Life is funny.
There is such
a thin line,
between good
and bad. Right
and wrong. Pain
and healing.

Today I hurt myself.
I watch my blood run
and I smiled. I smoked
a black and mild nice
and slow, thinking
about the benefits of
cancer. Dying.

Today I could have
stopped myself.  A few
breathes, a hot shower.
I could have left
my sharp edged friend
untouched. I could have
called someone to
enjoy feeling loved.

But I didn't.

Today I almost died.
Yesterday I did.
I wonder what tomorrow
Will bring me.

I like the way you smoke your cigarettes.
And how your forehead tenses when you think.
I like the way you hold my hand.
How you tell me stories.

I can never get enough of you.

I wish I could draw back the curtains,
peer just behind your eyeballs, to the brain.
Sit for awhile in your beating heart.
Kiss your lungs and beg them to breathe forever.

Tell me a story, just one more story.

I'd miss the way you smile at me,
just after you know you've made me laugh.
I'd miss the way we sleep together, the
way we lay intertwined.

I'll close my eyes, and pray I never lose you.

Every time I visit,
my hallway is the same.
The tiles breathe cold air
through my jeans, and the
bench, now occupied,
gives me a longing look.
I know I am it's favorite.

People hustle by,
busy little critters trying
make it on time for
their next class. Giving
not a second thought,
to the girl with a frozen ****
and bright red hair.

Today my hall is musical.
Filled with the symphony of
fingertips colliding with a key board.
A piece that races on with a sense
of urgency. The player, a girl
with worn black converse.

The door to my favorite class lives here,
in this hallway, with 12 or so other neighbors.
Who's noisy occupants leak
through spaces in the door frames,
and whisper their conversations in my ear.

I'm not sure where
the comfort comes from,
in this hallway where I sit.
Maybe its the assurance that
the tiles, no matter how cold,
will always have a place for me.

Maybe it's that the people shuffling
back and forth, slowly become familiar.
Or maybe it's just because I need
something here to help me feel at home.
Maybe this is just the place I picked to be my safe haven.
A spot of comfort in a campus of confinement.

Dear boy with the STL tattoo,

I still see your face in the people I meet.
I hear your voice in comedians on tv.
My heart breaks at Eminem.
And let me say, you're much much better than him.


Dear boy with the broken heart,

I never meant to make you cry.
I never saw this coming.
It was just a meeting of chance and time.
I still love you with my whole heart,
I wish you'd understand. Just because
we're not in love, doesn't mean you're
not my best friend.


Dear boy who is my best friend,

Even though we may not be near,
or talking, or laughing, or sharing our tears.
Even though you scratch at me,
I'll always be here for your tired eyes.
Even though I make mistakes,
I beg that you will do the same.


Dear boy with the world in his hands,

Don't you see what you can be?
There is so much locked inside of you
that I don't even see how you can
manage to breathe.


Dear boy who I know I'm losing,

Please remember to be safe.
Remember when the world gets dark,
that a match can like your way.
Please try to quit smoking, and be careful
with the drugs. I only worry because
I care. I'm sorry that's not enough.

I could write you a thousand poems
and send you every single one.
But it doesn't mean a thing
if you give them over to your flaming heart.

From ashes my words mean nothing.

That's the problem with words.
They are leaky jars you can't plug up.
I fill them with warmth, and regret, and love.
But by the time you unscrew the lid
only drops of what was meant to be remain.

Or maybe you just won't listen.
Maybe we're just talked to death.
Maybe our words have been used too many times.
Maybe we just can't be friends.

But until the day my words take flight
I'll keep writing poems to you.
Filling them up and up again
until they start to finally break through.