When I was much younger and far more outgoing, I lived in a city that, at the time, seemed quite large to me.  The buildings climbed three stories to cast the paved streets into shadows, and businesses seemed to be booming on every winding road.  Although my city was full of action and excitement, it was stale.  My city was exciting, yes- to middle aged men in crisp suits and women who brought customers into their stores with the simple pleasure of freshly baked bread.  For me, a young boy in a family of executives and doctors, my city was an extension of the people I shared a home with.  It was plain.  It was predictable.  It was made by those who came before us and we were just taking it all in for free.

yesterday i was really proud of myself.
no swollen eyes,
no bruises,
no midnight walks across that frozen bridge.
for thirty two days i was truly okay

yesterday i was proud.
today i feel the pit in my stomach
that screams and tears and growls
all because i'm hungry,
all because i'm empty,
all because i'm wishing on stars
that are hidden behind clouds.
today i feel alone

yesterday i was proud of who i was.
tomorrow i'll be sickened by my face,
i'll be sickened by the splotches and scars
decorating my plain pale skin,
i'll be sickened by the weight
that i can't seem to lose,
no matter how little i eat
or how much i sweat.
tomorrow i'll be sick indeed

yesterday i was proud of
my strength,
my courage,
my smile,
my childish eyes and my chapped lips.
for a month's time i was proud.
yesterday i didn't remember who i was,
but my dreams have returned
and orion's sun bleached hair
and freckled cheeks
only remind me of what used to make me laugh,
of what will never make me smile again.

from now on, every today
will be so different from yesterday.

she suddenly loses all control of herself.
her fingers are twitching and dropping razors
her jaw is clenched and her head is rattling
  with the secrets of her blood
  shhh,
     don't spill the (blood) beans

her eyes are unfocused and everything around her
  looks fifty feet away and yet
  inexplicably detailed
she can smell his shampoo
  on her fingers and
she can smell the scent of almonds
  on her forearms

her feet won't stop tapping the beat
  of a song she can't remember
her hair is tangling itself in her
  fists, bruised from contact with her hipbone
she wants to be
  destroyed
     by hands that she (trusts) loves

maybe it's just my imagination,
but god, did that girl
leave my eyes
   rolling
and my chest
   heaving.

the way she strung me up
and pulled me close,
for two whole hours on the train
we were pressed,
   hip-to-hip and
   tongue-to-tongue.

her silver-set, tourmaline ring
(which she got from her grandmother)
clinked against the chain of my
cheap dollar-store necklace.
that sound is still ringing
   in my ears
and her whispers are still felt
   on my skin.

the indentation from where
the window ledge pressed into my palm
   is still visible,
as well as her lip gloss
   on my collarbone.

maybe it's just my imagination,
but god, was that girl
   beautiful.
her skin was absolutely
   glowing
and her hair
   shone
in the light drifting through
the print-caked glass.

and now she'll just work harder.  sweat dripping from every pore, from every crease in her skin and every bend of her bones.  she will become what she has always wanted to be: strong.

her hair is becoming lighter.  one by one, the wavy hairs on her tanned head are being bleached by the sun.  her skin smells like memories of shores and of heat and of bathing suits.  she smells beautifully.  and as her skin tans her smile stretches across her face, beaming and bright.

her stomach is shrinking, her arms are muscular.  she finds new outlets for sadness and rage in pushups and squats.  she lifts weights for fun and does sit-ups to feel the burn of her life slipping away.

she needs new clothes, her old ones don't fit right.  or maybe they fit the way they were always supposed to.  she buys new shirts, new shorts.  she feels good about herself.

and then she breaks and her arms are weak and her legs won't move.  she scratches at her sides, long red marks across her too thick frame.  her thighs are fat and she knows it.  her hair is frizzy and she knows it.  her back is cracked and bent in half and she knows it.  

and now she'll just work harder.

i waited there.  i waited for hours.  i waited for days.  no one ever came.

seasons changed, leaves fell, the ground hardened and snow caked every treetop.  and still no one came.

one day a woman with a child walked by.  they were not who i was waiting for.  they crunched along the leaf-strewn path, nodded a greeting toward me, and continued on.  so i kept waiting.

it rained hard and often that spring.  the path was unclear, and the trees were bent in exhaustion.  flower buds wrapped themselves in blankets of green as they reached toward the soft, muddy ground, trying to find a bed.

one great tree stood tall on the edge of the forest.  it was split down the middle, into two distinct twin trees, each competing to reach the top of the surrounding canopy first.  the bark peeled as the twins stretched and grew.  as the years passed the twins became tired, and so they stopped racing and waited instead for something new to come into their lives.

i decided i would no longer wait.  i walked along the path, kicking dead leaves out of the way, their arms curling around their bodies for warmth.  i whistled, i skipped, i picked flowers and weeds to make you a bouquet.  i wandered for days and found nothing.  and so i waited again for you.

there was a patch of violet hyacinth flowers along the path.  they sprung from the ground and surrounded an old tree stump, as if shielding it from harm.  their leaves were an impenetrable gate that could wait all summer, protecting their beloved, lost tree.  the stump would always be safe.  no matter how long it remained there.

in the fall, a twiggy stickling of a tree dropped most of its sun bleached red leaves.  one fell into my hood.  i took it out and twirled it between my fingers.  the days were getting shorter, and seeing the sun light the remaining leaves was like watching the branches start on fire.

i wandered toward the edge of the forest and sat against the largest tree i could find.  the tree was split down the middle, and each half was just as tall as the other.  i decided this was the king tree of the forest.  i fashioned two crowns out of the hydrangeas and mountain laurel i picked on my journey and hung them on the lowest branch of each twin king.  i laid the red leaf i picked out of my hood in the crevice where the twins split from each other, and bowed to the king of the forest.  as i marched away i hummed a tune i can only describe as majestic.

i am still waiting.  the daisies and dandelions dance in the wind to pass the time.  although there are burrs on my socks and bug bites on my knees, i will continue to wait.  i'll wait for days, for years.  i will wait for you.