My favorite thing about the Earth
is even though it kicked and screamed
when it found out that it revolved around the sun
and not the other way around,
its view changed from 'God created us as the center of the universe'
to 'God placed the sun just there so we could thrive.'
And it stopped complaining.

I don't want this to be a love poem

I don't want to tell you in ink what I can't say in words. I don't want to talk about him and my emotions or the hesitation that comes with uncertainty. I don't want to say anything about our mouths or how they're never close enough.

I don't want to talk about his hands

I don't want to tell you how I've looked at them and imagined, not simply them touching me like I've longed to be touched, not them belonging solely to me, but perhaps intertwining our fingers sometimes. I don't want to say that I have the strongest abhorrence to seeing those hands touch anything else. That isn't fair. He isn't mine.

I don't want to talk about his eyes

I don't want to tell you what color they are, how they shine. I don't want to give you metaphors and compare them to landscapes much bigger and things more consuming. I don't want to give you a road map to how I last got lost in them. I am not a starry eyed romantic, even if in the right light he looks like one.

I don't want to talk about his hair

I don't want to tell you about the others running their hands through it, or how it irks me. I won't tell you about how I look away or pretend to be busy. It isn't fair to be jealous of what I fold my hands in my lap not to touch. It isn't fair. I'm being fair.

I don't want to talk about his voice

I won't tell you how it's transcended music, that if he spoke for hours I would never be bored. How it is comforting enough to lull me to sleep... me! The most distrusting person in a room at any given time! How it pulls at me to respond with words I've never offered to another soul. It isn't fair. It isn't.

I don't want to talk about him

I won't tell you how he makes me want to paint walls with his likeness,  waste time and ink and memory to write and store poems that won't see the light of day. I want to keep this close. I don't want to share what I feel with anyone. I don't want to share him with anyone.

I don't want to tell him I love him

I don't want to lose him. I don't want to share what I feel but I don't want to share him with anyone. It's a Catch 22. A lose-lose scenario. There is no happy ending. The doubt I feel is realer than the hints he leaves, it makes the fear larger than the possibility of happiness. This is the cycle, this is the life I live.

I don't want this to be a love poem.

It's been a little while since I tried this
self-therapy via words
that I won't share with anyone
but strangers near or far

a little while since my prose
got up from their beds
dusted off some cobwebs
and stretched their limbs

a little while since the black ichor
the ink that sometimes
bleeds out onto laptop keys
became mediocre poetry

and I get it, life's been hard
not too hard, but busy
not emotionally, but physically
and I didn't really need it

but I missed this
this little stretch of mental finesse
this warming up of metaphors
this cracking of poetic knuckles

Maybe this is what it's like to be understood.

I.
It feels like an itch beneath her skin, like static electricity, like all her hairs on end, and she loves it. She knows that if she would only spread her fingers and say the words, she knows that if she were to close her eyes and open them again, the world would be in colors that no one else could see. She knows that if she would only let it free, it would spark and be euphoric-
her hand clenches into a fist. she ignores it.

II.
Her spellbooks are stacked haphazardly in boxes and her shelves are full of YA fiction. She does not go into the attic anymore. She lets them collect dust. She does not pour over old latin phrases or study greek for any other reason than to read Homer. She concentrates on Biblical Greek. A silver cross hangs around her neck. Her notebooks of tediously written translations are scattered to the winds. They are replaced with collegiate notes and short stories.She is a scholar. Her curiosity is never sated.
She does not go into the attic.

III.
Sometimes she wakes up five feet from her bed, her nose brushing the ceiling. Sometimes she’ll feel the wind and clouds pick up her emotions. Sometimes she hears the whispers of the dead. But they are whispers. Her prayers are louder. She closes her eyes and grasps at control, waiting until the forecast is correct again. She clutches her golden cross and tearfully waits until her back hits mattress.
It will pass it will pass it will pass.

IV.
She studies more now than she ever had. The girl who’d been able to get by on lectures alone is no longer satisfied with a B/C average. She hones her writing skill until it is sharp as a blade. She beats her pen to paper as though it can lead her to salvation as well as The Good Book. Sometimes she falls asleep at her desk and her papers float around her.
She buys more paperweights.

V.
The future is shadows and whispers. No longer do other people’s auras paint her vision with colors no one else can see. No longer do other people’s deaths and loved ones press themselves behind her eyes. No longer does she peer into souls that only stare back. They blur together like retired nightmares. She does not hear their voices. She does not see their faces.
Her vision is only 20/20.

Like chocolate cake
but sweeter, somehow
though it isn’t cake at all
like sharing icing with your best friends

Like sugared oranges
sticky and saccharine
too sweet to be healthy
but so satisfying to eat til you’re sick

Like a cavity after orajel
the pain numb
but the taste as well
better, not worse, and quickly getting used to it

Like dancing in the rain
your ears deaf to shouts
of those who tell you
to go inside and dry off

because you’re happy here.

I. Honey Whiskey

her eyes are too dark, but they burn when she thinks of them. everything burns, her chest, her face, her skin.s he can’t imagine what it would be like, to have her skin flush with hers in ways that weren’t so innocent. she can’t meet her eyes anymore without feeling her torso heat like she’d just downed a shot.

II. Prism

“despair is a prism.” she can’t see her, but she remembers the way her eyes get, like she’s looking at something too far away to see clearly. “you need it to see that sunshine isn’t just grey, it’s every color of the rainbow, stacked on top of each other.” it’s hard to stay too sad when she spouts things like this, without warning and completely unprovoked.

III. Chlorine Thighs

they’d never actually been in a pool together so this had to be a dream. sunlight streamed through her hair like the water did, and she’d blame that for the shivers down her spine whenever their eyes met. She was babbling about something, anything, trying to keep her frame of mind, derailed by even the slightest giggle. she didn’t mean to dream them so close together, but her laughter filled the air, and they were nose to nose, and she smelled like chlorine. she woke before she knew if she tasted the same.

IV. Headlights

she’s afraid of driving, and claims she’s a better copilot. it hurts her heart to heart to hear it, sweet indulgent pain. she’s tying to remember to keep her eyes on the road and only letting herself glance over every so often. she looks beautiful in the flashes of her periphery vision, and as their voices rise in accidental harmony, she can’t help but glance over for a bit too long, memorizing the moment. eyes closed, lips parted, head tilted back… she looks like a vision. she almost forgets that green means anything more than being able to see her better.

V. Refuge

she hadn’t meant to cry. it was obvious in the way she stood, in the way she held herself a bit too upright, moved with too much purpose. she remember the way she’d stared at the ceiling as though breathing was too much, the way she didn’t even seem to see the things she was doing. she hadn’t known what to do besides hold open her arms, and then it had began. she held so tightly it was like she didn’t believe she was real. her breath came out all at once, and then she was breathing too quickly, hitches and gasps and small little shivers that only made her hold on her tighten further. her breath was warm against her shoulder, her fingers ****** in her shirt, and she was content to stand here, solid, safe, and wait for her to collect herself. no matter how long it took.

It grows in places
Left neglected
Like vines or weeds
or algae

Its spores are toxic
airborne
and quick to infect
like living dead

There is no cure
Instead
it runs through each emotion
leaving nothing in its wake

It is silent
malignant
growing in the quiet
expanding in the hollow recesses
between your ribs

There is nothing that can stop it
not the ink like ichor of apathy
not the lick and burn of anger
not the cutting cold of indifference

Instead it burrows
makes tunnels through reasonings
until all you're left with is
distant annoyance.

I trusted you.

It's not much, three words
not love or endless faith proclimations
nothing more than a smile and a fond glance, maybe
it's not like we've known each other all that long

but it adds up, you know?
Simple math, add the hours to the days
and those conversations we had late at night
and get the solution:
a night where I felt like I could pour out my soul
Not much, not much,
but enough

Then shock, betrayal
I added it wrong, carried a one that wasn't there
and somehow expected more of you
My mistake, tactically stupid, I know
Who goes to war with an ally they hadn't tried in battle
with no written record of a truce?
Rookie mistake.

I won't be so foolish again

This is one you can not make sense of

There is a flash of indignation
Paired with red hot emotion
Singed pieces of hurt fluttering
Gravity not the only force pulling,
Until they rest, their dull heat
Dying
Amongst the Apathetic Ashes

“Are we dreaming?”
He moves like a power surge, slow then suddenly. Lips on my jaw, lips on my throat. The sheets are smooth beneath our feet.
Are we dreaming?

“Is this real?”
He moves like a question. Hands on my hips. Gentle, gentle. Don’t wake - Don’t wake us. I sigh against his lips.
Is this real?

“Relax.”
His fingers on my cheek, his nose against my own. His eyes are closed, his smile soft, soft, soft. I melt.
Relax.

“This is a dream.”
His voice is sure, his laugh sideways. He’s made himself his punchline. His arms orbit, his forehead warm on mine.
This is a dream.

“It’s okay.”
His whisper quakes. For me, for him. He is pinks and blues in rising light. His eyes on me the softest plea.
“It’s okay, we’re dreaming.”

I.
It feels like the moment
Just before a roller coaster
Drop.
Front seat, eyes wide,
But the weight of the cars behind
Gives you the time to recognize
There's no going back.

II.
The mix of almost fear,
adrenaline and excitement
was enough to take
ancient armies to war
and cause feuds that destroyed
whole civilizations.

III.
Here's you.
Sitting, Watching, Knowing.
Opening your mouth
Wide, Wider,
Sheer terror in your veins
Lifting your hands in the air.

IV.
Given the chance,
You'd do this every day
For the rest of your life.

Yesterday I almost told you how you hurt me

Instead my body rejected
Trembled with the effort of keeping my mouth shut
Sent shivers that pained my every movement
Tremors that travelled across my skin
A hint of no return, a hint of nothing
Until my breath was a tremble
An ache that spread through lung and throat
Out of my mouth and into the air
The only sound allowed

Yesterday I almost told you how it hurt to hear your words

Your self-hate and disgust all consuming
Aimed inward, aimed self bound
Until my heart felt the arrows
Aimed at yourself
And my soul quaked from the knowledge
That what I would die for
You believe worthless

Yesterday I almost told you how it pained me to be near you

Bittersweet
Like sour candy
Held against a tongue that burns each second
Rotting teeth and sweetening breath
Stinging taste buds and leaving them numb
All in the hope of reaching the sweet underneath
And perhaps liking the burn
A bit more than is healthy

Yesterday I almost told you that my love for you was burning

Like a flame left unattended in a forest full of dry leaves
Spreading from old oaks to new sprouts
Consuming all in its path
Reducing everything to ashes
Waiting for a rebirthing metaphor for forest fires
Not talking about the pain of loss to Mother Earth
Only about the growth afterward
Not thinking that all fires must die
That no flame lasts forever

Yesterday I almost spoke of my annoyance toward your disregard

You've changed, you know
You laugh at things you don't think are funny
Simply because you think I would
You make assumptions based on what you believe me to be
Not what you know me as
You make decisions based on what you believe would make me happy
Not on what would make you smile
Not on what would make you laugh
Not on what would make you happy
You've changed to accommodate for my emotions
Not thinking that I've already changed for yours
This won't work out, you know

Yesterday I almost told you that I loved you

Those words pain you now, have you noticed?
You grimace when they leave my mouth
You stop yourself from asking why
And so I've stopped saying it
Because nothing hurts more than the knowledge
That what I say and do makes no difference
That I could scream it and you'd only use it as ammunition
I will not load the gun you aim at yourself
I will not hand you a diamond for you to slit your throat
I will not give you a pillow if you'll only smother yourself
And it hurts that I must do such

Yesterday I almost told you to shut up

Because you're hurting me, you're hurting me
Can't you see that? Do you want to?
My heart lurches with every disrespectful thing you say under your breath
It burns when you call yourself worthless
It shrinks and crumbles under pressure
This coal won't make a diamond
This sand won't make a pearl
I am not a gemstone,
Not iron or steel, but human flesh
And we all know how fragile it is
You know it best, don't you?

Yesterday I almost told you it wasn't the same

But you know how I hate change
And how could I phrase it to prove you aren't the problem?
How could I tell you without you turning it into a weapon?
How could I make it in a way that wouldn't lead to your unhappiness?
Aren't you unhappy enough already?
I can't do it. I can't bring you happiness. I've tried and tried.
And I can't
I can't
Give up on you.

It exists just to be used
Softened lead and wood the color of sunshine,
On a clear summer day at noon,
Sharp to be dull to be sharpened again,
Cut to be cut to be cut again,
Long, for the purpose of being shortened
Shortened, short
Made to waste away, to sacrifice,
simply to make its mark, your mark,
A mark that will never be its own
What do you own when you are simply a conduit
Of other ideas?
An implemented utensil made to hold,
To shape thoughts, to make words,
To make worlds,
Smooth as soft grass beneath flattened palms,
Light enough to flick between fingers,
A soft hand, a trailing finger, a lover’s touch,
Round and round, and then round again,
Here, then there, unthinkingly,
As your focus trails over…
And doubles back,
Before crystallizing, your tool suddenly held firm,
As you spin your tales, your worlds, your words,
Then pause, and look, your thoughts made tangible,
Your tool a stake, a spear, a weapon when needed,
Sharp and dangerous, ready,
A pike, a sword, a dagger,
Able to communicate the sharpest words, the harshest touch,
A slap, a hit, hard, and heavy,
Smarting like a bruise just found, just poked, just pushed against.
A tool, a weapon, a builder, a revolutionary,
With just the barest hint of pink, of regret, of dissonance,
To stop.
Your trailing words, your tirade, your letters of love to leave,
Second guessed and sectioned off and sacrificed successfully,
Erased from all of history,
Transformed, at once, to nothing.

He says she’s changed.

Gone are the days when their fingers touched with same sparks that sent fireworks skyward. Gone are the days where they’d send spells into the sky on the fourth, dangerous, daring, delusional, promising that everyone expected fireworks anyway. Gone are the days where she would stare into his eyes and dream of lips that tasted like freedom.

She looks at him with sadness now. She’d gotten out. She’d beaten the high that filled her whenever she grabbed hold of the universe, and forged it like iron between her fingers. She was naturally strong, he was naturally talented, together they had been the A team.

But she’d left. She’d shook her head and stepped back and ignored the magic at her fingertips, even when he brought in their other friends. Even when he built his little coven. Even when he extended his hand and smiled like sparks in the dark. Even when his eyes promised forever.

The weather is hot and humid, like the memory of shared gazes and sweaty palms. He hugs her like a question. She hugs him like a farewell.

She looks into the summer sky and imagines she can see heaven.

She pleads with her God on hands and knees with gasps and sobs and shaking.

*Save him.
Please please please please
Save my best friend.

He was a boy, she was a girl,
Do you see where this is going?

Sometimes she was a girl and sometimes he was sweet,
and sometimes they would smile at each other,
and sometimes one would smile and the other would miss it,
and sometimes neither smiled at all.

Sometimes there were others and sometimes there were not
and sometimes the others got too close,
and sometimes she got rather internally possessive,
and sometimes he raised an eyebrow questioningly but got no answer

Sometimes there was music and sometimes there was dancing,
and sometimes they danced and sometimes they didn't,
and sometimes he watched her and sometimes she giggled,
and sometimes she watched him and had to look away

Sometimes she thought in terms of forever,
and sometimes she thought in terms of 'never',
and sometimes she thought in terms of 'maybe',
and sometimes she thought in terms of 'enough',

(because sometimes she didn't feel good enough)
(and sometimes she worried about not being loved enough)
(and sometimes she stressed about not being pretty enough)
(and most times she didn't feel like she was enough)

But sometimes that didn't matter,
because sometimes he smiled and talked enough
and sometimes his stories were funny enough
and sometimes he showed her he cared enough

And sometime she'll realize enough is enough
and that being attractive isn't always a measure of scruff
and that when you love someone you've gotta say that stuff
because leaving is easy when you don't know enough

A thousand and one reasons
To take your good old time
To weave barbs into wire
Your heart a "Keep Out" sign

A thousand and one reasons
to think that no one cares
That your opinion is less than nothing
That life just isn't fair

A thousand and one reasons
To wince at your own name
To grit your teeth and narrow eyes
And turn away from pain

A thousand and one reasons
To take a breath of air
To feel the movement in your lungs
And wish it wasn't there

A thousand and one reasons
To look how far you've come
To sigh and sit up straighter
For the battle's almost won

A thousand and one reasons
A thousand, twenty two
A thousand and one reasons
And none of them are you

Today is not the day I die

Standing tall like a mountain
Feeling like a mole hill
Feeling like a mine shaft
Filled with bursting dynamite
Dangerous to all who trespass
Worse for the workers
Subjugated to the whims
Of cold rock walls
And endless black pits

Today is not the day I die

Quick like lightning
Feeling like a storm
Breaking over the heads
Of innocents, of rich and poor
Pushing with winds too furious
Stealing away hats and scarves and comfort
Drenching in freezing rain
That feels a bit too much like
Being reborn

Today is not the day I die

Shining like the sun
They say stars are brightest
Just before they supernova
Just before they fall into themselves
Become something grander, more powerful
Something that devours all that it meets
A great abyss, feeding on itself
On light
All consuming

Today is not the day I die

Perhaps I am no mountain,
Perhaps I am no star,
No black hole, no sun,
No molehill or mine shaft
No wailing wind or breaking storm
No rain, and no lightning
Perhaps I am but a girl
But metaphors are my armor
and similes are my sword
I am no knight in plated silver
I am only a poet, armed with prose

I will not die today

i.
Your love is a heartbreaker
She's got a boyfriend anyway
Pour a little salt, we were never here

ii.
Not really sure how to feel about it
Bent and broken is all I've been
And without you is how I disappear

iii.
How can I love if I'm afraid to fall?
Turn off your mind, relax, and float downstream
Girl, you could have been the one

iv.
Story of my life, searching for the right, but it keeps avoiding me
Look around you, it's empty and you're sad
This is not what I have planned, it's out of my control

v.
Won't commit so you choose to run away
You're too perfect for my hands to hold
I'm afraid somebody else might end up being me

vi.
I thought of you and where you'd gone
You should know me by now
My weakness is I care too much

vii.
Why does my heart cry? Feelings I can't fight
I should have bought you flowers and held your hand
Feelings like this could only mean I'm sinking

viii.
This is the way you left me, I'm not pretending
In the perfect situation, I let love down the drain
Would you have the guts to say "I don't love you like I did yesterday"?

ix.
If you were dead or still alive, I don't care, I don't care
You and I were fireworks that went off too soon
If you love me, let me go.

Today, it rained

The liquid poured from the sky
As if the gods were screaming
Yelling their triumph from the heavens
And showering their domain
in the blood of nonbelievers

Today, it poured

The sound of rain on the library roof
is something of a dull roar
Like the sound of a Roman crowd
screaming for their champion
as they face the beast from below

Like the sound of sword on shield
the repeated beat of boots on ground
of smiles red with blood
and faces lined with sweat.

Like the sound of tire on pavement
of speed unchecked and controlled
of a kiss on the lips and a tangling of breath
of lightning forking through the sky

Like the feeling of feeling again
Of numbness washed away
Of loneliness swirling in a drain
Of the rebirth of Peebles, Kay

Deafened am I, by the screeches of familiarity

for here I am, a man
a woman, a girl, a boy,
silent are your cries for change,
deaf am I to the monotonous yelling
you want change. I have changed
details, insubstantial, minuscule,
deaf to your judgement and lies
unable to hear your disappointment
I cannot hear your subtle cues
your doubt and leading questions
I cannot bear your curiosity
searching for what you’ve missed
missing your oblivious admirer
I am no longer she

Once when I was little
I was dared to jump off the roof
of my uncle’s house, but it wasn’t so tall
just one, two, three stories,
but I didn’t die I didn’t
I landed on the trampoline
it didn’t break, it didn’t break
not until my next cousin jumped
and missed the thing entirely
breaking his ankle, and nothing else
and giving my aunt a heart attack
but I won the bet at least

Once when I was in Spanish Class
We had a no english day
so we spoke in pig latin
and she couldn’t make us stop
because pig latin isn’t english
and there was nothing she could do about it

Once I had a dream
that we tied strings to our friend
and he flew in the wind like a kite
our instructor fell from the ceiling
“I’m not your ****** one winged bird”
and you turned into a teddy bear

Once I had a nightmare
that I was walking along the train tracks
in the dark and couldn’t find
the person calling for me
it was you, and her, and the others
and it wasn’t safe, but I couldn’t find you

Once I had a dream
that animals were tearing at each other
at themselves
that a storage space stood empty
and you told me quite simply
“Stop it.”

Once I stood on ice and water
fingers slipping against rock
too heavy for me to hold and
much too heavy for me to keep
and it slipped from my fingers
and you dove in
and saved me

Once I sat in Thomas’s class
and daydreamed we ****** on every surface
and thought that maybe it was
completely plausible
that Thomas and the class would be there too
at least I think that happened once
or twice or three times
but it may not have happened at all

Once I sat in the library
writing up a heap of lies
and wondering which the poem was
a lie or a truth or both
I wondered where the exaggeration came
where it went
and paused to think it through again
as if it were nothing else.

Once we walked home together
and there was silence between us,
Tyrell words, growing stronger,
and I wondered what it was
that was so terrible about silence
with two people on either side
understanding the other.

Once I woke up alone
and saw you standing there in my bedroom
but you were younger, smaller,
and your eyes glowed something fierce
I could tell they were blue then,
though usually I don’t remember
and most times I can’t even discern
the color of your hair

Once I realized
I don’t like blonds.
They annoy me and they vex me
and I can’t deal with that
but honestly, what do I expect?
Her hair’s blonde naturally, you know
she dyes it so no one knows.
And they say you’re blond too, I guess
but I don’t think it shows.

Do not shatter
Do not fall apart
Do not cry
Don’t you dare cry

You keep your ******* chin up
You aren’t allowed to be weak
Keep a stiff upper lip you *******
Do not touch them

You will fall apart
You will show them just how weak you really are
You’ll ruin them
You’ll cling and they won’t want you

You stay the **** where you are
You keep yourself away from them
Don’t even look at them
Don’t even feel for them
Don’t even spend time with them

You leave them the **** alone
You keep yourself away from them
You talk to none of them
You keep writing instead of talking
But no more notes
No more messages
No more little tidbits under your breath

After school today, you’d better get it together
You’d better smile and laugh
You’d better grin like it doesn’t hurt
You’d better act like you’re loved
You’d better act like you believe it

Don’t you believe it?
Don’t be so self centered
You’ve got this, just chin up
Shut the **** up and finish what you need to
Support them, don’t use them as a crutch
How are you ever going to survive after high school if you depend on a bunch of kids?

Your eyes don’t deserve to fill with tears
You aren’t going to cry, are you?
Of course you aren’t, don’t be ridiculous.
Hurry now, take a deep breath
in, out, in
I’m not yelling at you, am I?
No. No I’m not, I’m trying to make you better
Don’t you want to be better?

Be the Kayla they all want to see.
Be Kay.
Not Gorilla Girl.
Not That Girl.
Not Pebbles.
Not Bam Bam.
Not iPod.
Not Shuffle.
Be Kay.

Kay.

Kay.

And stop avoiding Boy, could you be any more obvious?
Get over yourself.
Move on.
Snap. Out. Of. It.

I've told you I loved you a million times,
but never in words

We went to cross a street
and my arm, without permission
was out to block your path
before I even noticed
as a car went by
you laughed and asked
'what's with the protective act?'
I couldn't answer
because I didn't know

We walked side by side
across the train tracks
kicking stones in matching sneakers
you turned to me,
your heart in your eyes
'am I like Him?'
and I thought about it at length
before telling you no
instead of simply dispelling your fears

We were on a bus ride
sharing a seat whilst around us
tears were shed
but you simply made me laugh
and we spent the whole ride talking
as I smoothed down the fur
on the snout of your
favorite stuffed animal
and later when they blamed you
for enjoying yourself
I defended you with an army
of eyebrows raised high
and sarcastic remarks
that made you laugh instead

And when we walked together
from church, to home
taking a short cut through
streets we'd never been down before
I listened to you talk of everything
that came to mind
and we sang every song
that came on your phone's radio app

And between services,
when I was lazy
and laying on my side
on your bed easy as pie
you fidgeted with every
little knick knack on your dresser
telling me tales of each
and I smiled and nodded
using your stuffed animal
as a pillow and waiting for you to sit down

When you started designing your game
I stayed silent and listened
as you described your plans
how you built each little thing
using code you'd learned from
YouTube tutorials
Secretly thrilled
at the tiny contact
between your back and my knees

And when you finally
put your laptop down
and laid down
letting me spoon you
each time we decided
we'd get up to get
something to eat
yet went nowhere
sent a happy little thrill
through my whole body

And with each new experience
each new revelation
of budding emotions
thought long gone
I learn that love
can be just as strong
as softly fading radiation
from a platonic bomb

My self harm needs
no razor blades
no broken bottles
no sleeve charades

It comes with the ache
when my eyes drift
over her hopeful
worried expression

It comes with the sting
as he walks right past
and I do the same
in retaliation

It comes with the guilt
as they laugh together
too loud, heard over
my music

It comes with the crumbling
falling sensation
of a girl who is only
human.

I'd rather go
one stop shopping
at a
lobotomy
store

i.
he calls you soft, and you tremble
he calls you soft, and you quake,
he calls you soft, and you shatter
he calls you soft, and you break

ii.
you are sunlight. you are bright.
you are the breeze. you are the flight.
you are shivers. you are sweat.
you pray to remember. you pray to forget.

iii.
she smiles. you are lost.
your fingers tangle. there is no cost.
she whispers. you tilt your head.
you bite your lip. it remains unsaid.

iv.
you are alone. you don't mind.
you are alone. you want to cry.
you are alone. you've had much worse.
you are alone. the poet's curse.

Poets are just authors
who get straight to the point
at least that's what my teacher
told me once

I don't know if I believe it
I'm an author too, sometimes
and others it just seems better
for poems, for prose, for rhyme

Sometimes I wonder if
The earth is really rounded
or if it's just a oblong
distant lands and distant seas

I like poetry because with stories
They want you to make sense
and with poems you can
just go and go and go

I like poetry because
my prose is all that's judged
not my grammer or my speling
or anything at all

Perhaps it's all too clever
so poetic, so in tune
Artistic and amazing
so clear and so immune

I feel immortal with my poetry
with my rhymes and with my nots
All the way to everything
All the way to nothing

i.
Today I wondered
How vast the universe was
Because I looked in your eyes
And saw galaxies

ii.
Today I whispered
Words that I won't repeat
until my heart tricks my brain
into freeing my voice

iii.
Today I touched
joking, of course,
but not, but serious
without knowing which was which

iv.
Today I laughed
I smiled and pouted
I frowned and groaned
I grinned innocently, proving my guilt

v.
Today I felt
guilt and happiness
greed and selflessness
jealous, yet contented

vi.
Tomorrow I fear
For I've taught myself
That change is
the only constant

Write it in pen, write it in pen
You can’t take it back if you write it in pen

Say it out loud, say it out loud
You can’t hide from it if you say it out loud

Think of it more, think of it more
You can’t run from it if you think of it more

Tell your best friend, tell your best friend
You won’t be alone if you tell your best friend

I think about flowers and beautiful gardens
and how eventually they all wilt
we all decay one day, don't you know?

I think about roses and dandelions
of weeds and thorns and r e d
we all bleed when our skin is ripped

I think about trees and leaves
of bark and branches and green
sometimes oxygen tastes like cyanide

I think about how the wind sounds
when its gentle but there's no chimes
can I really believe in something I cannot see?

There are two of me,
Three, Four,
Three to stay standing
One to meet floor

There are four of me
Five, Six,
One who's all pure
One who's a mix

There are six of me
Seven, Eight,
One to be aloof
One to relate

There are eight of me
Nine, Ten,
One to be angry
One to be zen

There are ten of me
Eleven, Twelve,
One to spread
One to shelve

There are twelve of me
Thir, Four,
One to open windows
One to close doors

There are fourteen of me
Fifteen, Sixteen,
One to talk *****
One to act clean

There are Seventeen of me
One per year,
One to be obscure,
None to be clear.

There are Seventeen of me,
But seven through fourteen,
Slipped and fell,
Got lost in between

One to love
One to cold
One to decay
One to gold

There are Seventeen of me,
But eleven through eight
Turned green with envy
Turned cold with hate

There are Seventeen of me,
But two through seven
Went through hell
And deserved heaven

There are Seventeen of me
but only One matters
The one that's the strongest
The One whose heart's shattered.

I wonder when I
began to take things
in stride.

Never fazed by
actions or
emotion

Only ever faltering
at hints of
hurt

Quickly ignored
swept beneath
others

My arms ache from
holding their
position

Why is it my hugs
are always
abandoned

Perhaps the only
constant detail is
me.

God said “Fight.”
and I’ve been raising my fists
since before I knew to say
“My Father who art”
I’ve got bruises between my knuckles
that only ghosts can see
Soul deep black eyes
And dislocated shoulders
Busted lips and
“Hallowed be thine”
Spat with blood and broken teeth
Black and blue beneath skin
That’s never been marred
“Thy kingdom come”
With kicks and low blows
Breaks in spiritual bones
“The Lord told Abraham”
Too wild to recognize
Too lost to “Go”
The Lord said “Fight"
and I’ve been waiting for my Seventh Day