We never talk
About the day the movers came and filled two trucks with our things
How in a matter of hours they took 13 years-
3 floors, 4 bedrooms, 5 baths, fully furnished attic-
13 years of kids playing
Where I went through 4 schools
Broke the window
Learned to drive

We never talk
About the day we sat on the radiator in the dining room and saw clear across the house
You were crying
And I put on a brave face to comfort you-
How you walked out the red front door and didn’t look back

Well I looked back
I went to our old house
I saw how they painted my dining room red
How they tore up all the carpet
The living room, now orange
The new kitchen complete with see through doors on the refrigerator

How you think that ridding the walls of old wallpaper
And putting up a coat of paint-
Will silence those walls from disclosing other people’s secrets
That a new carpet and new countertops will make this new place yours

Then you invite your friends to come marvel at the new place
The new royal blue carpet
The choice of paint color
The new countertops, unscratched, unstained, unscathed
And you tell them you don’t miss the old house at all

sometimes
when i forget to eat
my hands start shaking
and i can't make them stop

it kinda scares me.

I tried to explain the concept of stars
to a three-year-old, who couldn’t quite fathom
why we loved what we did.

He held onto his stuffed rabbit and asked
‘what are those lights in the sky’, with wide eyes
and a genuine interest in human nature.

I explained to him that they were stars, and
when he asked what that meant, I said
‘they’re just ***** of gas, light, and hope’

and these vast spheres of gas and light
and hope, govern us. Tyrannize our tiny
existence with their somewhat larger indulgence.

How we worship supernovas and eclipses, how
we wish on things that merely embellish the moon;
that glow. How we loved to watch things, and pretend

that they were of some sort of importance. We could
spend whole nights lying on our backs with lovers
watching still shots of the void. Figments of imagination.

I tried to explain the concept of stars
to a three-year-old, who couldn’t quite fathom
why we loved what we did.

And unfortunately, neither could I.

When I think of you
You’re the ideal idea
You’re everything I need
But nothing I think I want

When I try to sleep
And imagine you breathing beside me
I think of affection and humor
You’re a balm to soothe
Not a love to consume

We are not in love or lust
There is no burning need
Just patience, comfort
Body heat for a security blanket

Our hands do not fit together
Not two halves of a whole
We’re broken pieces
Odd socks and lost pen tops
We don’t match but we suffice

You don’t fill the empty parts of me
Which gives me time with myself
You’re the ideal idea
The half smile on a dull day

I have no unrequited love
No heartache
Only the knowledge what perhaps
Just maybe
I’m not dead after all

Dear computer
I know you mean well
I really do.
But I really expect you not to freeze and delete entire essays
Or stop to buffer in the middle of the video I'm watching
But other than that you're perfect
With a slender frame
A brain that is smarter than even mine
Your the fastest I know
And even if you have those flaws that just means your human.
Wait...no that's not right

I'm just a hopeless romantic

    That dares to have hope