Bend me down and out and over
I will smile as I wither
You can not shatter someone
Who loves being broken

Tonight he leaves you with a pile of his favorite CDs;

you dream of loading them onto Noah’s Ark before the flood,

along with his 3 A.M. texts and prescription glasses;

he will talk to you when she is not around,

look directly into your eyes, until your heart cracks

and spills into his palms like a weak egg yolk

ready for the frying pan. Do not wait for his little green Facebook

symbol to light up or you will be up all night.

He will kiss her in front of you, a kiss so deep

it could cut straight to the bone like an interrogator

slowly removing a suspect’s finger with a carving knife.

Shield your eyes and turn away;

pretend you are casually studying the poster on the wall.

You will wonder if her body leaves an outline in his bed

the same way a crime scene is taped off

around the chalked-in edges of the victim,

and still he will call you twenty minutes before midnight

wanting to go out for ice cream

when you end up comparing the best 90’s music

over his kitchen table instead. When he looks at you

across this very same table, stare directly back.

Do not flinch. Do not turn away this time.

Let the tidal wave of his stare wash over you

until it drenches your hair

and he wants to comb out the sadness with his fingers:

let him. Let him.

It will take a while to work through the tangles

but savor this last moment with his fingers

unknotting you like needles, before tomorrow,

when he will go back to her again, bouncing

between the two of you like a yo-yo,

the kind that returns to the owner

then moves on to another when it grows bored.

Who am I
but the broken pieces
Of who I used to be

Who am I
but a silhouette of the bright future
I had always dreamed

Who am I
but the fading cry inside my heart ;
"I'm still here. I am. I am."

Who am I
But what's left of everything
That broke me

Who am I
But another racer
Who does not know where he is going

Who am I
But a love
that is never loved back

Who am I
But a mixture of feelings
That have already been felt

Are my thoughts original?
Or are they echoes
Of every things they have witnessed

8 ½ by 11 pieces of paper,
College-ruled,
Empty.

That’s how it all started...
Empty-
Filled with possibility-

slowly, we added more
filling the paper together
with dreams-
ambitions-  
secrets-

Letters sent back and forth
professing our love
dreaming for the future,

and creating lists-
lists.

lists of the future-
lists of our dreams together-
lists of future plans and happy things-

and as we listed our lives,
we forgot to live them.

we listed romantic dreams
until romance became a dream-

we listed happy things-
until we had none between us..

and then we realized…
that our little page was filled

there was no room for us...

I keep those lists,
in my book,
with me at all times
hidden from the world-

hoping that one day
we may still make those dreams we once dreamed
come true-
knowing we won’t -
the pages aren’t empty-
But I sure am-

an empty shell of my existence
a blank piece of 8 ½ by 11 paper-
All I have is
the list of our future plans and happy little things

our list-

I think it’s time to make a new one-


but **** if I won't keep trying
to one day make those lists
mean something again-

*Who knew... it takes longer to move on than it does to fall in love.

Be with me
Always and forever,
And when my flesh
Disappears under
A ground full of roses
You will still remember
My smell.