Buddha tells me only love dispels hate
and I know he is right.
But I cannot help the torrential downpour
of fiery, biting words that fall out of my mouth
on occasion
only to be suspended in the frigid air
and sent back to settle at the bottom of my stomach as frozen stones of guilt.
And regret hangs heavy.
And I wonder if I will ever be golden enough
to be able to hold the reigns of my own chariot.

I miss you.

I’m doing that thing where I plan out this whole scenario in my head and everything works out exactly the way I want it to.
Our eyes meet
and our lips touch
and everything is miraculously okay. I play it over and over again and I can feel my heart beat a little faster every time.
I let it sit in my mind and roll around a bit before it finally settles and solidifies.

This false sense of calm comes over me.
The pain is numbed momentarily because I have subconsciously fooled myself into thinking that what I want to happen will happen
and that I should look forward to it.
But I have been duped too many times by myself to make that mistake again.
Now all I can do is chip away at it,
slowly and painfully,
but surely.
I can feel the knots forming again in the pit of my stomach.
I can feel the worry and the hurt and the fear seep back into my heart.
But at least I know that it’s real.

I know you’ve touched other girls the way you’ve touched me.
I try not to think about it,
but it plays over and over on a widescreen behind my eyes.
It’s a different girl each time,
her face always unclear.
The look in your eyes though is always the same.

And I can’t help but wonder
if it's just carnal
or if they’re probing for something deeper.

I’ve seen this silent reel so many times and I ache to hear the words that slip through your lips. Are they screams of pleasure,
instinctual and animal?
Are they whispers dripping
with the condensation of love?
I wonder if you’ve spoken to them
the way you spoke to me.

And then it’s over.
The film blacks right when you finish
and I wonder if you push back her hair and kiss her cheek softly.
I wonder if you whisper in her ear and hold her close.
But I hope to God that you pull on your clothes
and walk out the door.

I had no say in the matter.
I could only watch
as you carefully removed the beating *****,
wild and alive,
from my chest
in awe.
You made a cradle for it with your fingers
tended to it, loved it.
Until one day both of your hands were full
and you put it in your back pocket
and forgot about it.
Now when you wear those pants
and take a seat,
a pressure descends on the empty cavern from which my heart was taken.

Today
anybody is the right body,
taut and lean,
exploiting youth.


Flesh is flesh on flesh,
smooth and seamless.


Making love is not love;
purely a fabrication that lures in
any susceptible soul
with salty, passionate promises.


Bodies fall victim to bodies,
deluded by ecstasy
over and over
and over again.


Though they may release a double negative
at some point in time,
lips never lie.

I turn and turn and turn

searching for you eyes

and your lips

for a glimpse of your fingertips

but my world is spinning and you

are not here.

Everything else is only temporary solace

empty words exchanged with empty souls to fill the room

until it is bloated with fake sincerity and forced smiles and robotic laughs

when all I desire is a moment of silence

with you.

Precariously perched
our fate is
on a taut tightrope of tribulation.
Indecision keeps us teetering left and right,
but never forward,
both too proud to make the first move.
As our balance breaks and our stamina saps
we must take a step
or fall.

Today I have to tell myself to breathe.

I know that if I stopped forming the words silently with my lips,
a cry would escape followed by an avalanche of saved up emotions manifested in every possible physical way.

I know that if I stopped,
I would crumble to the ground and I would not arise until you,
and only you,
kissed and coaxed until the hysterics turned into hiccups and the salty tears were only traceable by faint, powdery tracks down my cheeks.

I also know that you won’t come.

So today my mantra is “inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.”

Tears fall.
It's nothing new.
I break the promises I make with myself
for you.

Again and again and again I reach,
fingers grasping thin air.

That hopeful feeling in my chest
like tiny wings fluttering-
I'm used to that.

But the drop of disappointment sinking down in my stomach
somehow manages to tunnel deeper and deeper each time.