The cold envelops my body
as I lay in my bed.

I shiver,
silently missing you
wishing you were here with me.

another dreamless night.

And something's changed,
but we're still the same,
you and me,
our hands fit just so
and I can feel your heart race
against my tired body.

It's been a few days now,
but I still feel your warmth  
and taste your tears on my lips
from our evening in the car,
when for once,
I was holding you.

That night, the tables turned,
hell, the tables never cease;
but we're just the same,
we're still the same,

and our hands still lock together.

This poem
I think to myself
as my shaking hand takes to the page,
Will be about the day my father left,
my first day of college,
or even the way my hands shake when I write.*
I write six words,
scratch out seven more,
and continue until I notice
i'm left with
a sloppy "i
           still  
    need
        you."

When I was young,
     my mom braided my hair with purple ribbons
     every Sunday morning.
Her fingers trembled, tangled in my curls,
     but she kept braiding, twisting, tying
     until it was to her standard.
Nights like this, I miss her
     as I braid my own hair,
     And I can't achieve the perfection
Of those trembling fingers.

I write the endings first. The plot. The
destination-- but it changes
at some point in the middle.
After all, how could I
know where my writing
is headed when
I don't know
who I
am?

Darling, I'm still learning to be brave
with the hole of your absence
festering in my gut
like the fresh wound it is.
But I'll get there.
They criticize, but they don't know
I have Courage in my collarbone,
Love on my lips,
and nothing to lose.

But you have to realize
We're not a mistake,
A lapse in judgement,
Or a hiccup in time.
We're human.
And that's all we'll ever be.

And every now and then
feel your pulse and sway
to the rhythm of your heartbeat
because sometimes
you have to take those
failing tests
scraped-up knees
rejection letters
and broken hearts
and run with them

run hard and run fast

and don't you ever look back.

The autumn leaves float down around me,
While summer sun shines overhead.
Winter winds blow harshly down.
I hide my hands inside
My coat, and notice
Nature can't make
Up her mind
About
Me

We were practically babies
When all of this began.
I [still] have the pictures to prove it.
Now, two years later,
I realize it was easier to be
With you back then,
When my head was in the clouds,
And my heart,
Hopelessly lost with yours.

I spent too long drowning
under the weight of your devotion
breathing in your pressurized air
and counting the days
on the underside of my arm.
For you,
I tweaked myself, freaked myself
out by my willingness to fold.
And after everything,
it was you who walked away.

"How do you like it?"
I glanced up to see
two dark eyes
watching me
expectantly.
"The book I mean --
sounds pretty dry
but I've been meaning
to read it for some time now."

"It's uh. . ."
I stuttered,
sipping my tea and trying
to string two intelligent thoughts together.
"It's not too bad,
but I've only just begun."
I smiled coyly and
revealed that I was only
in the second chapter.

He went on to tell me
of his studies at Duke,
and inquire after what
university I am attending.

There I was,
all dressed up and out
by myself, and it would have been
so easy,
simply divine,
to twist a story and take this
perfect stranger
on a trip.

But in the end of the day,
I'm no college student.
Just a high school senior
playing House
and writing poetry in coffee shops.

the brown of my eyes has a story to tell:
a recollection of sorts, filled with
family vacations,
love, petty arguments and a
lust
for life and yet as i sit here
with my pen and a page
i'm left drowning in my thoughts --
overtaken by my internal current.

my eyes used to be much lighter,
but with each argument
2 a.m. stress cleaning session,
and panic attack,
a certain darkness took her place
******* the color and
will to live
from my brown eyes.

now as i stand,
looking through memories
like my favorite picture book,
my eyes have turned dull and
black.
i have nothing left to give.

It takes but a moment,
an instant
for my world
to come crumbling down.

But today feels different
since I've realized
that life isn't falling apart. . .

It's falling together.

I fell into the deepest sleep
beneath last winter's ice.
All was lost around me
and my heartbeat slowed
almost to a stop.
But you were there,
sharing your warmth
to keep us both alive.
Spring came about
and thawed us out
left drowning in our thoughts.
But now you're gone.

Next winter will behold no savior,
But a new layer of ice.

He broke your heart.
Ripped it into a million pieces
And left me to piece you back together.
But not even I could fix you this time.
A few days later 
I held out the matches 
And watched as you burned 
The fraying edges of your heart.
Aren't you proud, mom?
I saw your lips move 
But was deafened by the screams 
Of your dead lifeless eyes.

Some things can't be forced,
No matter how hard you try;
And some things can't be forced
With no real reason why.

Dumb luck first put us together,
And I tried to keep us apart;
But you pushed me, made luck prevail.
Now I hold my bleeding heart.

I wasn't what you really wanted;
You weren't my cup of tea.
So please shut the door behind you,
Just go and let me be.

"The telephoto lense is slightly cracked,
But everything else is in pristine condition,"
I said, straightening up.
"She's served me well over the years."
You raised your eyebrows.
"She?" you asked, quizzically.
"Well, of course she.
Actually, Bella.
She's named after my grandmother who..."
I caught myself.
"Oh, you don't want to hear this."
"No, please go on."
I took a deep breath, and continued.
"She was named after my grandmother, Bella,
Who first introduced me to photography.
Grammy Bella gave me her old Polaroid
For my eighth birthday.
It was just..."
My voice trailed off,
"The coolest thing."
You smiled.
A picture perfect smile.
Flash.
I continued,
"My life is a series of documented flashes.
Lost my first tooth; flash!
Played in my first concert; flash!
Sang a solo for chorus; flash!"
"Wow," your voice cracked,
Nothing more than a whisper.
" I think I'd like to buy it."
I stumbled through the filing cabinets
Of my subconscious mind,
Thumbing through old flashes...
"Actually, it's not for sale."

I've been here for a few years now,
leaning back into the wall and waiting for my train.
Six years. I've waited six years
and not realized until just last year
that my train isn't coming.
It never will.

I remember the day we arrived.
Joyful. Hopeful. Eager for an adventure
and ready to leave this God-forsaken town.
June 10, 2007, we arrived: clueless.

The first person passed eight months later,
February 15, 2008.
She has slumped to the ground now. . .
nothing more than a pile of disintegrating bones.
August 12, 2008-- the second person died.
Now he, or what remains of him,
occupies the darkest, shadowed corner.

One by one, my fellow travelers passed
with no warning or sign.
Each body is in a different state of decomposition,
bearing an individual horror story
that will never be heard.
There is no one to hear it.

With each passing dawn,
I prepare myself for death;
as each day breaks,
I'm perpetually surprised that
my eyes open again.
The only thing left to do now is wait --
Wait for my impending death,
Wait to tell the stories of these surrounding skeletons,
And wait for a train that will never arrive.

Here I am--
in the middle of my favorite cafe in old town.
My soft brown curls fall in front of my shoulders
and almost into my lipstick stained mug.

Here I am--
in my new sundress that shows off my hips;
I'm armed with my composition book, favorite pen,
and a genuine smile.

But there you are--
Walking up to the counter with a new Beauty,
holding her the way you used to hold me:
gentle but firm, and keeping her content.

There I go--
escaping through the smudged glass door
before you ever noticed me,
giving you a chance to stumble upon your new Serendipity.

Here I am--
Wrapped up in my blankets
Captured  within my own harrowing darkness.

Here I am--
sinking further into a reclusive state
whispering *It's just too much.

I didn't plan for this to happen,
But Life pays no mind to my plans.

I remember the day I looked Life
In the face and said
Today will be beautiful.
A coy smile came about her
And she slowly shook her head.
Anything you say, dear;
But I have other plans instead.

That was the day my sister
Got into the car
Where she took her last breath.

But a few years have passed now,
And Life gained compassion with her age.

I sternly told Life
I will not fall in love with him
Again she smiled, but made no sound
As she silently clasped her wrinkled, feminine hands.

Look at me now.
I didn't mean for this to happen
But he's always on my mind.

Look in the mirror
And open your eyes to the
Beauty you possess.

Tell me,
Do you still look for me
Coming off the metro
Like we always used to do?
Do you wait for me
To text you first
Or say "I love you too"?
Do you still hold your breath
At 9 o'clock remembering my promise
To call before you turned blue?

Well, my darling, I do too.

If I become blind tomorrow,
I'll know every detail of your face--
Your tired eyes, dimples,
And your imperfectly perfect smile.
I'll still "see" you inconspicuously stealing
Affectionate glances my way.
But, just as before,
I won't need my eyes to find
Your slightly pink lips
Awaiting mine.

Even after all this time,
I remember the look on his face. . .
That sheer desperation and pleading in his eyes.
That was the first time I really felt he cared about me,
His youngest daughter...
But it was too late.
You and me, Jule; you and me.
We can stay here and do all the things
You've always wanted
(He looked at the ground)
and I never made time for.
You and me, Jule.

But the car was packed;
I was going with Mom,
Whether I wanted to or not.
after several fleeting moments
I pulled myself away
Leaving my forlorn father
In the muggy, humid basement.
After all this time, I remember his face
And the smell of that God-forsaken basement.
But I want to forget.

Time is the falling of leaves on a cool autumn day;
colored leaves that taste of cotton candy
and melt in your mouth.
Time looks like my grandfather's snowy, white beard,
and feels like his crisp dress shirts.
It sounds like a cough in the middle of the night,
and tastes of the NyQuil used to soothe it.
His distinctly "old man cologne" wafts through Time
and to the front of my mind.
But Death is cold. . .
Even colder than Time.
Maybe Time is not the falling of leaves,
but the emptying of an old service revolver.

She walks beneath the moonlight,
Dodging the street lights
And lurking beyond each corner.
She yearns for just one star
To descend and kiss her face;
For every single birthday wish
Since she was a little girl
Was that . . .

Though she never quite believed it.

My lips
Quiver in your
Presence of true beauty.
Funny how Nature wields her wrinkled
Old hands.

I'll have to forget me to know where I've gone,
And take myself back to find my way home.
You will let me go, or I'll never return.
I'll have to forget me to know where I've gone.

Tonight, I'm gonna do it.
     I'm gonna call you.
Tonight, I'm gonna tell you why I never wear my hair
     In a ponytail anymore, no matter how hot it gets.
     I'm gonna tell you about the time you grabbed my hot tea  
          And threw it in my face.
I'm gonna tell you that, these days, I don't bother with
Makeup anymore , and though I (somehow) get complements
          I'll never quite believe them.
I'm gonna tell you about the time you made my mom cry
     And how much she feared you after that.
     I'm gonna tell you what it's like to be
          The only one...
To be in constant fear, yet forbidden to tell another soul
All at the same time.
     You're gonna tell me why you kissed my boyfriend
And lied,
So I'll finally understand.
     I gonna tell you about all the things I wish I was
          And the things I strive to be
(All 89 of them).
     I'm gonna tell you why I had to leave.
I'm gonna finally tell you that not only did you suppress my appetite and worth,
     But also my passion.
          And that was the worst of them all.
          I'm gonna tell you about each and every pound I am
          Away from perfect.
I'm gonna tell you about the time I almost gave in,
And finally,
               About the day I told the truth. . .
And you're gonna listen.

When I refused to integrate wretched
"Four letter words" into my vocabulary,
I noticed that Love herself is a "four letter word",
And the dirtiest of them all.

My two worlds collide
On an almost daily basis.
The world inside my head,
And, well, you.
It's like, you're what I wanted...
Or what I thought I did.
But now that I have you,
I'm second guessing
You.
Me.
Everything.
You pick me up
On Friday nights,
Kiss my forehead, and tell me
Just how beautiful I look.
But...it's not how I pictured it.
It's not like the movies.
I don't get those butterflies...
I get an overwhelming feeling
Of numbness and
Apathy.

My head is filled with little voices
Consciences, perhaps, of different backgrounds
And motives,
Each putting in her own
"Wisdom" on the matter.
They ask if I have told you,
But it's just not my truth to tell.

As I peer through distant memories,
One day sticks out in my mind--
The day my mom handed me a ******* bag
And said go make something pretty
Back then, that was all it took to be inspired.
I ran to my bedroom, grabbing scissors on the way,
And constructed an enormous bow
That I wore as a crown,
And for the rest of the day, I was Princess Julia.
Life was much easier back then.

But things are different now.
In the back of my closet, hidden in the darkness
Is another black plastic bag with my secrets inside.
My hopes and dreams, bitterness and fears,
Insecurity and all of my worthlessness
Are consumed by that black plastic bag.
Each night, I sit on my bed, and empty my brain.
I write it all down, and give it all up
To my black hole of emotions,
If only for the night.