My childhood has been erased from the walls
And replaced with pillows just for decoration
And spotless carpets, with no sign of spilled drinks
All the "I Love You" notes are now packed in boxes

The only way out is through the closet
Where there lies an old refrigerator box
Shoved far into the back and out of sight
Funny how my time machine has lost its glow

On the back of the box, someone left me a note
"Remember, I am a Time Machine, Kara," it said
I wondered who the note was from
Until I saw it was signed with my own hand.

The child is never gone until you let it slip away
From the ever so gentle hold is has on your sweater
Reminding you to see the world in brighter colors
The colors of neon sidewalk chalk.

You are entitled, they say
I asked for too much on christmas.
I asked for time, and wished for difference.

She stands on stilts and judges outsiders
This is all for you, she claims
From behind the shattered window pain.

I gave birth to you, she says.
You are an adult.
Scratch that.
You are a child.
Strikethrough.
You are a burden.

I am crippled without her
I am broken when she's near
She doesn't want to hear

She's too far gone.

Dear Christmas,

You have left me with tears
Too many times before.
Reminding me that I am a nomad.
A wanderer.
Pushed out of the nest to fall to the unforgiving ground,
Crushing my beak.
You have laid me on velvet
and ripped it from under me.
You have burnt my desire
and suctioned any leap of excitement from my stomach
You have crushed me with ex lovers
Draped me with winter scarves
when I am going to the tropics.
Covered me in a blanket of snow
falling all over my natural being.
I am not entitled to happiness today.
I am elected as a fool.
And stomped upon, turning my soul inside out.
My grandmother would turn in he grave,
Knowing you live the way you do.
Christmas, where is the joy?
Why can't I be in the city,
Feeding the homeless turkey and pie?
But instead I am mourning over a scarf.
Who have I become?
And who are you?

I never knew how to fit you into a poem.
Because for you, words are felt like knives or hot tubs.
We both live in fantasy, where romance exists.
But at the same time, you are logical and honest as a compass.
And I always said I preferred metaphors to similes.
I always described my ex lovers as having a face
shaped like an hour glass.
But with you, I can't see the sand falling, or the time ending.
I see your eyes genuine and filled with passion for success.
You wonder how it will all fall into place.
It will. It always does.
You are the train I was waiting to take,
out of my cyclic masochistic nature
Into a world of senseless sense,
fantasy and logic
and cartoons in real life form.
You are the ocean;
We are the ocean,
Filled with possibilities.
I have always said that the ocean
is where I belong.
Even when you need solitude
to think and write and believe.
I will always be here for you.

Too many holes, he said,
Referring to my ears.
Or perhaps my chest.
Thumping, squeezing blood faster

and faster.

Raging, thump, hatred, thump
Air escapes my lips but the words
too evil to be spoken.
So my eyes are driven into the seams of the carpet.

Only one little boy knows about the airplane
That will take me to a land unknown
Where it is okay to believe in mermaids.
And romance.

Where it is okay to pull the scarves
out of the hole in my chest
faster and faster I pull and pull
until all I am left with is me.

Lets get high together
off of dice and shrimp scampi
while the rain runs down the glass
and reminds us of the ocean

They say that eighty percent of the ocean
is still unexplored.
Trapped in small crevices
are mermaids who sing of love

I want to meander through its darkest
and deepest; where blue turns black
I want to see the tears of small creatures
who have never seen the sun

And then I wakeup to a heartbeat
Of a ship I know will never be abandoned
In the branches of his neck
I mend all the pieces.

You like to pretend she's me, don't you Miss December?
When you watch the dice fall from her hands like they’re broken
Or when you accidently call my name down the abandoned streets,
But realize I have fallen off the map?

Miss December, do you remember watching me cry over girls in green and white?
Do you remember me tossing my textbooks down the hallway like Frisbees,
Only to have you chase me to the nearest empty corner?
My eyes would shutter like paper, and I would ask you to turn the page.

Do you notice the scars left on your ankle after a humid day?
Miss December, do you remember the days I spend mending your wounds?
Only to realize you were too broken and shattered for one woman to heal.
As if lightning through your temporal lobe would be the only escape to sanity.

I held your hand through dying dogs and relapse.
I told you, you could do anything.
Did I push you too hard and shatter the last glass?
Is that why you turned the purple car away that day?