curled in the corner
of your queen sized
mattress

sharing a bed with my conscience
is no easy task.
she always talks in her sleep,
her feet are ice cold,
and she always hogs the covers.
I'm never left enough room
to breathe.

And the paisley pattern on your sheets
only keeps her awake
into the hours
when the ice wakes up;
Stretching its lazy, crystal bones
over the front lawn;
chilling the roof tiles
with a yawn.

curled in the corner
of your queen sized
mattress.
and my conscience,
she's stirring.

your summers
of happiness and ***

remind me of mine.

long drives with boys i loved
cigarettes and sweat
and ***
literally every day, sometimes for hours.
Usually for hours.
Sometimes four hours.



;reminds me of my boy with greyblueblack eyes
and my boy with the hairy toes (two years of lovelovelove
and the boy that played me guitar, always letting me sing
to him

and
the boy that ****** me
and ****** me over
and kissed me
to keep from freezing
inside his cold life



and then of course
there's the boy



with those beautiful hands

that haunt me
now


trying to fall asleep
i imagine his arms around me

his hands
his glorious slender hands
in my hair
that he thinks is so pretty

(breathing into my neck)

that thought is enough to get me to sleep every night
now that sleeping has become difficult to do.


i love your little stories
of her back
-skin dancing in the sun
of windows
softly
creeping through the curtains




Man, the way you must have loved her

hot tears of brown
fall into my ears
and dye my hair a new color

one that i don't like.


This
"missing you"
is so much more than my tiny worm body can hold

it's not missing anymore.
it's not
it's hot, hard
pain
like a brick oven and you've shoved me inside

it scorches my hands
and i kiss my palms
pretending that they are yours

and it soothes me
like a shirt
or a song

until the shirt gets washed
and the song becomes warped and sticky from scratched cds

how long will it be before you can no longer recharge my battery?
You fill me up
but i always die again


but
it gives me life when you
give me


your
sweet softness
and rough
             beautiful
gracious
           gloriousness
of the spine of your back, your back is
your back is
my back

what happens when you cannot recharge my
battery
so easily?

what happens when it feels like you
are far away

even
when
you
are near

"The eyes are the windows to the soul"
good thing I have pretty blue eyes?
*******. The soul is the window to the soul
peeked into by watching a life.

Where does the self reside?
in a cardboard box body
dimples marketed to be cherished
a full lipped smile, irises to beguile
this image, lottery identity-

Mine?

Am I supposed to feel lucky?
Arbitrary proportions, is my soul a brunette
are its shoes size 9?
Some assembly required- to be human
words writ to describe this shell
this meaningless husk
puppet jesting at life
feverishly polishing itself
until it cracks, breaks
abstract and
lost.

Does the self wear a top hat
and say: "Here's a hundred years to sell out the show"

"Til death do us part,
my perfection and my soul."

I'll lay out the patio so nicely
they'll never even realize
the host is in absencia, has hidden deep inside

I curse myself for the illusion of aesthetic-

Beauty is the greatest lie

Rid me of the irons to
my body
my name
my poise

imprisoned in this wretched skeleton,
the cage of the soul, the self, the someone
in embryo form
dreaming they're awake

but have never even opened their eyes.

I think about calling you

when I’m alone Friday nights,

I imagine you all alone too.

You’re probably watching action movies

and eating frozen dinners.

I think about all the things I would say like,

I’m sorry,

or I was wrong,

and would you like to **** me,

or can I have my record player back at least?


P.S. Have you seen my pea coat?

Maybe today will be the day
The day I save the world
The day I save myself
Maybe today will be different
Maybe I’ll rescue children
From a burning building
Maybe I’ll feed the hungry
Maybe I’ll compose a song
That unites humanity
Today the possibilities
Are endless
So maybe
Just maybe
I’ll do something great
Something unimaginably heroic
Or maybe I’ll just shut up
And eat my breakfast.

Something happened when
I finally allowed myself
to permit you
to see me.

Those eyes of yours, brimming pools,
reached so far deep into my being,
drawing out emotions and thoughts I was afraid to ever show you.
Your nose just breathing space away from mine,
a breath caught in your chest;
It happened—
I let you in.

And I think you recognized it,
for that gleam in your eye let me know
that you’re in it, too.

This is but a bittersweet, diminished thing that we both hold onto,
even after the time when tears filled our eyes.

We’ll never let go, you and I.

“I want to remember you like this,” you said, as you looked at me through fogging lenses.*

And I, you, like this.

It was in that moment we allowed ourselves to gaze upon
a last tattering photograph of when we were whole.
One last kiss,
one last woven catalyst of fingers,
and I held your face in my hands
and whispered, “You are incredible.”

But we just couldn’t be.

We kiss until our lips chap - slow, painful kisses
Because of the sweat
because of the fruit
because I love you, always,
You, with your
skunk smoke drifts
and tequila sweat,
Your flavor hasn't changed at all

And it's been five years
I still write poetry about you