
it.

I fell for your charm.
It started with the tattoos lining your arm,
each themed like the sea.
After beginning to see what we could be,
I told you that you were an ocean.
I always told you that you were deep,
and that being deep was okay,
that there was nothing wrong with emotions.
But I also told you I was terrible at swimming.
I started to try learning each day,
but I drowned in you,
and it seemed you did too.
I avoided decay
though you led me astray.
I wasn’t ready to learn,
and you, not ready to teach.
I needed your help but refused to beseech.
Just know I forgive you for bringing me such pain.
I’ve become stronger each day,
less selfish with personal gain.
And despite my knowing I will always feel worn,
if I feel too weak,
I’m never too far from shore.
Being alone is a struggle no more.

I was advised by many women in their 30s
that I might always love you.
That I'd have to learn to ignore it and suppress it.
Well, I am.
I've been doing well.
When I think of you,
I think of what you did to hurt me.
But there are moments like just now,
when I saw the picture of you from the night we met,
where I can't help but feel.
Now the memories are flooding back again.
It's been about six months since you left,
and you're moving on.
I'm trying.
It's working, slowly and painfully, but I'm trying.

One.
When my mom found us asleep in my bed at 4am and screamed at you to 'Get the **** OUT of her house,' you texted me the very next morning and asked to see me as though it never even happened.

Two.
When my family went out of town without me for Thanksgiving, we stayed the whole day at your place and watched foreign movies and ate pasta.

Three.
On our first date, we sat in your car until 3am just... talking.

Four.
When my sister really wanted that new Pokemon game and my local Walmart sold out, you voluntarily drove almost 5 towns over just so she could get it because you knew I couldn't for her.

Five.
The first time we had ***, I cried. I still don't know why. You held me the whole time.

Six.
You woke me up with tickets to one of my favorite musicians of all time, for a tour I didn't even know about.

Seven.
When my dogs died, you stayed up with my the whole night as I cried. Both times.

Eight.
The first time you kissed me was at a gas pump at 10pm after I changed out of my blouse and into my hoodie.

Nine.
You took me to Buffalo Wild Wings even though you're a vegetarian. You even put up with my singing each 2008 Billboard Top 100 song as it played. I could tell you were embarrassed for me, but you laughed and kissed me anyway.

Ten.
When I told you I hadn't been to the art museum, you took me. When I told you I'd never been to Chipotle, you took me. When I told you I hadn't felt safe in years, you made me feel the safest I ever have.

Eleven.
After you kissed me the first time, you admitted the thing that "made" you kiss me was my purple-stained lips after I ate Superman ice cream while belting out songs terribly and sitting in the passenger seat of your car.

Twelve.
When I told you that you were a terrible tipper and I was a waitress, you immediately stopped tipping terribly.

Thirteen.
You left me a voicemail telling me you appreciated me, that you felt lucky to have me, and you claimed you didn't deserve me. While I disagree, I felt it. That was the first time I heard you say "I love you" before you had actually said the words "I love you."

"We're trying so ******* hard
not to be a couple.
Not to act
like we want each other more than anything.
But holy ****,
it's like trying to forget how to breathe.
How can you just stop doing something
so natural that you never even learned to do it,
something just happened on its own?
How can you stop something
that feels so ******* right
and calming
and healthy
and try to find alternatives?
Ways to complete life
without doing the action
you're trying so hard not to do?
Pretending not to love him feels like
being on a respirator.
I just want to breathe again,
I just want to breathe naturally;
I just want to be his again,
I just want to be us again."

I've always been
the impatient kind,
but for you,
I'd wait a lifetime.

After
all this time,
it doesn't matter
who--
my mind
just seems
to wander
directly
back
to you.

To be completely honest,
I've lost track of time since the moment you left.
At 7:34 I thought it was 8:00.
I thought today was the 20th.
You left four days ago and it feels
Like four minutes.

Your things finally made
their way out of my room.
Maybe tonight,
so will the memory of you.

It's taken me a long time to realize
that being happy is a matter of smiling
without having to think about it first
and sometimes
smiling is a matter of doing so because you can

I see your tears in puddles,
I see your eyes in trees,
I hear your voice in the wind,
You follow me everywhere I go.
Although I feel a little lonely when you're not by my side,
I know you're always with me.
Just because I feel a little lonely doesn't mean I feel alone.

57 minutes.
It’ll be your birthday
in fifty-seven minutes.
I’m sitting in my bed, in the pitch black,
remembering your laugh that is still
so fresh in my brain.
If one could look inside my head,
they, too, would be in awe that you
have already been gone
over three months.

19 years.
You were almost
Nineteen years old.
Things still feel surreal,
as though you’re
to come home momentarily,
laughing alongside us
at how much we worried.
No.
I know you can’t,
no matter how much I wish it were so.

104 days.
I heard you had died
One hundred four days ago.
I was in the girls’ bathroom at school,
and was told you had passed.
I hit the floor so hard,
I bruised my knees.
I was hysterical,
yet pulled myself together
and went to class.
My teacher kicked me out of her room that day,
she said I was causing a distraction
because I was crying so hard.
I left without a word.
She found out the next hour.
She cried, too.

0.
Zero minutes, zero hours, zero days,
months, years, decades,
zero is your magic number;
you are never coming back.
I think about you every day.
I wonder how it got this way.
I wonder what the universe thought
that made it decide
it was time for you to go.
I try not to dwell,
but still see your face.
Whether I’m in Walmart,
the mall,
or even in school,
I still see your face.
Zero percent of the time, it’s you.

I didn't think about you very much at all today.
But I just heard the door open,
and for a solid five seconds,
I legitimately thought you came back.

10:12pm

You told me
I was
worth it.
Now,
I just feel
worthless.

As I watch you strum
away at your guitar,
I hope the only thing
you're playing is music.

I feel as though
I've changed a lot as a person
since you left.
But the one thing I can't shake,
is how empty
I still feel
without you.

Lying in bed only makes me long to remember the feeling of having someone's arms around me. It only makes me long for it to happen. But it doesn't.
I work part time and start my senior year in a week and I'm ****** on sleep because I refuse to, or I'm never tired at night.
I always sit up in bed.
I always sit up in bed.
Maybe I never lie down because I expect arms around me, but am instead met with a bare pillow.
I should probably change the pillow case.
My makeup smeared on it when I cried.
I know I'm not alone, but I still feel so lonely.
I know I'm not alone but something in me says I will be.
I haven't gotten up today other than to get my paycheck. I contemplated buying myself some clothes. It makes me a little happier.
Instead I crawled into bed and took a nap because at least in my dreams, I forget the loneliness.

Everything reminds me of you.
I'd say you're stuck in my head,
But the proper term is "earworm--"
You are not a pest.
You're too friendly,
Too lovable.
You closer resemble puppy,
Just like everyone says.
Only I feel as though you've run away.
I miss your loyalty.
Your companionship.
Your ability to make me smile,
No matter how hard I cry,
And those incredible, sparkling eyes.
I worry about you, now,
Because it seems you've run away.
I wonder where you've been,
If you're being treated well.
Or, if you've been alone.
Just like anyone who
Has lost their best friend,
I just want you to come home.

I want to get so drunk I forget my own name.
The problem is, I think I'd still remember yours.
I've done everything I can to forget you except forget you,
and I don't think it's ever going to work.

I guess
I would
rather
lose
sleep
than
lose
you.

Eyes closed as I lay,
I wish you were here to stay
yet fear envelopes my aching chest
and I worry that I'll never
rest beside you.
So I lie awake and count the breaths I take,
each one feeling wasted as
the only piece of you that lingers
is your
absence.

When I close my eyes, I see you,
and I'm afraid to speak.
My mouth is dry,
yet my eyes are wet.
I want to hold you,
but I can't.
I'm stuttering,
I'm saying sorry.
I'm sorry that I did this.
I'm sorry that I miss you because
I'm sorry that I care.
I'm sorry that you're suffering because
I'm a sorry fool.
I'm not sorry that I love him.
But I'm sorry that I can't love you.

All I've been thinking about the last week is how you promised that
Under any circumstances, leaving was never an option.
Still, I'm glad you did, seeing as I never would have realized
That I was causing you such trauma.
I'm so sorry, because you never deserved anything like that.
Not from the person you loved.

Just so we're clear, I still love you,
Although I'm not sure if it's in the same way as before.
Maybe it's just the fact that our connection made us inseparable,
Even on our worst days.
Sometimes I wonder if I just love you as a person now.

Regardless, I wish the best for you and everything you do.
Every day has made me realize what mistakes I made.
In case of you reading this and  
Considering the promises we once made each other, I
Hope you can move on from them to someone better than I,
Or maybe even come back when I'm more mature.
Looking back, I'd just like to remind you;
Dear, you're lovely, and deserve the world... and that wasn't me.

When your hands leave mine in the late hours of the night,
I feel your touch, the scar on your palm, imprinting itself to mine,
My hands shake with the lust to hold yours.
When you leave my side,
My bundle of blankets,
The cold that fills your place
Never seemed so chilling until now.
When you stand ten feet from me,
Grinning like a fool,
I do not realize
That I am returning this gesture,
With rosy cheeks and a thudding heart
Thudding so hard I begin to wonder
If I've a medical issue I need to address with my doctor
Lovesick is a term I've only connected to heartbreak
But I feel my blood run smoother,
My breaths quicken,
My hands shake.
I do not know if it is your gaze sending chills down my spine,
Or your breath on my neck,
But all I can confirm is
You have an affect on me.
You're infecting me with a drug and my addiction is growing.
Need not worry, I've healthy addictions,
Despite the contradictions,
And you, my dear, are one.

We are sitting in your car, and we are quiet.
The sun has set and the only illumination is the streetlights of the city I've told you I wanted to show you since the day we met.
For once, we are not holding hands.
Three hours prior we were staring at one another across the top of a table at Qdoba and you assured me things were working out. You assured me that we could continue as we were. This wasn't goodbye.
I assured me you weren't forcing those words, yet three hours later, as we are leaving the city I never got to show you, you are not looking at me.
The day before I would not hesitate to say I love you.
The day before, I would not doubt your touch.
The day before, I explained to you that I do not say "goodbye" when planning to see someone again. "Goodbye" is too permanent a term, "goodbye" is when you can't promise you'll come back.
Now, we are sitting in my basement and you lie on the couch.
I am sitting on the floor.
You're looking at your phone as I look for something to watch on the TV, and you do not seem to care what.
I look for something for you.
As it plays and you watch, I watch how quickly we are fading.
My heart yearns to show to you that I believe we are worth this, but just like the sun faded from the sky and we were overcome by the night sky,
it seemed the light had faded from your eyes and you no longer saw the sky in mine.
I attempt to make my way beside you on the couch, and I soon realize that there's no longer room in your life for two.
I found myself memorizing each freckle on your face,
I found myself remembering the shades of blue your eyes kaleidoscope into when hit by the sun.
I found myself wondering just when they might see sun again,
as I could tell they no longer shone when looking at me.
It was then that I realized my heart was no longer full of love,
it was empty from the lack of reciprocation.
You looked at me as though I held the answers to everything you'd ever asked,
but I feel as though you quickly realized I was an issue, outdated.
You left about midnight.
I kissed you as you left, and I thanked you for coming.
You assured me it wasn't a problem.
I told you that I loved you,
and you told me you loved me, too.
You said "goodnight,"
and for the first time,
I said
*"goodbye."

for the first time in my life
i was certain love existed
but as quickly as i fell for you
you proved me wrong

I’ve been trying to convince myself that this isn’t the end
but as I pour my heart into this text I can’t bring myself to hit send,
the suffering of unsaid words shivers in my spine
and I’m left to lay in my bed and think of simpler times
when I could safely say you were mine and we were happy.
I wanted us to be happy but we were both struggling and still are,
in the same ways but differently.
It’s difficult to comprehend but
we both fight just to get out of bed and I can’t help but wonder
if we shared one instead of FaceTimed when we fell asleep,
it’d somehow be easier.
Or maybe we’d still be in this place,
only afraid to leave the house in fear we’d see each other’s face.
Instead I hear your name called when you’re nowhere to be seen
and am left with the reminders of what could have been.
You say I’m still yours and only need time to get your life in line
so I can safely call you mine
but there is no safety in silence when there are words left unsaid.
I wish I could reach through my speaker when you call
and say you’re feeling low, rip the weights from your chest
so we can let our worries go but I can’t and I’d still suffer.
Silently.
Secretly.
I keep saying this is fine but the words come out a lie
as I lay in my unwashed sheets and cry until I can’t breathe.
They burn my throat as I smoke another cigarette thinking
maybe if I smoke another something else can take my breath away
but when I fell for you
I found myself struggling to get the air into my tired lungs.
I already struggled to breathe from the bad habits and lack of sleep
but you changed the feeling in such a way
I convinced myself I was happy.
And you made me happy.
Blissful, content, I wanted to hold you
and realized life doesn’t have to end on a bad note,
but it came crashing back when the sun went down
and you started saying less when we’d call.
I know you never meant to hurt me,
it’s just the stresses from your head pounding relentlessly
until it bruised your heart too,
making it weary and unready for the love I tried to give.
I know I gave too much and there were limitations I tried to ignore
because I am the fool I am and still believe love is enough
but reality has finally set in that there are things we can’t control
that can make it so impossible to love from this far.
I want to better myself and my spending habits
so I can finally sleep in your bed,
but wants are different from possibilities and
until I know what’s going on
when I suddenly lose my sense of direction
and all hope of tomorrow
I don’t want you to have to try pulling me back into reality
when you aren’t so sure of what it is yourself.
So when you fall asleep tonight know you’re on my mind, too,
and I could never bring myself to hate you.
Know I hate the places we’re in and
the emptiness we feel even when others try
so desperately to fill those voids,
and the fact that love truly can’t stop it from devouring our minds.
I love you endlessly and I will never give up on that thought,
as you have shown me what I deserve,
and it’s not that it isn’t enough,
it’s just too far out of reach for me to accept.
You are the reason I get out of bed when I finally do
because despite the circumstances
I still want to believe that this isn’t the end.
That things could turn around tomorrow
and we will be happy
and not so scared
of giving each other
everything
without worry of our hearts
and our heads.

I used to love being alone
but now I'm starting to confuse it with loneliness.
I used to love having space
but now I'm lost in the atmosphere.
I keep eating cause I should,
but I still feel ******* empty.

An Open Letter To The First Boy I Loved

Alternatively known as “An Open Letter To The Boy That Calls Me Crazy.”

The first words you ever “said” to me were in a facebook message,
A picture of your lined arms attached, reading,
“Hah, I’m sorry, but I saw your picture of your scars and felt like showing you these.”

The first thing I should have done was run.
Not only were you immediately trying to make me feel bad
Before I had even uttered a word,
But you were already one-upping me,
Making me feel like you had been through so much more.

I admit my mistake of having shown my weaknesses online
At such a young age,
Hardly 14,
But having grown to a world of romanticized trauma,
I felt it was only normal to have issues of my own,
Whether they were exaggerated or not.

The saddest part of these issues having been forced upon myself
Is the fact that at one point I did not need them,
But now I feel like I would be nothing without them.
I do not blame you for their worsened behavior,
But before I met you,

I had never felt like a ****.
I had never actually made myself bleed to the point of soiling a shirt.
I had never actually attempted to take my life.

Though knowing I had these scars,
It seemed you knew how easily I’d fall into you,
Fall for you,
Looking for comfort in knowing I was not alone.

You persuaded me into kissing you.
You persuaded me into losing my virginity in the back of your mom’s car
While she was in your house on a cold September night.
It was rushed.
It was rough.
There was blood.
And you did not care.
“It’ll be quick, don’t worry.”

In the six months we were together,
I willingly had *** with you twice.
Every other time ****** acts occurred,
(which was over forty times)
You guilted me.
You told me that you deserved it.
You asked if I really loved you.
You told me I needed to show you that I loved you,
You told me that it was what love really was.

I never told you how many times I cried after you left.
I never told you how many guys I kissed after you,
And how every single one made me cry
Without saying a word.
It was the simple intimate touch--
Lips, even if gentle, pressing together--
That sent fear rolling through my body.

It was three months after you broke up with me.
Three months after you admitted that you cheated on me,
It was the day you asked me to go on a walk with you.
The day we could become friends again,
Start over,
Ignore that I still loved you,
Try again.
You insisted you still loved me
(Though now I doubt you ever did).
You insisted that you
Never wanted to hurt me,
And bent me over a tree in the woods
Behind the high school,
And said it would
“Just be in and out! Once!”
And I begged you to stop.
You slapped me,
You called me a ****,
And when you finally finished,
You started to panic.
You were begging me to say that
You
Didn’t
****
Me.
Through my own tears,
My own confusion,
My own pain,
I assured you,
“No, you're okay. It'll all be okay.”

It has been over two years since that day.
Since then, I have opened myself up to one person.

That man has since left me.
One of the contributing factors
Being that he was worried I was not over you.
He kept receiving messages from you,
Messages you sent claiming I would never stop loving you,
When this is the closest thing to hatred that I have ever felt,
Messages you sent claiming I would always think of you,
And what’s terrifying is I can’t help thinking of you--

It's only because I can’t get the nightmare
Of your touch
Out of my aching skull
And I don’t want you to feel victorious,
And it terrifies me that you do,
Because not only did you push me,
Not only did you threaten me,
Intimidate me,
**** me,
But you insisted I’d spend the rest of my life with you,
You disoriented my visions of love
Like a bad LSD trip,
And I’m so ******* scared it will never ******* end,
Because every time I see myself trying to hug,
Kiss,
Love,
Trust someone,
I see what you did to me and I know that it’s
Baggage to them,
But a ball and chain on me,
And I’m petrified.
These memories are bars keeping me from moving onto happier things,
Keeping me holed up, waiting for you to finally let me go,

Stop telling people that I’m crazy,
Stop whispering my name when you pass me in the hall,
Stop following my social media,
Stop following the people that I try to let in,
Stop ******* with my life,
Stop ******* with my head,
Stop ******* with me,
Leave me the **** alone,

The first words you ever “said” to me were in a facebook message,
With a picture of your lined arms attached, reading,
“Hah, I’m sorry, but I saw your picture of your scars and felt like showing you these.”

I never thought I’d have more scars than that.
Over 146 scars,
The police department proved it when they showed up at your house
The night you tried to **** yourself,
And told me it was my fault.

The scars I have aren’t physical.
Not all of them, at least.
But the problem with scars is they don’t just go away.
They go away with time,
And it’s hard to let them heal when you’re still leaving them there today.

I’ve tried telling the police what you’ve done.
I’ve tried telling counselors,
They haven’t done anything;
There was never enough proof,
It happened too long ago.
I can’t do anything to prove it.
Instead I’m left to see you daily.
Instead I’m left to hear you whisper about me.
Have people ask me questions about the things they’re hearing
Things you say.

This is an open letter to the first boy I loved.

I say boy, because
The only thing I’m certain of anymore,
Is you will never
Be a
Man.

i long for the mornings i stir and hear those even breaths rolling over soft lips,
when we are lazily tangled up in one another
where i brush the hairs away from your eyes, though closed,
and count the faint freckles dotting your nose
for the moments of intimacy,
like the first few mornings that i whispered i love you,
countless times before i ever really told you i loved you
where i stare at those mocha eyes opening when you wake,
only for you to smile warmly and pull me closer
the intimacy of the sun peeking through the window,
and the security of your arms holding me tightly
you are my morning cup of coffee
you are just what i need to make it through the day
a week from now i’ll be by your side once more
i will trace your jawline as though i am preparing my mug,
wrap you in sheets of memory
drink in the sight of you in morning light
and take you for all that you offer

And i can tell that i don’t cross your mind
When you’re the only thing that stays on mine,
But it’s fine, i’ll be alright, survive,
I know that it’s just how things have to be from time to time

I don’t want to cry. Please believe me, I’m trying
I can’t get emotions across without constantly whining
I don’t want to scare you.
I need to be near you.
You’re like oxygen, you see,
I can’t breathe without you next to me,
But now you’re gone.
This all feels so wrong.
Just last week i woke beside you,
Now this bed is empty and I can’t forget your smile.

I miss the way that you’d hold me.
I miss the way that you kiss my forehead,
And my nose.
and tickle my sides, but
Now my heartstrings are tackling blows.
I don’t know.
Maybe you really don’t need me
And what you need is for me to leave you alone.
But i dont want to go.
You gave me a home.
I was lost for so long,
Found myself in your arms--
Now i know it’s where i belong.
Even though you’re fighting the pain inside,
From the girl that broke your heart, and plagues your mind
And made you want to die

Please don’t cry
If this isn’t what you need
Believe me
I understand, i just want you to be happy.

I’ll never forget you.
I’ll always be grateful for you.
But if this is the way things have to be,
Then i guess I’ll be fine.
It’s alright.
Thank you for letting me be a part of your life
And until next time,
Know you that always have a place in my heart
And in my mind
And I love you.
But goodbye,
My aurora.

as I lie awake beside you,
and you allow sleep to qualm your stresses from the day,
I'm suddenly very aware of the pillow underneath my head
and note how it feels nothing like my head on your chest.
I do not mind the firmness of your muscles,
or the heartbeat that echoes beneath my ear.
your warmth does what this overpriced spaceheater never could,
but still I keep my distance.
fear of getting too close almost rivals claustrophobia, in a sense.
I long to overcome the worries of having nowhere to go but your arms,
but I fear everything may crumble should I try to overcome it.
I do not want to push.
the walls are closing in on you,
and you insist I stay away.
I would take the risks and hold you closer
but I fear my arms would be too reminiscent of the world swallowing you.
i do not want to panic.
I do not want you to push back.
so I keep my distance.
so I lie awake beside you,
cursing my pillow for not feeling like your chest.
I worry the space between us under covers is not enough,
and if the couch is a better home for my worry.
you deserve the bed to yourself tonight.
though this room is vast and I cannot fight the chill this space heater can never seem to pummel,
I know I should not get too close.
while my fear is being alone,
that is what you long to be.

Disheveled and groggy, I wake to your smile as you calmly run your hand over your face.
Tired eyes meet mine and I welcome you.
I grasp my pillow when I am urged to hold you;
You are not mine.
Your eyes are focused on your phone and impulse begs me to take it,
throw it to the side,
and kiss you.
It beckons me to distract you from the hectic that has been your recent days.
I clench my pillow.
You turn your attention to me and ask what the matter is.
The anger dissipates from your clouded eyes when landing on me.
As dim as the room is, it reminds me of moonlight.
Soft, embracing.
Instead of responding, I trace the flames on your right forearm.
In this moment, I am warm.
You do not further in asking, instead you lean your head against mine and let out an exasperated sigh.
My free hand clenches my pillow.
Inside I am imploring,
"I want to love you how she never could.
"I want to love you purely.
"I want to love you wholesome."
Instead, I softly press my lips against the tattoo I was tracing.
Your fingers loosely find their way to mine, and we lay.
Quietly,
Comfortably.
I recite the moment I kiss your lips.
I plan it, step by step.
Perfectly.
Doubt drowns me out and while our lips are mere inches apart,
this is not the moment I will close the gap.
I instead bring my eyes to yours and scream every emotion I am feeling.
You grin softly at me and lay your head down, closing your eyes.
I lazily drape an arm across your chest and you drift off with an arm around me.
As you drift away to the sleep you **** well deserve,
I whisper all of the things I'd never tell
you
while you
were
awake.

When we first met you told me I had bad habits.
I bit my nails when I was anxious,
I bounced my knee when I did something wrong.
I wasn’t very confident.
I took your words to heart,
and I tried changing those habits.
I hoped you’d notice each time I didn’t do them,
each time an alternative arose.
As I focused more and more on pleasing you than myself,
you grew distant.
I kicked myself ****** on my own two feet.
I attempted to be strong,
strong enough to love you when you couldn’t love yourself,
but it wasn’t enough.
It took me a while to adjust once you left.
Most of those habits returned.
I grew to accept them.
The few habits I dropped for good are the ones I don’t miss.
I suppose my worst habit of all of them was
loving you.

I see more of you
every day.

It's been 5 months since you passed,
and your sister acts like you.

Saturday night she came over,
and showed us all your favorite videos.
We laughed,
as did she,
and we realized that for the first time in years,
she was a little livelier than before.

That's when I realized the skip in her step
so closely resembled yours.
For a moment of seeing her near the bonfire,
I was awfully sure I saw you.
As these thoughts left my head
I swore I saw you above,
shooting star.

I pointed out the star,
she pointed out that it was dead.

Maybe she knew what I was thinking.
Maybe that's why she pointed that out.

Maybe you're watching her.
Maybe you're more proud than I remember.
Maybe you're glad she's finally past crying
at the mention of your name,
because you know we all had that.

I know she misses you, more than we.
She longs to go back.
She regrets all those fights
and sleepless nights,
and wishes she'd spent just one more hour,
or week,
pulling pranks.

Then maybe,
she'd have just a few more memories
of you,

her
brother.

I'm starting
to notice
the
nicotine's
burn

I'm starting
to notice
that
it's the
only
warmth
I feel

Sometimes
I miss
you
and the
warmth
you brought then
and

Sometimes
I miss
summer
and the
endless
blissful nights

But
I'm starting
to notice
the
nicotine's
burn

and honestly
it's more
inviting
than I thought
and
I think
I'll let it
stay

An artist has a busy mind.
Whether it be lines of a poem
or lines of a play.
One may argue that literature cannot be art,
But I will look at the accuser and ask him to count the callouses on my hands
he’ll ask what for,
what they are from,
and as I count them I’ll tell him,
"From crawling out of my own little hell."
Of course, he’ll scoff and leave, but who is he to blame?
Poets are emotional.
Others fear to feel.
Which, in retrospect, is very ironic when you think about it, because technically, they are still feeling.

My mind is like rush hour all hours of the day,
Because there is so much left to think about,
So little time to enact,
So little time to involve yourself in the thoughts.
Things occupy my mind often and when I sit alone on a park bench,
I see a collection of cars screeching against the pavement toward me,
or hear a phone call that tells me my mother,
my father,
my sister,
my brother,
is or are dead when all of the above are very much alive.

No, my mind does not silence,
It is persuasive and deceiving and it never fails to fail me,
Yet I’m trapped inside, because it’s all I've got.
When people ask if I’m alright, I respond with
"I’m fine! I’m perfectly OK!"
Because this is how my mind has been since I could count to ten,
and I cannot seem to picture it being any other way.

Normality is boring, but normality is accepted.
Being expressive is not.
So I’m told I’m too emotional when I speak in a crowded room,
I do not argue, though I still wonder how
An obnoxious burst of laughter is far too expressive.
They say the saddest people laugh the loudest
Because they are most vulnerable and susceptible to a comedian’s antics,
Especially considering they've muted their own expression to the point of near insanity,
Smiling and suicidal,
Laughing but decaying and cracking drastically with each and every chuckle,
Ironic like an abandoned amusement park-
A dying happy place.
People say that “the saddest people have the brightest eyes,”
And the most common compliment I get is
“*******- I love your eyes!”

I do not try to be obnoxious.
The words slip, and the volume cracks up,
And my mind continues running when I am standing still.
I am trying to figure out why I cannot catch my breath,
When I am not even moving.

I wish I could be normal,
I wish I wasn't so ****** up and broken
But you can’t just take a totaled car,
hand someone the keys and say,
"Take her for a spin!"
Because it will forever feel useless and it will not function.
Therefore, neither will I.

Writing helps in easing the plethora of trains speeding through my mind,
Trains of thought just chugging along,
But it only slows them down, if only for a while.

As an inexperienced conductor,
When someone asks me if I’m “BUSY,”
I can never answer them “no” honestly,

Because an artist has a busy mind.

there are times i still feel your fingertips grazing my cheek from when you stared at me as we procrastinated our goodbye.
i feel as though when your touch finally forfeited and you left that day, some sort of bond was made.
some invisible string tied us together at the wrists, and on the days we don’t speak my fingers go numb.
i tap them and beg for my senses to wake on the tables and counters i pass, in a rhythm that matches no other beat but your heart.
i wonder if you lose feeling at the thought of me.

I found a caterpillar in the road when I took a walk today.
I picked it up, took a picture of it on my finger,
and sent it to a friend.
They responded
Aw, it's so small!
I told him I put it on a leaf and walked away.
But won't you miss it?
He joked, to which I replied,
He has a home.
Everyone deserves a chance to go home.
Why do you make sense?
He asked with a chuckle.
I apologized.
Well, now it's gone forever.
I stared at some leaves
and sat on the sidewalk.
No. It's just going home.
My friend grimaced,
noting that I was no longer joking.
Might it be home forever?
If it is, it's lucky.
Is it?
Well, at least it has a home to go to.
I said this quietly,
forgetting to filter my thoughts.
But you found it on the streets.
I sighed through my nose.
It may have been on the streets,
but as long as it's looking,
it'll find a home.
I miss its cute little face.
I laughed.
Why don't you go find it again?
With a bite of my lip,
I responded,
**Because I need to find my home.
And it's been taking me a lot longer
than it's taking the caterpillar.

I think I'm the person I swore I'd never be.
I always feared cigarettes,
and was terrified of monsters in my closet.
I never had many friends and
hated myself with a passion
I couldn't put into words.
So I put it into broken tree branches,
****** poems
and little razor cuts.
But my, do people change.

Over the last six months,
the only monsters I've feared were
the ones in my head.
I haven't touched a razor in a year or so,
and trees are so highly valued to me.
I still write ****** poems,
and cigarettes still scare me,
but I've found the exhilaration
of the nicotine/tobacco mix
is just what I've needed
to get by.

I'm not the same person I was
when I last fell in love.
I was sure that I was problematic,
sure that nobody truly wanted me around.
I know I've got friends.
I know we've all got lives of our own.
I was sure that I would end up alone.
I'm not sure if that'll ever change.
I know I'm not ugly by any means.
Except, maybe, my insecurities,
which have taken the place of aforementioned
monsters in the closet.

The monsters are much bigger now,
yet so much harder to see.
They hide between the cracks of things,
appearing instead of safety.
The monsters are my doubts.
The monsters are my shaky hands,
my calorie-counting habits,
and seeing the person I cannot seem to escape.
I never thought he'd be a face
I was so afraid to see,
but when his face comes to mind,
I'm frantic to make it go away.
Not because he hurt me,
but because of the change.
I've always had a fear of change.
I hear the words
France
Cooking
Drums
Stars
Walmart.
It's hard to forget the person
your mom was certain you'd move in with.
It's hard to forget the person
you swore you'd never be.

But here I am,
perhaps, one in the same.
For the person I swore I would never
conform to being
is the person I see in the mirror.
I've always been afraid of change,
but I've changed so much in the last month,
I don't see the same person.

I know I'm stronger,
but I'm not much braver.
I keep more to myself
yet somehow
press to be with others.
I don't need approval
of those that I surround myself with,
I just want approval from myself.

I fear I'll never get it.
I'm so afraid of change.

I dreamt that you said you're sorry.
You felt bad for being so indecisive,
you decided to be serious.
You flew in from Babylon.
The second you saw me,
you held me tight.
They say you never experience emotions
you've never felt in reality
in a dream,
but I'm trying to figure out when in my life
I felt so much love.
I'm trying to remember someone in my life
that I never wanted to let go of that badly.
I feel as though your arms around me
protected me from everything that ever could have happened.
There was an overflow of emotions as you kissed me,
and I swear on it,
I've never been kissed like that to know
who would have done it in reality.
The rest was a montage of us being in love.
The rest was all I've ever wanted.
But just as every dream ends,
I woke up.
I woke up smiling,
but I woke up alone.
I woke up emptier
than I've been in weeks.
I woke up without you
lying next to me.

The day that we met, I watched you press a cigarette to your lips and laugh.
I cringed.
How could a paper stick filled with nicotine leaves and other little ingredients
bring a satisfying, calm five minutes?
We talked about how you were trying to stop,
and how I’d never, ever smoke myself,
and how that was a good thing.
We laughed.

Six months later and I haven’t seen your face in over a week.
A month ago, we were lying in your bed talking about how we’d
always love one another and always have each other,
and you pulled out a cigarette.
You reiterated that it calmed you down but I just grimaced.
How could a paper stick filled with nicotine leaves and other little ingredients
bring a satisfying, calm five minutes?
I wanted to ask again, though I know how addiction works.

You can’t really explain it.
All I’m sure of is you always know you could quit one day.
What I don’t know is if you ever really wanted to.

I took a walk to clear my head of the memories of you last night,
to get some fresh air for the first time in over a week.
It was overall ironic because as I tried to forget you,
as I breathed in the fresh Wisconsin air,
I pulled out a cigarette.

I stared at the rolled paper between my fingers,
and I saw your face.
I could smell you through the air,
taste your lips,
and wondered if I could really replace that connection in my head,
if you really should be represented by impending death and
overwhelming scents that never really fade.
I wonder because I know at heart, you were never made of tar,
you’re just sticking to my mind longer than
you ever really intended,
it was just what you were made to do.
I know you were never made to remind others of death,
though I know you wanted to be a few times.
I know you’ve encountered it and
I know you think about it at least twice a week.
You’ve always reminded me more of a sun,
because you’ve always been bright in my mind,
you’ve always been something I looked forward to seeing,
something that warmed my heart just by stepping into my presence,
you remind me of a fresh gasp of breath,
and that’s why I put the cigarette to my lips.

That’s why I lit it.

That’s why I started smoking,
Not to think of you,
Not to try to remember your taste,
Your scent,
But because
if a cigarette became my ten minute escape,
it’d be my go-to,
and you wouldn’t be.
I could get the calm you experienced and not experience you,
I could feel something other than missing you.

When I snuffed out the ****,
I was actually smiling.
I felt free of you,
free of the holds your love brought to me.
For twenty minutes,
I felt complete happiness without thinking about you
for the first time since we met.

So that’s why next time we see one another,
when we do become friends again like we promised
each other that we would,

Next time we meet,
I’ll press a cigarette to my lips,
and I’ll laugh.
We’ll talk about how you were trying to stop,
and how I’d never, ever smoke myself,
and how that promise was temporary,
just like us.

Just like the cigarette.

And when he kisses you,
you will not be surprised.
Although the timing was random,
you knew that he wanted to,
and you knew that he would.
His lips will part from yours,
he will smile,
and he will kiss you again.
It won't be soft like the first one.
You will not stop him.
You want this to mean nothing.
As his tongue traces your lips
you will retrace your thoughts,
wondering just when you will tell him
you don't know how to make love
without being in love,
but there is no love here.
When his hands begin to slide under your shirt,
you will not stop him.
You will begin to wonder if you are a tease.
You will begin to wonder how angry he will be,
you are not asking for ***, are you?
This is just a kiss,
A kiss is not consent.
You will realize your heart is racing.
You won't be able to tell what's moving faster,
him or your thoughts.
His hands will travel to your lower half,
and you will pull back from the kiss.
You will want to say something to his face,
but it's already heading downward.
You will not stop him.
Instead,
you will swallow and find yourself conflicted.
You want this to mean nothing.
As he begins to unbutton the denim,
you will realize your breathing is so sporadic
that you're getting lightheaded.
Your body is not getting excited in the way you want it to.
You want this to mean nothing.

It doesn't.

As his breath ghosts over your lower half,
through the remaining fabric,
you realize you chose the word ghost subconsciously
because you know this moment will haunt you.
And when he goes to pull the fabric away,
you will stop him.
He will be confused; he will be flustered.
He will ask you why,
and you will sit up, pull your pants on,
and tell him that you just can't.
He will be mad.
You will drive home with all the windows down,
you want to the wind to blow you away.
You will shower with cold water,
you want something else to send chills down your spine.
And when you finally lay down,
you will pull your blankets tight around you.
You want your body to regain its warmth,
its own warmth.
You want this to mean something,
it does.
You close your eyes,
and you will tell yourself:
"I make love to myself every day.
I wash my hair, I brush my teeth.
I drink water even though I hate it.
I sing along to songs in the car.
I watch the sky change colors at night.
I draw pictures of animals,
I take pictures of the sun.
I wake up.
God ******, I wake up.
I am my own best friend.
I am here, and I am not alone.
I have me.
This is all I will ever need,
and I mean it."

If you look to the stars on a late winter night,
you’ll find they shine brighter than normal.
Although summer’s warmer and
most would rather look at the stars then,
I often find myself stepping out on December nights
to stare into the depths above,
playing connect the dots.
The thing with the sky is,
no matter how far you try to look into it,
you’ll never figure it out.
I worry I’m the same.
I’ve been looking deep inside myself for years,
trying to find the meaning to which I provide life.
I’ve been trying to figure out why the dark spots are so vast
in comparison to the light.
It was only recently that I found
that despite the dark,
despite the ever-growing black,
there were gargantuan amounts of light,
only they were smaller.
What I’ve found
is it’s the little things.
And just like the sky,
there is so much dark,
and yet so much light.
So instead of looking for the light in the sky,
I should find the light in myself.
Maybe there’s a few constellations in me, too.