Well,
four parts to be exact

I left three chunks of skin

And my old favorite hat

We drank too much Svedka
As we waded in the banks

The broken glass inside my hand
Was the closest thing to "thanks"

Four in the morning,
Too drunk for the E.R.

The stitches you put in my hand
Will forever leave a scar

You said letting yourself go
Was the best way to spend the day

But Katie, when I look at you
I only see someone who's run away

I thought I could help you find a home
Behind the Minnehaha Falls and flats

But I think I only lost myself

And, of course, my favorite hat

I'd bet the world,
if it were mine to bet,
That the flavors of your lips
would open themselves,
one by one,
Like the chapters of a book
about a sad girl
who swears
that she doesn't want to be saved

Katie loves gin
and the way it makes her act
She states her thoughts about the world
as if each of them were fact

It makes Adam feel
                    Like she's the one

Because Adams been lost
since the day he first found
the first pretty girl
he made make a pretty sound

Her name was Sara
                    And they’re still friends

Sara liked to move fast
and liked to leave even faster
until she found the perfect ****
who she's dubbed The Master

His name is Max
                    And he keeps secrets well

He only sleeps with women
when he's drunk and on the run
He's never shared the secret
of where he holstered up his gun

A pistolero of a man
                    Who's name is Tom

Who only met with Max
when he was mad at his bride
Who had a secret of her own
of who she sees on the side

A therapist named Paul
                    Who pretends to listen well

Paul likes to drink
on the job he calls weighty
and finds irony in his favorite patient
a little drunk named Katie

Whom he's often told
                    Should speak her mind

So she had a party
and told friends to invite friends
But once the therapist arrived
it began to spell the end

Secrets spilled
                    And people cried

Tom and his wife
ended up in a divorce
During which he left Max
in an attempt to make it work

And now Max drinks
                    Almost every night

He almost always ends up
on the couch in Sara's house
after putting down his bottle
and getting lost in her blouse

She tells all her friends
                    She thinks she's in love

It forces Adam into envy
who try's to make something out of lust
with a crazy little drinker
for whom he could never be enough

She's already been asleep
                    Wrapped in a doctors arm

Who's already unraveled
                    This strange ball of yarn

Golden pulse grew on the shore,
Ferns along the hill,
And the red cliff roses bore
Bees to drink their fill;

Bees that from the meadows bring
Wine of melilot,
Honey-sups on golden wing
To the garden grot.

But to me, neglected flower,
Phaon will not see,
Passion brings no crowning hour,
Honey nor the bee.

I

There's a bitter taste in my mouth
As the bride, in all her radiance,
Marches down the aisle, victory
Trailing behind her.

My throat burns and vision blurs
And when asked to object, I'm too late.
So I leave with the “I do”'s
Trailing behind me.

Who ever heard of an open bar
before a wedding?
Who ever heard of a cake
with a stolen groom?
I have. I have.

I have heard years of laughter
And heard the hesitant cheers
And heard the hallowed wedding bells
Trailing behind, driving away.

II

In the car I run
My fingers over smooth plastic
Features and remark,
Through drunken tongue:
How real this feels!

Hammurabi was right –
An eye for an eye
Makes the whole world right.

Stolen groom for stolen groom;
The cake still clings to his feet
And in the distance, church bells.
Married before God, and here is tribute –
Give unto Caesar what is Caesar's!
And remember, thou art mortal.
Yet I feel like Jupiter
With my idol in my hand.




III

This plastic idol, I'll melt it down
And take it in, in, in,
Drink it down like poison,
Poison I've already felt before!
Prepare to take notes on its effects:
It will burn like one sided solemn vows
And it will cling to my throat like promises,
Promises only I kept and he forgot
Faster than he could melt down.

When I said “I'll love you forever”
I intended to keep it true.
I'll love him longer than the plastic,
Clinging to my throat, will exist.
As the molten idol goes down, words come up:
“I love you” (Always).

I kiss the tender sun
each dusk,
and nestle it in the
red rust dirt.

It sinks at a hazy pace
until it unveils your day--
my whispers and prayers
quietly lingering in its beams.

The rippling, colored light
will find you.
Will lift you.
Your sleep-laden lashes.

One day, I'll no longer need
this fiery messenger to whisper
"Good Morning."

I ruined my socks for you.

Ugh, humidity
Pressing in
Suffocating 
Sticking to everything
To you and me but not us, together
This is not the good kind of sticking
of skin on skin, nervous sweaty palm in nervous sweaty palm.
This is the kind that just makes life uncomfortable
and unpleasant
But at least God has thought this through
and gave us the rain
to go with it
Rain is beautiful
Intoxicating
Purifying
I want to get drenched. 
Soaked.
I want to be free
Rain is free.
Ha, I'm not a poet, or a writer
I'm just an overdramatic hormonal angsty teenage girl 
that likes to put down her feelings in her phone notes
And hopes that someone will read and understand 
but at the same time 
wants to remain 
unknown.