I adore you
in a way that when we hold hands i feel like I am holding worms
i'm both in awe at what's happening, and disturbed.

I can't tell if the thought of kissing you makes my torso feel like a towel that's being wrung out, or if it makes me want to peel off all of my skin but either way, the thought makes me feel something.

your laugh is precious.
it spits confetti into the air,
it's the present you forgot to bring to the party, and the promise you make to bring it next time.
it spills all kinds of new anxieties onto the floor.

the kind of liquid that gets into the divots of your shoes, and when it dries it becomes sticky.
it's with you all day, peeling from the tile with every step.
this sound makes me cringe.

your hugs are so warm, if they were a blanket covering me i would have to stick my feet out to avoid overheating, but i need the blanket to sleep.

and darling, I promise it's not you.
don't blame yourself.
I was completely fine until he decided I was old news.

he made so many promises and broke them all.
If i could turn back to the moment I stood in the front of the room reciting a poem about killing my ex lover, I would have threatened that he would later be on my hit list as well.

I apologize for my uncontrollable fear.
I know my tremors are repetitive and I'm sorry for apologizing constantly.

he didn't accept me like you do.
he couldn't handle the ticks.
he couldn't manage to fall asleep next to a time bomb.
I shouldn't blame him but i definitely do.

so if i cry, pull me close.
if i shake, grab my hands.
and if i *****, hold my hair.
I promise that one day i'll trust you.

I sat down at one of your family dinners and examined the table.
I read your grandmother's mind and she was upset about my shoulders showing.
I apologized through a smile and a "this looks delicious."
Your grandfather passed me the plate of turkey and smiled at me, complaining about the broken oven his wife was oblivious about.
All I could do was laugh.
Your father began trembling.
He took off his mask and your mother fell apart.
He relapsed again.
Your sister played the victim until your father came back to the table.
I thought the sound of her voice was annoying, but it was nothing compared to her scream.
I whispered to you about how I did not want that to be my sister-in-law.
You called *******.
Your mask began chipping.
It was all angel food cake from there on out.
That's what I convinced myself while sitting in the chair.
One by one your family members stood up.
but you and I stayed sitting.
I picked the long blonde hair off of your shoulder and questioned how it got there.
Who was it?
I was accusing you of cheating?
That's ******* KALE!
I bit my tongue.
I was naive.
So when you stood up and left we were all surprised.
Your sister called me stupid and I kicked the legs off of my chair.
My mother asked yours to control her daughter, your mother didn't answer.
I suppose it's true that ******* give birth to dogs.
I broke the table.
And when you returned all of my things you were mask-less.
Your eyes tried to invite me to another family dinner, so i let you know that i have lost my appetite.

"I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of god"
Galatians 5:21

with a flick of his dollar store lighter,
the paper and its contents light.
smoke fills every corner,
reaching out like a child's hands before going down a slide.
he can't remember his youth,
for he put his life behind him when they dunked him in the water.

"brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. but one thing I do: forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead"
Philippians 3:13

he strained toward what was ahead with many questions.
many he wasn't patient enough to find the answer to
cold feet, warm hands, lost cause.
mom and dad were sitting in a room of worship.
as he worshiped his joint.
he sees God through glossed blood shot eyes.
only has faith when he is not in his right mind.
many say parents who force religion on their kids end up dealing with the worst.

"why are you angry? why is your face downcast?"
Genesis 4: 6

his parents didn't understand his changes in belief.
he didn't know if he ever even believed in the first place.
he didn't want to be a disappointment,
but it was inevitable.
they sure would be disappointed if they knew what he was doing now.

"even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall"
Isaiah 40:30

the last party he went to was where he discovered heavens gates,
there were so many new things,
he almost couldn't take it all in.
the smell of the snow, the pinch of the needle
why wouldn't god want him to feel this good?
why have the golden gates turned silver?

"because of these, the wrath of God is coming"
Colossians 3:6

roommates turned to inmates,
space outside was limited.
after spending years in prison he was finally set free.
when he went back to his apartment he found his bible still laying on the coffee table.
he ripped a page and rolled up the first blunt he's seen in a long, long time.
he closed his eyes and started planning out a better life as a knock sounded at the door.
his apartment could not be his anymore.

"should your springs overflow in the streets, your streams of water in the public squares?"
Proverbs 5:16

he made a home out of a blanket, a guitar, and the basement of an overpass.
every donation going into his drug dealers hands
never enough food to keep his stomach from rumbling.
he blamed it on the shake of the over pass
when winter came
God became more bitter
he introduced him to his brother
and buried him in the ground

"for like the grass they soon will wither, like green plants they will soon die away"
psalm 37:2

it burned your throat when you drank bleach to **** the butterflies that he left living in your stomach.

and your face went red when they turned to moths instead, so you took a trip to the beach to try and immerse the flame that kept them attracted to you.

you laid your head under the water and took a deep breath.

deep sea diving always sounded scary but this time it sounded satisfying, because you knew he must have been somewhere at the bottom of the ocean.

the further you went down, the closer you felt to seeing him again.

hands wrapped around your ankles and you started rising up like smoke.

when the lifeguard emptied the water that was held hostage in your lungs, it felt like fire,

and you thought God, the moths will never leave me now.

but the situation felt comfortable, a twisted kind of familiar.

because you remember the day he apologized to you for making you feel like you were drowning.

and you remember the day he left and how it felt like a flash flood.

every part of you was overflowing, but the water wasn't the only blue thing that made you short of breath.

there was a time your lungs gave up simply from looking into his bright blue eyes.

but when the only thing that's bright to you anymore is the top of every matchstick you've struck on your skin just to keep his memory alive, run them under the faucet.

after staring out the kitchen window, realize that he was never in love with you.

because if he was, he wouldn't have been the reason that you drained yourself of all of this color.

there's not much left of him here anymore.

except for his hoodie that laid on the floor while you laid awake in bed.

the moths ate so many holes through the covers that you tossed and turned with chills.

you spent that whole night wondering what would happen if you died, but without you there would be nothing left of him and you know that.

he left so many pieces of himself behind when he broke you that you mixed them all together in the clean up.

you don't feel comfortable in your own skin because not all of it is yours.

you break due to love, he breaks due to anger, you two do not mix.

he's hot air, you're cold, and together you form a tornado.

don't you see that attempting to fix him is destroying everything else in the process?

he's the reason you don't trust anyone but God you trust him with your life.

it's so stupid to try and fix the person who broke you.

he's the entire reason you're writing this poem.

you're telling yourself that he'll never come back but you've been setting a table for two for months.

and you light the candles.

and the moths flutter.

I can teach you how to be alone, yeah, how to be alone without feeling too lonely.
ya see if you get used to a twin sized bed, it's uncomfortable with more than one person in it.
easy.
and if you wear enough rings on each finger they start to feel like fingers themselves, in between your fingers, those bones.
the kind of bruises you can only receive after a long day of adventuring in the trees behind your neighborhood.
by yourself so when you fall on a pile of branches there's no one to laugh at you.
and if there's no one to laugh at you i'm there's no reason to be embarrassed.
yeah, and you can be quiet.
or you can speak without anyone watching how your mouth moves when you talk to the birds, or the dirt, or those branches.
and back at home there's only room for one more pair of shoes on the tray that catches the mud.
it's perfect.
you don't gotta confuse toothbrushes when there's only one on the sink, and you'll run out of shampoo a lot slower.
spend less money on groceries.
spend more money on you.
every shirt you want, get it.
you don't got no one to go home to.
no one to make breakfast for or sit next to while watching the sunrise.
no, it's just you and the world every day baby.
you and netflix.
you and everything but anyone else.
you, and you, and oh how you would love to focus on anything but you.
anyone but there ain't no one.
and you start to realize blankets make you less warm when you're under them by yourself.
but that's okay because you got hot chocolate, or chai, or coffee but you gotta make it for yourself and sometimes you're just too cold to warm yourself up.
and loneliness is chills.
straight shivers.
right down your neck.
your spine.
she's a bruise you can only get from exploring.
a full bottle of whiskey.
or on occasions one that's completely empty.
but you have a twin sized bed, yeah you don't have the room.
so you go on now and you tell loneliness,
to leave you alone.

I tremble
I tremble like table legs when a heavy cart of dishes rolls across the restaurant floor
I tremble
I am tree tops, I am ripples in the water
I sway
to the sound of your voice I lean closer
to the warmth radiating from your skin I am attracted
like a robber hiding from a home owner I gulp at the sound of your anger
I smile at the view of your dimple.
I beam.
I sigh.
you make me happy,
but I often cry.
like a stomach full of butterflies while going down a steep drop, we are a roller coaster.
every happy moment brings anticipation until we reach the peak.
everything up here is amazing.
the steady second between up and down.
I wish the ride broke here.
but we drop.
the kind that makes your guts tease your throat.
the kind that makes you so nauseous that you have to ask yourself if you need to get off or if you're willing to do it again.

I've had the same mattress for 16 years.
It is filled with memories, my best to my worst ideas, and all of my dead parts.
Most thoughts come to me when my eyes are closed.
this mattress is a journal. a scrap book. a photo album.
so many shapes are imprinted in this old thing.
but that's not the point of it.
It scares me, it does. There's something dangerous about it.
maybe it's the fact that I might never wake up, maybe it's because I'm most vulnerable when unconscious.
no one can control their head when they're asleep.
and my mattress is infested with anxiety, it always tremors.
it makes me feel as if this sleep should be eternal, as if my pillows will suffocate me while I'm dreaming.
but my mattress is still comfortable.
it's always been there when I need it, it is always available.
it is inviting to others who decide to lie upon it, with squeaks and calming gestures.
sometimes people say they don't want to get out of it and sometimes I allow them to stay.
but that's not the point of it either.

the point is him.
the point has always been him.
the way he fell back into the blankets and the way he left his cologne on the sheets.
he stayed there for a while.
my whole being was sure that he was going to move in, that I'd be waking up to him every morning through forever.
but that sadly wasn't the case.
I have to be asleep to be able to hold him now.
but I remember the past, running my fingers along his arms, explaining to him that such a thing as veins scares me but his look like lighting.
he ran electricity down my back every time he embraced my body, he was the unexpected storm, but I decided to lay in the rain.
when he offered me an umbrella, I smiled a no.
and he apologized if I ever felt like I was drowning.
so when he decided to leave me, it was a flash flood.
flash back.
to the mattress. my comfortable place of belonging.
flash forward.
to the mattress. the throne for all of my sobbing.
you see, I carry this mattress with me everywhere I go.
my skull is the box spring, I am the bed frame.
you see, it's a metaphor.
it isn't actual fabric, or a place for resting, it rests in the back of my head.
and everyone else has left my head but he tosses and turns up there constantly.
and when I begin to think that maybe I just can't live without him, and that maybe I should end my own life because I'm not worth the space that I occupy, I swear I see his blue eyes staring into my dull ones, and I swear I hear him say
"baby, why don't you sleep on it?"

you can call them my veins
well, I consider them vines
when you look for what grows it is you that you'll find
my blood vessels are ships, and they sail the blood sea
carrying cargo called 'words' from your mouth to me
and my bones are the homes of each memory
they ache when you leave
but they are calm when you breathe
my skin is the sky
scars being stars
I've created this world, dear
but it's not mine
it's ours

I've buckled my heart in your passenger seat.
I have put my trust in you.
that's large coming from someone with trust issues,
they've shrunk but they still don't feel small.
I've buckled my heart in your passenger seat.
I've turned the airbag off.
with every pump, push the pedal,
every beat, speed up.
I have put my trust in you.
that's large coming from someone with trust issues,
arms stretched out, skin stretched in
they live on.
turn the radio up,
turn my trust issues down.
they've shrunk but they still don't feel small.
they're small but they're not gone at all.

inconsiderate enough to take my body like you planned on keeping it.
hollow cross necklace and nothing else.
you didn't save yourself for Jesus so you left me for religion.
asked if he would save you.
asked some holy being to take something twisted and fold it flat.
folded me in half.
folded everything we had and put it in a bag.
threw it in your hands when you came to my house a week later.
I was so surprised that you came to the door, I congratulated you for not acting childish for once.
I giggled like a kid when I shut the door.
giggled like the kids I dreamed of having with you.
they cried when you punched the wall.
I had to wake myself up.
you, anger issues.
me, trust issues.
you, inconsiderate.
you, belittled me.
6 foot 2, I'm 6 feet under you.
dead to you.
you're not dead to me.
I remember what you said to me.
we didn't have the same beliefs so how could you have faith in me?
faith in something you touched.
faith in something you kissed.
faith in something you broke.
something tangible.
something real.
if you can't pray to me, what's worth worshipping?
my name isn't in the bible, I'm unfamiliar to your mouth.
to your eyes.
tell that to every girl you talk to.
was I just a friend?
tell that to the kisses that you leave on their thighs.
my friends tried, but I never listened to anyone that pointed out the warning signs.
wasted so many months on so many moths instead of butterflies.
drained myself of all things just to give you everything.
I spent so many nights making you sound like a better person than you were.
you used to be better than you are.
I was too, but that was before you.
before the Sundays shoved down my throat with bread and wine.
before the Sunday nights of lust and hushed sighs.
before Wednesdays curled up with stories that would follow me home but I would not allow them inside.
these days, my communion is much more than one small cup of wine.
sometimes I sip bible verses in an attempt to forget you.
like you forgot me.
everything you promised.
like the words slipped your mind right as they slipped your tongue.
you slipped your hands in my hair like you were feeling it grow.
and I may not have the chance to go gray with you,
but your sins are still tucked into the creases in my fingertips.
the cracks in my lips.
and if I ever find a god to believe in,
I'll make sure to tell him all of this.

Let’s play a drinking game.
For every time you watch a family fall apart due to this addiction, take a shot.
For every time withdrawals hold your body hostage in a shaking embrace, take a shot.
When the room starts spinning, run to the bathroom.
For every time you have to flush your ***** down the toilet, chug a beer. Chug. Chug. Chug.
While doing kegstands, make yourself at home.
Everything only goes upside down from here anyway.
You’re not the only person getting intoxicated.
Everyone that’s worried about you has been living with an incurable hangover since the day you chose to put alcoholism over family.
Mind over matter.
Why does it  matter  anyway?
When you were grabbing your “first” beer from the fridge at your twenty­first birthday party, your mama said that she didn’t m  ind.
She feels guilty for acting like she was okay with it, even to this day.
Let’s play a drinking game.
For every funeral you miss because you were passed out on the tile, take a shot.
When you get the call that your mother passed away at the hospital that you didn’t visit that day, take a shot.
When your head starts spinning, run to anyone who’s arms are open.
For every time someone suggested that you get help but you brushed it off, buy a bottle. Buy two. Buy three.
But I hope that when you are sitting under an overpass begging for spare change, you realize that no amount of coins or bills can buy back the life that you chose to let go.

I always thought it was strange when people bought their grave plots at a young age.
and then you bought us promise rings.

Being wrapped around your finger became literal when my name was engraved across the band that the bones in your hand were buried under.

It was strange to me, the thought of spending money on the bed where you will decay, but death is the only promise that cannot be broken.

So when you chose the metal that would hug my ring finger for the next 6 months, I trusted it.
How could I not?

I spent three months prior with an empty left hand and you hadn't left me yet, I was sure you were in it for the long haul.

You purchased our headstones, as if to say you wanted to live the rest of your life with me, and put your life to rest at the side of me.

I can't predict the future but I was dead set on forever with you.
I could envision it.

I never would have thought I would have drowned your headstone with fire.
I never would have guessed I would be picking at the skin that was hidden for so long.

Robbing my own grave.
My own bones just to see if I'm still here.
If I'm the ghost or if you are.

When you gave me a promise ring I never would have guessed that you were predicting our death.
My death.
And if I knew, I would have at least thought that you would leave flowers.

But you've already picked mine, which only makes me feel worse because I gave you EVERYTHING.

I gave you my body, and all you gave me was a place for it to decay.
You bought a place to put it knowing you would bury me one day.

And although I am 6 feet under ground, I'm the one praying that YOU rest in peace.

I would ⅆⅈⅇ all over again for you.

I've already purchased another plot.
I'VE ALREADY PURCHASED ANOTHER PLOT.

I've already engraved my name.

Now all I'm waiting for, is you.

I'm still young and I'm still learning.
Still learning how to go 25 in a neighborhood.
don't wanna **** no body, don't wanna **** time.

I got places to be. still haven't learned the quickest way home, or the longest way for when you're in the passenger seat, because talking to you feels a lot like opening my front door and being greeted by the smell of a warm welcome.

I'm still learning how to decorate my room, but I've put the dead flowers in jars and I'm down to one floral pillowcase now so I guess you can call that progress.

I haven't quite discovered enough large words with large meaning or enough small words with large meaning or anything above, below, or in between.

I still burn my wet hair in my straightener since I don't have a clue how to manage time, still undercook pasta, and fill the blender too full.

can't get my eyebrows even the first time, but **** I'm not a miracle worker. I'm still learning.

trying to grasp the idea of being outgoing. trying to act like I totally didn't cry trying to order Wendy's chicken nuggets one time because normal people can talk to other normal people without feeling like someone's tuggin' at their throat.

still learning how to eat cheetos puffs without looking like I stuffed my hand into well, cheetos puffs.

I read up on government and politics but to be real I don't give a **** so we'll skip it.

I'm still learning how to trust, how to hold your hand tight enough, how to kiss you with enough force but not too much. how to look at you without showin' what i'm thinkin'. how to look at you when you look at me like you're about to say that you're in love with me.

I'm still learning how to love so you gotta **** some time. go 25 like I'm a neighborhood children are playing in. darling, let's take this slow.