Draw me in pencil,
Draw me in chalk,
Draw me in bright colours,
Draw me with shades,
Or draw me paint brush
Stokes and all,
But if you draw me in your mind, do it so you never forget me at all.

Ahh, the friend zone.  Have you ever been there? Stuck between wanting and not being wanted by who you are certain must be the love of your life? Well don't you worry your lonely little head any longer, because experts have finally developed a fool-proof way to escape this unfair wasteland void of affection.

Step one:
Admit what has happened.  You, friend, have been friend zoned.  For some unfathomable reason, girl has deemed you, undesirable. Do not be discouraged when she calls you brother.  Instead, accept the challenge of making ****** seem appealing.

Step two:
Spend less time with her.  Make her feel as if she values your company more than you do hers.  She will begin to feel confused and lonely. When she calls, do not pick up until at least the fifth ring.

Step three:
Up your flirting game. If she doesn't respond positively, send her a sarcastic remark via text guilting her into giving you more attention.

Step four:
Change. Change everything about yourself until you lose the person she first befriended.  When she sees you, it will be like looking in the face of a stranger.

Step five:
Break the touch barrier.  Invading a woman's personal space with unwarranted physical gestures is a sure way to make her used to your dominating body movements.  Soon, she should submit to her instincts, and to you.  

Step six:
Stop doing things for her.  You can't expect a girl to want to date you when you already give her everything a boyfriend would and she doesn't even have to put out.  (I mean, the only reason women even have *** is to keep their man around).  Instead, tell her to do something for you, like making a sandwich.

Step seven:
Explain to her why her boyfriend, girlfriend, other love interest, or singleness is not right for you.  I mean, her.  She is, after all, incapable of making her own decisions, or else she would not need to lean on you for advice.  Understand that you are better than anything else she could want, she just doesn't know it yet.

Step eight:
Date other people.  Women easily become jealous of other women.  This will make her small mind react territorially.  Much like step two, this will lead her to feel insecure around you, and she will begin to show you only her most formal, prettiest parts.  

Step nine.
Confess your feelings for her.  Humans in general can never tell when someone is romantically interested.  Overstep boundaries, tell her how you are almost too good for her, and she will never find someone like you.

Step ten.
Congratulations! You've done it.  You, sir, have escaped the friend zone.
She does not look at you when she walks by. She does not call.
You, are no longer her friend.

i called you at 4 am with mascara
tears and bloodied knuckles grasping
a quivering cell phone in the
rain; you drove three hours
in the middle of a storm to hold
me close and claimed you'd never
let me be alone again.

you
lied.

It was raining.
On this damp May evening, my mother turned to my sister and asked her to refrain from speaking to me.
Pensive is the word she used.
My sister heard the word "pencil" and thought I was sick with lead poisoning.
I remember her checking the room for different writing utensils, she was looking to hide them as you do the knives when the depressed family member comes for a visit. Such a sweet girl to take the graphite and leave the eraser. I'm sure it was a subconscious gesture, or made with complete disregard, but nevertheless I was smiling.

The first time I fell in love, I was standing up straight, head over heels. A web browser was open before me, asking the difference between love and anxiety. Later did I come to find that the former and latter are more similar than most know or care to know. One night while looking at her lips and glancing at her eyes, she told me I was adaptable. That was the first time I questioned love for lust.

My grandfather started crying.
His hands, those of a carpenter, were holding his face. There I sat across from him, hairs on my neck standing, praying for him to speak first. He always spoke first. He would also tell me to stop him if I've heard the story he was going to tell, although I never did. But the story happening before me was one I wanted to stop but couldn't. Never have I seen this man cry, and that would be the only time I ever would. Two years later he had passed on peacefully.
By then it was my turn to cry.

Some remember the words they've spoken. Others the words they've heard. But I can recall all of the times I've sat in silence. The moments and memories I hold in the company of the ones I love or have had love for are some of the more quiet times in my life. The only quiet which can rival that told above are the times that I've spent putting word to paper. And those are the quiet times I can't remember offhand, but I can always revist. Those quiet times are kept in the walnut filing cabinet.
Right beside the
photograph of the cabinet maker.

I was born with a knack for reading and a passion for writing and a terrible, ten cent memory. although I can't recall what I ate for breakfast (unless your mother made it) I can still remember the first time we met.

I remember looking up at your apartment, seeking refuge from the cold, pushing away "this is a bad idea" and thinking maybe honey colored windows and smokey air could change my life. plants hang like bodies behind the blinds. now I think "this was a great idea" and I still can't decide if I should've ascended those stairs- two flights- right into your life. you were sitting on the couch and wouldn't look my way because the cigarette between your lips was far more intriguing. car horns and screams erupt from the tv. this is the first time we speak since I first saw you in middle school, pushing my friends into the bathroom of the wrong gender.

I remember spending every day working my way to the couch. first the floor. then the chair. then beside you. and once I found this place God knows I knew I was at home. I've never liked watching you play video games and swing from roof to roof and flip a truck with the push of a button, but now there's nothing I miss more than the sounds of that glowing controller. only when I traded my dark sweaters for a tight tee had I caught your attention.

I remember the night we taped your mouth closed and your wrists tight and tossed you in the trunk as a joke. I still have pictures. you tried to speak and although your words were muffled, I could understand. I was the translator. and I still am. you told me you'd be satisfied if you kissed my best friend before the night was over. I told you I couldn't handle myself on an empty stomach. I puked all over the side of the car.

I remember trying to start a fire for forty five minutes and chugging liquor like water before our friends returned. asking you to sit with me that night was an invitation to fall in love with me. however, the type of love you showed was not one I knew well. I never let anyone **** me because I was too afraid of myself. but I never stopped you because you weren't afraid of anything. I wonder if you still would have done it knowing how far along id take you. I wonder what kind of dreams you had when you passed out in the trunk and I shuttered in January air, 3 am and the tape from your mouth is on the steering wheel. there is no such thing as silence. there are only hands rubbing my back as I try to remember how the sun feels.

I remember bruises on my thighs that looked like Van Gogh touched a canvas with a blindfold on. I swear I shook for three days after That: when I saw you, when I wanted you, when I thought of you. three things I still tackle with every morning smoke. I used to think you'd never speak to me after that night. who would've guessed we'd have a million more.

I remember the first time you had me completely exposed, and it was not just my skin. I was knocking things off my bucket list, knocking my head on the headboard, knocking on your door at midnight with a blunt in my back pocket. remember when you punched me in the throat on accident? I leaned into it. should've knocked some sense into me.

I remember laying on your bed listening to the messages my first love had left on my phone a year ago. "I love you, I love you. please come back. I love you." you thought they were creepy. I wanted you to need me this badly. I wanted you to hold me when I cried. "message deleted." "message deleted." I wanted to keep you from walking out of the room, and I wanted to keep your mother from walking in. she thought I was a good one. "I like her," she shouted, cackling over the sink. "she's good for you. she's so good for you." she doesn't know I carved her couch with your knife. she doesn't know how you dragged me in front of the mirror and told me I was beautiful. she once called me and told me I used her as a hotel. it was my home. I am still there, somewhere. I remember so many things and yet not one is valuable when I try to find words to fit. I can't tell you what love is. you can read every poem and hear every love song and see every photo and you will never know. but if you give me an hour and a bottle of wine, I can tell you what it's like when it's gone.