I'm going to the city on Friday
while I wish still that I could be holding your hand.
I realized a while ago that most of my poems
are directly addressed to you.
Take that as an honor, take a bow.
Take my hand and shout
you didn't want me every second of every day,
just when the weather was warm in the morning.
I want to tell you I'm done
falling against my dresser drawers
getting scratches on my back from anything
(except future lovers.)
I want to let you know I'm through
with scrolling down my contacts, clicking you
and giving up hope before it even rings once.
I want to inform you that I'm tired
of sleeping alone mentally with his arm around me physically
and the confusion that fills for when my heart quivers a bit when he-
let me stop there. I want to make sure you know,
I'm lying. That when
he looks into my eyes I feel nothing
but guilt.
That could very well be because I can't see clearly
through the tears blurring my vision,
when I try too hard to let go it leaves me scrambling
to my feet to catch my breath but it seems to have never lost me.
I'd still like to garden with you, wander New York City
you looking handsome and me looking pretty.
I'd still love you to be in my bed ev-er-y night
your breath on my neck
my eyes towards the ceiling tiles,
and they'll smile
because they already know your name.

Welcome home, we're proud of you
soft hands caressed my hair.
You're ghostly white and beautiful,
we'll care for you, my dear.
Lay you down on blankets
and sheets as pure as doves.
Kiss you on the temple
promise you our love.
You've returned to whence you came
please do not leave again.
From dust to life to ashes
your body you will shed.
Your soul has been marked black
we'll wash it clean with prayer.
In your heart you've always known
you didn't belong there.
So jump, my child, into our arms
we'll keep you safe forever.
Come back to the sky, it's simple now
you just have to pull the trigger.
Press down a littler harder on that blade,
swallow a few more.
Welcome home, we're proud of you.
With angels you will soar.

Their heads are filled with stories.
Hope for life after death.
The questions asked to many times,
what'd happen if I lept?
Would I still get into heaven if I took my own life,
would my father from above see my struggle and my strife,
would I be forgiven for giving up so soon
to be pulled back into angels arms
white clouds and perfect harp-played tunes.
If I quit this now, the fighting,
I'd be on the other side.
And we fill the heads of children
tell them that the pain subsides
when the kiss of deaths upon you,
the dead move into the sky.
And everything's eternal
when the last breath escapes
as a sigh.

I let my hands slip
from your shoulder blades
only a few seconds after your
arms had dropped to your sides.
Feel better, have a good night
but you can't cry to me anymore
you said it with your bloodshot eyes
the forcefulness of your voice proclaiming
that you've loved her for longer than anyone else.
I stood there, biting my lip thinking
does it really matter how long
you've loved someone for
or is it all based on how
hard you fight, the
passion in your
words and the
taste of your lover
printed all over your skin.
Two years of dim comfort cannot
combat two months of struggle, constant
kicking down of walls and kisses with smoke
in between. Letters miles long with the word "never"
attached to "stop" connected with "loving you."
Mattresses with sheets and easy sleep won't
compare to uncertainty of where to rest
my head, being more concerned with
the state of yours and your self
worth. Two months of loving
passionately does not even
need to fight against
two years of rest.
It always wins.

Chances are
you will not be anyone else's first kiss ever again,
if ever at all.
Anyone else's first love.
Being eighteen
you must have seen
promises scrawled on a picnic table
"4ever & always"
Chances are that ended at about two o'clock on a Sunday afternoon,
when the perfect boy for you
decided to move
five hours away for school,
and you couldn't take the missing him.
Forever ended.
I was twelve in my neighbor's basement
playing hide-and-go-seek.
I kissed first because I'm tired
of waiting, always have been
the one to leave my eyes open
just a bit.
You'll be perfectly okay when someone who has loved
someone before you
loves you now.

Indecision holds my passion;
I love hard from loving rarely.
**** out the marrow of your bones
while the flesh of my wrist
has barely been kissed
by anyone else.
Wanting to devour you
starved for something true,
like icicles so cold the heat pulses through
turning the tops of my hands uneven and red
I love like roadkill
sticky and dead.
Black rubber tired marks over the head
of an animal begging to leave or be left.
If the timings not right, those leaving are left
and the ones who hold on are swept away on tides
on the rain water missed
by gutter grates, reaching out
empty and dried.
Depending on a single element results in no fire
no breath or no way to walk,
no source of life.
If the timing's not right
those leaving are left
and not for a second did I anticipate death.

It's really very lovely
how my heart aches for you so terribly
there are fisures in my rib bones.
How I crave to know the pieces frozen underneath
in hibernation as you use up your energy
hidden to heave your chest
up and down.
I've bitten you til your skin was purple,
said I felt like I was part of the universe
and you were a part of me. Human nature
is just that,
nature.
With all the chemical reactions and nerves firing
inside my brain, I don't mind if there isn't something greater.
This is more than good enough,
it's everything I could muster from my deflated lungs
to say to you, we are a part of the world and you
are a part of me. Should I wrap it up with ribbon,
char the edges with a match? Write it down in blue pen
sign my name in cursive. Say, you are a part of me
I am a part of you. We share this energy,
but it's past tense. I need to start anew.
I bit you til your skin was purple, yellow, green
colors swirled around the center
giving a meaning
to life.

Scissors used to make paper snowflakes
sharp metal used to cut the strings,
let you fall out of my head but stay
pumping blood through my veins.
My fingertips are blue
from holding onto you,
I think it's time to thaw them out.
There's not another word that I can shout
at the tip top of my voice at the highest point.
Nothing else is loud, screeching breaks in my ears
After all my weakness, this is not my greatest fear.
Cutting the ties, breathing you away
locking up our memories inside a plastic cage.
Breathe my own scent in, stay in rhythm with my steps.
Ninety-nine percent of my cells will be kept
for myself. One percent for you.
You'll always have a section where my feelings  are warm and true.
Cut the strings, I'm letting you fall
down my scalp, my mouth, my throat
to my stomach, thighs and knees
letting you
escape me.