If it is true that for every closed door
there is one that is open, then I have
closed every door to look for cracks
in the windows, slivers of light near
the rugs, waiting by the slot for the
mail to arrive, never blind-peeking
because I place weight on the hope
that this house will break apart and
all dust will fly from the rafters above
me, who might finally breathe the
foreign air and taste the new day

There is  a winding road that passes  by my lips
and runs across my skin.  
When I cry it crosses  the music  of my face
‘til my heart sings again.

A long time ago, I could not understand,
how to have the will  
to let things go.
Now I’ve learned to let that winding road
display what I did not know.

Sometimes I yearned to growl  and taste  the pain
of  the  tear’s of  another heart.
I forgot  to take a place  inside their skin ,
feel the truth of their hurt.

There is a winding road that passes by my lips  
and runs across my skin.
It  reminds me  to see  what lies underneath ,
the broken wing of a friend.

Dear boy with the STL tattoo,

I still see your face in the people I meet.
I hear your voice in comedians on tv.
My heart breaks at Eminem.
And let me say, you're much much better than him.


Dear boy with the broken heart,

I never meant to make you cry.
I never saw this coming.
It was just a meeting of chance and time.
I still love you with my whole heart,
I wish you'd understand. Just because
we're not in love, doesn't mean you're
not my best friend.


Dear boy who is my best friend,

Even though we may not be near,
or talking, or laughing, or sharing our tears.
Even though you scratch at me,
I'll always be here for your tired eyes.
Even though I make mistakes,
I beg that you will do the same.


Dear boy with the world in his hands,

Don't you see what you can be?
There is so much locked inside of you
that I don't even see how you can
manage to breathe.


Dear boy who I know I'm losing,

Please remember to be safe.
Remember when the world gets dark,
that a match can like your way.
Please try to quit smoking, and be careful
with the drugs. I only worry because
I care. I'm sorry that's not enough.

Yesterday I sat on your porch,
and drew pink chalk hearts around
your doormat.  You asked me if I
wanted sweet tea and I said yes,
though all I really wanted was your
lips against my ear.  Whispering how
much you missed the smell of
my perfume on your pillow.

And sometimes I take snapshot of my
face when I cry. I mail them to you
in a grey envelope and on the back of every
one I write down confessions about
what animals I'd run over in the
road that day, and how they all made
the same loud thump under my wheels,
no matter how hard I pushed on the gas
pedal, or how much I turned up the stereo.

Occasionally you bring the pictures
back to me, telling me everything you
know about radio waves, road ****, and how
they relate to the tread on my tires.  You tell
me things I won't ever need to know, but
will never be able to forget no matter
how many times I try to burn the memories
of you from my frontal lobe.

I guess that's another reason why I love you.
Because no one's ever told me how
they make the colors in my favorite
fourth of July fireworks.