I lay spread out on 
My local shingle beach
Letting the pebbles 
Sift through my fingers
I consider the myriad
Shapes and forms they take.
The varying rust
Charcoal grey and mustard shades

I set myself a mission
In the multitudes
That the sea brings to my feet
I will find amongst the 
Copious cobbles
The ultimate pebble
Perfect and pleasingly
Quirky or smooth.

I become so absorbed by 
This sifting sorting 
Comforting process 
A simple quest
I forget myself
And my proximity to the waves 
Until i am splashed 
And soaked and 
Have to vow to take up
This valiant quest 
Another day.

Until then I have taken 
Home a few shortlisted
Candidates
And made a promise to stand up when
The winner is found
And make a little trumpet
Fanfare sound
And hold the stone aloft!

"Have you had any firsts with me at all?" I ask, breath catching and a sadness coming over me as I realize there's not one thing unique about me.

The silence after my question spreads out and latches onto my heart, concreting the idea that I'm nothing special after all.

You flounder, trying to come up with something, anything, but you have not one occasion to offer me.

You possess so very many of my firsts, and I felt there was something important in the act of giving them to you.

But my sweetest memories are quickly tainted by the realization that many others before me gifted you with the same, their own firsts.

And I can't help but feel *****, used, and alone. For a while there, I really thought I was special.

What a joke.

My cat,
Maps,
Is pretty rad,
You see.

I let him roam
Outside,
Some times.
He’s agile.
Skills honed
Over time,
Naturally.

This proclivity
Is pretty recent,
Honestly.
I raised him in
An apartment
In Austin
With a second
Floor
Balcony.

I’ve done him well.
He’s happy,
Joyful, active,
Rather built,
And Inquisitive:
Very much so,
He’s even cuddly:
Friendly and approachable,
You know.

I’ve known a lot
Of cats,
You see,
But Maps,
Maps my cat,
Is my favorite cat of all,
Naturally.

You

All pierced ears
and tattoos
and walking out of classrooms

Me

All thumb rings
And flannel shirts
And anonymous emails

You

With strong arms
And scars
And a smile like a rainstorm

Me

With bony knees
And freckles
And chapped lips

You

Your dilated pupils
Tar choked lungs
Stories from rehab

Me

My slurred words
Empty bottles
Hangovers

You

Saying I miss you
Please kiss me
I love you

Me

Saying I'm drunk
Please need me
I'm empty

Those **** blue eyes
will forever be my demise

The way they resemble the sky
being reflected off the universe
in all of its infinite beauty
effortlessly finding its way
inside the iris of your eyes

No longer am I soberly sane,
for my heart is drunk on the idea
that your existence is all it needs

I was asked, why do I write and all I could think of to say,
was because I believe.

I believe looks matter.
There is
healing in a look of compassion,
love in understanding,
comfort in tears cried with me.

But one look away, ignoring
can break a heart.


I believe touch matters.
There is
care enclosed in a hug,
relief in a hand placed on a shoulder,
encouragement in a touch on the passing by.

But pulling away, distance
can break a heart.


I believe words matter.
There is
acceptance in words of forgiveness,
restoration in mercy and grace,
healing in kind, soothing whispers.

But one word out of bitterness, hatred
can break a person.


I write because I believe words matter.
I write because I believe you matter.

Sometimes it takes
thousands of words
to heal a broken soul

and I want to tell you,

I will write
word after word,
paragraph after paragraph,
page after page.
As long as it takes,
I will write until you finally believe
that you matter.