i know that the universe (or
whatever force runs it)
doesn't revolve around me
it seems unlikely
but sometimes i wonder if the universe (or
whatever force runs it)
caught a glimpse of me
and said "this one. yes
this one will be happy.
this one will find those ones
and they'll all end up okay."
still
sometimes i wonder if
the spinning angel
tucked inside
the foggy teapot in the sky
withdrew a blanket from
the clouds and settled in
to watch my life
fall into place.

i'm cleaning out the rooms
let the wind blow through
try to clear the counters of the dust from where i moved.

plucking at the strings
to make a melody
i guess some people never understand my poetry.

i think i'm still alive
tucked below the lights
i know better than to expect sympathy tonight.

i know better than to expect sympathy tonight.

he sits at a desk in the library.
it’s nearly midnight and you watch him
take his notes and drink his water.
you’re a desk away from him
and you know that it’s much too late
to be making conversation
but he looks up
ruffles his own hair
and smiles at you something weary
something tired
something beautiful enough to
make you smile back
more genuinely than you honestly should.
he’s a stranger but it’s fine.

it’s dead silent in here
just you and the books
and the millions of things you could say
wrapped up in them
and while you’re trying to think of something
he curls his lips around the words
“finals, huh?”

you laugh and say
“yeah man.”

you want to maybe elaborate
tell him that this psychology exam
might actually be the death of you
tell him that you’ve been studying for
four hours straight and you think your eyes
might actually fall out of your head.

he laughs back and nods
“how many exams you got left?”

you groan
“just one. you?”

“two.”

“good luck with that”

he laughs and you want to say something
to make him do it again

he feels special
you know?
like.
you just know sometimes
but the air doesn’t feel like magic
it feels like you’re in a library
at midnight the night before a final exam
that you don’t know a **** thing about
but the guy a desk away from you
is still looking at you.
he’s still.
looking at you.

and you hadn’t noticed but
you’re still looking at him too.

he says
“i’ve been here since like six.
do you wanna get a coffee?”

just a little smile around the words
“yeah, sure.”

and you put away your psychology notes
and your laptop and your book
even though you’ll need to study for
at least three more hours to understand
a single thing it’s fine.
he packs up his things and the two of you
walk to the elevator.
he lets you press the button

you ask
“what were you studying?”

he says
“bio. you?”

“psych.”

“ouch.”

“yeah”
you laugh
and he laughs
and the elevator laughs
as it dings and opens its doors
even the environment has begun to
take part in your merriness.

you step inside
he hits the button for the first floor
and he says
“i took psych last semester.
which one are you in?”

you say
“one-ten.”

he says
“yeah that one’s rough. barely
passed it.”

“tell me about it”
you joke

and then the elevator dings again
and the doors open again
and the two of you fumble to step out
like you go first no you go first
and it’s all very cute

and you get to the starbucks on the first floor
get in line and take note of
how many people are still here
frantically cramming information into their
tired
tired
brains.

time skip
you two have your coffee.
you sit at a little table that
just barely became vacant
and you sip.
you got something hot and
he got something cold
and you thought it was cute because
it’s december and here he is with a frappe.

you chit and you chat
and think maybe this could be that
romance for the ages
that the movies talk about.

his laugh is like a jingle bell
happy holidays to you both
it seems.

he smiles at you again and you
sip your coffee
and before you know it
it's dangerously approaching 2 a.m.
but you can’t bring yourself to
check the time anymore

you laugh until you’re not strangers anymore
and he says
“this is such a great study break”

you say
“i’m so glad you asked to get coffee”

he smiles and says
“me too.”

and it’s all downhill from there

(or is it uphill?
you never can remember).

sometimes in the winter
i worry that my insides
are colder than
my outsides

i like to think about
the time before
my life was familiar to me.
remember when the tiles of this
hallway had never
seen my footsteps?
remember when the buttons of this
elevator had never
felt my fingertips?
remember when the music that
filled this hall had never
been made by me?
my memory of the flags in the windows
and the trees breaking up
the pavement in the parking lot
and the glass doors made of
piano keys
it never meant anything then.
i only thought i understood
what i was seeing
when i thought i’d never
see it again.
the painting in front of me
has changed me as much
as i changed it.
just think
if i saw the same things a year ago
as what i’m seeing today
and nothing seems the same
how different will everything be
tomorrow?

i can fold over the blankets
into triangles or
diamonds
crystals on the windowpane
and the chill chasing its way inside
i can clear the counters and
string up the lights
i can twist on the lamp and
slide between the wall and some comfort
i can curl into my dresser drawers
between the sweaters and
the socks
i can draw the curtains and
drag up the blinds to let the clouds
through the mesh
but still i’m falling victim to
a lackluster melancholia
and i suppose it would be fine
if the silk of the morning
didn’t make a habit of
curling itself around my throat
before i even lift my eyes
to the sun.

we put so much faith
in the length of a day
we think we need a day to heal
from whatever emotional damage
we’ve inflicted on each other this time
we think that when we wake
tomorrow morning
life will revert to default
as if sleep is a reset button
and the morning is a new start
but that's preposterous
don’t you know that we can restart
any time at all?
we don’t have to wait until tomorrow
for a new mindset
to begin
open yourself up to the idea
that life changes in minutes
not days
every new minute
is a minute that could
change your
life
let it.

just a little pinprick
my own voice in my head like
needles and knives
yeah i know it’s stupid
but hey listen hey listen hey hey hey
i can’t stop listening
i can’t stop listening
i keep not talking and
i can’t stop listening

and if you’re fond of
floating in the limbo
between handshake
and hug
then i suppose
i better make myself
at home.

watch where you put
your commas

some things are meant
to end,

oddly calm in the face of
a downfall
love is a calamity
and we do love suffering,
don’t we?

this december there won’t be much
airwaves and frequencies
at most i’m afraid
but i won’t mind
this december i might not even exist
but i’ll be there either way
oh i think this december
i’ll let the chill
follow me home
so that come january
i’ll already be cold enough to
let you go
when you leave.

it’s becoming more apparent
that “life”is just a
fancy word for
a race that no one is
quite allowed
to win.

once or twice you
were in my arms
i remember so clearly your hair in my face
the scent of your shampoo
and the touch of your fingertips
coming to rest on my cheek
once or twice you
were an almost that i went home wishing for
a maybe that i should have latched onto
once or twice you
made me think it was close and it was real
and you kissed my nose when
i thought you were going to kiss my lips
and i’m not complaining because
i think anything more would be
too much
but still if you wake up today
wondering if you should have
you should have.

if they leave you behind
if they dance under strobe lights
the same ones that they said
brought out your eyes
if they freeze these moments
and churn them into memories that
you’ll never be a part of
if they let you slip their mind
and if you’re still trying to remind them
if they leave you behind
it may be time to
leave them ahead

i sit across a redwood
familiar strangers
who hear themselves asking how i am
but never hear me answering
i sit behind a redwood
tip tapping feet in the shadow
they want to tip tap on out
i sit beside redwoods
others with their own familiar strangers
who hear themselves asking how they are
but never hear them answering
strange how we bond over
the fact that no one
is bonding
happy thanksgiving to my
unfamiliar kin
here’s to another year of
never being thankful until
we feel guilty
about it.

i wonder if
what i do or
don’t do
will change the way you
think of me
look at me
feel about me
why do i have such
a tendency to feel
lonely only when i’m
not alone?
i’m thankful for so much
but not much at all
is thankful
for me.

you fill me with
the kind of
wanderlust
that makes me want
to dig up the bones
of antique cities
but if you asked me if
i wanted to just
curl up underneath covers
twinkling lights and
limbs twisted and entangled
i’d go get the blankets.

my god you were such a beautiful stranger
i've still got the confetti in my hair
between the smoke and the shot in the barrel of a loaded gun
don't you remember us being there?
god i remember us being there.

when a boy shows you his hands
bare except for the dust
he’s begging you to look past
take them in yours.
squeeze them once.
twice.
say without speaking
that you understand that the valleys
in his palms were meant to cradle
shooting star wishes
that he’s allowed to still hope for.
when a boy shows you his eyes
of milk and crimson and melanin
a bloodshot vein for every night he can’t sleep
let him shut his eyelids.
say without speaking
that you understand that the black hole pinpricks
of his irises hold more than the universe
should allow.
when a boy shows you his soul
shivering but still working toward friction
iced over but still working toward melting
let him come to rest next to yours.
say without speaking
that you understand that he is lonely
and that his silence speaks volumes
and that you kept his treasure close
because you love him.
when a boy shows you his hands
show him your hands.
when a boy shows you his eyes
show him your eyes.
when a boy shows you his soul
show him that
this is a comfortable place to rest it.
when a boy shows you the hardness that shaped him
show him the softness
that you have in store.

i’m not sure what it is
about being a stranger
that makes them all seem so beautiful
the faces in the crowd
blend together
but not before i notice
every single one of them.
i’m not sure what it is
about abandoning their identities as strangers
that makes them all seem so beautiful
strangers are strange
and i think we all become strangers
to ourselves at some point
and so
aren’t we all beautiful to ourselves
at some point
too?

don’t ask me if i could love you
don’t you see?
i not only could
but i do
i do so fearfully and honestly
if you asked me
how in this woven basket of a world
could i manage to rest beside you
and not wish to see
what lies beyond the wicker
i would have nothing to say except
that the air beneath this blanket
is plenty breathable
to me.

i reach a point of ******
and i never realized how sad it was
i never realized that i was actually
crying this whole time.
hidden beneath covers
friends in rooms miles away from mine
we’re all living our lives and making mistakes
but we haven’t been awake for a while now
i’m afraid.
there’s something about the muted twinkle
that brings me back to the soft lights
and the coffee and the microphone
and that first poem that
proved i belonged in a space of melancholy
because being broken is about more
than being an artist nowadays
i usually want to jump inside the paintings
but this one makes me
want to jump out.

the imaginary leftover confetti is still in my hair.
it’s been two days and i still feel
the brush of your hand on my fingers
in the elevator as i held tightly
onto what had become my entire life
over the course of three months.

and i’m brought back to the night
when you just barely stopped being a stranger
gliding down the steps
you asking me what i think of
this thing that would turn out to be life changing.
god back then i had no idea
that i’d be breathing underwater
taking shots of victory and mellow yellow
as you stared right at me
and never have i ever wanted you so bad.

lounging in hotel rooms and
turning around to look at me in the backseat
midnight flying down the interstate
i remember thinking you kept revealing
more of yourself than i thought i’d get to know
i remember thinking i could fall asleep right there
and trust you to wake me up if the city
came back into view

i want to send you the song i’m listening to right now
but i know you wouldn’t answer
and i know i wouldn’t blame you
i have a whisper confession to make
baby i think you might have changed me
more than my actual life did.

i was underwater.
swimming with the fishes
with the stories
of names i’ll never
quite be able to place
and then you dove in with me
just as i was wading to the edge.
you swam around the room
a rainbow trout
amidst schools of minnows
i love them all
but you’re just such a pretty color.

i let my feet dangle in the water
as you kept diving deeper
you’d look at me
from across the sea
send a wave toward my shore
i feel it crashing into me even now.

standing beside me
both of us swimming in
different depths
you looked right into my eyes.
i knew if i just held you there
for a little longer.
just a little.
i felt like the moon
dragging you toward me

i swear to god you almost kissed me.
i swear to god i would have let you.

i think something
we always forget is that
other people
are not so much
other
as they are
people.

such little interaction i know
just little pleasantries
but you remembered
out of all the distractions
you remembered.
i could build you up in my head
like a build-a-bear
give you a soft demeanor
make you a dancer
make you a painter
make you a soft soul
with seven cats and an
incredibly high score on guitar hero
in my mind, you could become
literally anything
and it’s a little scary.
there’s almost a 0% chance
that you’ll be who i think you are
who i think you could be.
thinking about you is dangerous.
i guess i’ll do it anyway.

wake from the slumber
groggier and more hidden
than before i slept

i only ask one
thing. make sure it hurts before
you go.

have you ever tried to write poetry
when you’re not at all feeling poetic?
when life isn’t necessarily ugly
but it isn’t necessarily beautiful either?
when you could talk about
the sonder you try to feel
as the people sitting at tables around you
eat their food, talk on the phone, finish their homework, sip their coke
do whatever it is they do
when you could talk about how the
chill of this air reaches underneath
your goosebump skin
and draws out a shiver, a chatter
when you could capture the sounds
of the ice machine
and the clicking keyboard keys
and the rusty sliding of chairs on
a linoleum floor
when you could write about
whatever you **** well please
but it just doesn’t come to you?
have you ever been too tired
to feel tired?
god, i wish i were awake.
life is happening
and where am i?

i’m too busy
thinking about why it doesn’t matter
to wonder if it should.
everyone else seems to be skilled
in the art of leaving
i never was skilled in the art
of being left behind.

i wouldn’t expect a post card
if i were you.
don’t worry
i’ll try my best to miss you
at some point.

you’re a mood
and i’m stuck in you.
the way happiness makes me glow,
you make me shine
the way sadness makes me think,
you make me wonder
the way loneliness shows on my face,
you show in my poetry
it’s been so long since i had
someone real to write about.
it’s always
“she floated like light
in my darkness”
but she never really existed
my poetry was all commercial lies
until you gave me something to
really honestly write about again
god have i missed purpose.
your voice is in my head
i can never tell what you’re saying
i just hear the sounds
and it puts air in my skin
and i’m suddenly lighter than myself
you make me want to float like light
in my own darkness.
you’re a mood
and i’m so lucky to be stuck in you.

it doesn’t feel real
it feels like the moments where i sat in the snow
outside my old house
before going back inside
only to find my father breaking things
and my mother sitting by herself
in another room pretending she was right
and my brother angry at both of them
for things they already did
and things they were bound to do later.
it feels *****
like i need a shower
but no shampoo can wash the
anxiety from the underside of my scalp
and no body wash will scrub the
tingling tenderness that i feel on my skin.
the party in the other room
makes me feel like life never
invited me to join in
so i wait patiently for someone to text
and ask where i’ve been all night
even though i’m never anywhere
but inside my own head.

i wish life invited me to join in.
i still wouldn’t have gone
but i would have appreciated it
nonetheless.

it’s 7:56.
i’m thinking about you
that’s pretty much what i do these days
think about things like
your laugh
the way you makes me feel
why i’m thinking about you again
things like that.
i think about you talking to me
in another room
away from everyone else.
i think about exactly what you said.
“i really appreciate how easy you are to get along with.”

and that was the moment.
i know
it seems like an odd thing to fall in love with
but so am i.

i think you about so hard
that i feel it in my chest
i dream about you while i’m awake
i think i’ve loved you for years.
it feels like i’ve been yours for decades.

it’s 7:57.

i was riding through the city earlier
and i thought of you. thought maybe
if you were there,
we’d get off at the stop for the art museum.
we’d look at the paintings
and the sculptures
no, i wouldn’t be so cliched
as to say i would be too busy looking at you
to look at the art
because i would, of course,
look at the art.
it’s just that you would fit right in.

i thought maybe if you were there,
we’d get off at the stop for a place
we had never heard of
we’d walk until we found an ice cream shop
and you’d get two scoops of chocolate
and i’d pretend to judge you
because all sensible people get sherbet.
thought maybe we’d walk the sidewalk
and i’d point out all the dogs
and take pictures of you even though
you’d shield your face
thought maybe i’d pretend
i didn’t just try to hold your hand
thought maybe you’d pretend
you didn’t want me to.

i thought maybe if you were there,
we’d stay out until midnight
and admire the lights still on in the buildings
as if they were stars.
i thought maybe if you were there,
the city would bring out the quiet in us
the gentle liveliness
thought maybe you’d think
the sky was devoid of stars not because
of light pollution but because
they fell into my eyes
or something.
that’s what i’d think.

that’s what i thought maybe.
but you weren’t there.
so, lost in thought, i rode around
until it started to rain
and then wondered why i got wet
on the lonely walk home.

i’m typing this
as i’m waiting for you to get back
from the bathroom.
in the starbucks
cozy acoustic music is playing
and your mocha frappucino
half empty
is on the table in front of me.
your lips have touched the lid
and i don’t want to be
that person
but i wonder.
i wonder how it feels
does it know that it’s lucky.
can it tell me its secrets
how does it do that?
get you to open up
and let inside the warmth?
i’m not jealous.
just curious.

you should be back any second now.
you might walk out
back to our cliche little table
and ask me
what i’m doing
what i’m typing so furiously
what i’m so passionate about.
i will want to say you.
i love you
right here right now right time right place
i won’t though

maybe i’ll say
“i forgot to finish this paper
that’s due at 11:59 tonight”
or maybe i’ll say
“i just got an urgent email
about my political science class tomorrow”
or maybe i’ll say
“an old elementary school friend
just sent me a Facebook message
and i need to reply”

or.
or maybe i’ll say
“nothing.
nothing more important than our coffee.”
maybe i’ll just close my laptop
mid-sentence
because it’s true.

nothing is more importa

my fingers may feel like ice
when i return from winter
but don’t let that fool you into thinking
that i’m frozen.

no, dear
my skin is only cold
because the chill
couldn’t find a way
inside.
i love myself far too much
for that.

in these times of chill
these times of blistering wind
i think it is important
to know how to keep warm.

you can reach for a hand
a body a furnace other than your own
and it may warm you
but for only as long as
it can sustain itself
after that, you’re both just ice.

and what if someone
reaches to you?
what will you say?
“i’m sorry i’m too cold
to warm anything at all”
how sad.

i begged myself for an answer
begged to know what to do
before the times of chill returned.
and, lovely and true as i am,
i responded:

put on your winter coat.
wrap your hands in fuzzy mittens
that make your insides feel fuzzy too.
double up on socks
and wrap your neck in a wool scarf.
you have everything you need
to feel warm when it gets cold
it was always with you.
you just have to dig around for a bit.

and so
in these times of chill,
i warm myself.

and my god,
do i recommend it.

trees hang down
over the cavern beneath my bed
and i know winter is near.

i breathe in the dust
that i am too tired to
brush from my weathered hands.

oh, yes, winter is near.
i just wish i knew
what that meant.

i imagine her
beautiful and weary
damaged in the ways
that allow her
to sink down into my soft places
and fill the puzzle-piece gap
someone else left her with.
i imagine her
lovely and flawed
striking a match in my chest
and starting a flame in my belly
a forest fire of disaster
and absolute perfection.
i imagine her
soft and destructive
disassembling me at her worst
caressing me at her best
i imagine her
lonely and strong
a being built from
i-don’t-give-a-damns
and let-me-help-yous
i imagine her
there
quiet and beaming
imagining what i might be like.
i imagine her
thinking i’m the beautiful mess
that i think her to be
i imagine us both being wrong.
i imagine that
being the best part
about it.

and i’d like for it to sound poetic.
poetic and sad
“the car smelled of
cigarette smoke
as we swerved
on an empty highway
waiting for the sun
to catch up”
nah.
neither of us smokes
and you didn’t swerve
and the highway wasn’t empty
and it was only
eleven p.m.
we weren’t running from the sun
i’d like to say
we were chasing it
but baby when
have we ever done something
so brave?
nah.
it would even be poetic
to admit that we’re cowards
but we aren’t those either
we’re just ****** people
you know?
that’s all we are
that’s all anyone is
driving on a highway at eleven p.m.
with other people
who are just people
and ****
if that isn’t the most poetic
and sad ****
that i’ve heard all day.
ha.
turns out the highway
was empty
after all.

do i love you?
oh, i’m not sure
please don’t ask
anymore.
my heart is weary
and my body needs to
rest.
gently now
take my hand
and hold me close.
do i love you?
oh, i’m not sure
but please stop asking
before i tell you
the truth
(oh, absolutely my dear.
absolutely)

tinder bio reads as follows:

looking for someone
to keep the promises
i make in my poetry
i know they're not your responsibility
sorry not sorry.

i don't **** with one night stands
unless you keep my poem promise
to never fall in love
with the happiness
that i can't have.

ask me about my
existential dread
(god knows i have
plenty to talk about)

6'2 if that matters
it always does
(does anyone even read these)

can you imagine the airwaves
skeleton wires
ghosts that say hello
say goodbye
can you imagine the tree branches
spider legs
bees that buzz about
buzz inside
can you imagine the grief
you lose your muse
get blues
lose your i-love-you-toos
if they’re gone.
can you imagine what that would mean.
the words whispered
through telephone lines
can you imagine the airwaves
skeleton wires
ghosts that don’t say much
anymore
at all?

"oh baby girl" they say
"oh baby girl
you will continue to be"
oh baby girl am i
am i?
they say to me
"oh baby girl
my goodness aren't you
a lovely young
lady"
but there in my ribcage
not my cargo of skin
no on the inside
i whisper
"oh baby boy
oh baby boy
you will continue to be."

i don’t like poems that rhyme
sorry sorry sorry
i know a **** ton of people write
poems that rhyme
it’s like
a thing.
but i think rhyming
makes reading
too easy
and i think rhyming
makes writing
too tired
“you feel the tempo rise and fall
something something that rhymes with fall”
imagine
this living breathing poem
squishing itself into the
constricted sound of “all”
ah luh
don’t you have more to say?
do you spend your entire life
learning words that will never
become poetry because
they don’t rhyme
with fall?
don’t you
have more
to say?
i have
so much
to say
i’m sorry if i can’t
write poems that rhyme
maybe i’ll give it a shot
next time
(around)

has no one ever told you that you’re the
most beautiful thing in the universe?
has no one ever told you that?
see
i find that so surprising.
because.
when i took a moment to stop being so
entranced with the way the light crystallizes
on the leaves of the hammock trees.
when i took a moment to take a moment
and look at you.
*******.
“oh
oh my god
why, aren’t you just the most beautiful thing
in the universe?”
aren’t you just the most beautiful thing
in the universe?
aren’t you?
my child eyes
the same oceans that have seen storms
my child eyes
must be newborn
because you
oh my goodness
you seem to float with the clouds way up
there in the blue abyss
hey,
can you toss down your string?
sweetness
i’d very much like to
join you

oh, how badly
i want to show you
the truth
that the sun does not shine for you
the sun will never shine for you
and you can live with that
oh, how badly
i want to show you
that you can be kind
******* you can be so kind
the kind of kind that
blooms the flowers in your chest
and leaves petals after your every footfall
oh, how badly
i want to show you
that things will only be okay
if you let them be okay
let them be okay.
let youself.
be okay.
oh, how badly
i want to show you
to tell you
to pound it into your ******* head
that
you
are
allowed
to
be
okay.

i wouldn’t get so close if i were you.
these jagged edges look soft in your light
but
the moment you dim
and you need me to cradle your bones
and nurse you back to bright
you will see
i’m sorry you will see
i’m sorry
these jagged edges
are the only things that
you can only see
when it gets dark

(and suns set too soon around here)