i want to live in your world,
but i don't know how to be.
and art
is just you
letting other people
experience
you.
and i just want the music to be in me,
but i live in it,
and everything matters.
and you only think i'm beautiful
in this moment,
but i want to write a house.
and if you ever need more willpower,
just touch my hand.
everyone creates the world.
you help.

the ice cream truck makes me very sad
because it reminds me of all the things i've lost--
childhood,
innocence,
endless summer,
and you,
my once-upon-a-darling.
and that rainbow snow cone with gum at the bottom
sits heavy in my chest.
not because i want you back,
but because i do not,
and i miss the girl
that would have.

i want to be the girl you prefer.
and i see what you see in her
(even if no one else does)
but that doesn't mean it doesn't sting
when you pick her,
and i walk back alone.
and i know i'm greedy,
selfish,
demanding,
since you're far from my only,
but you are the one i like best
and
i want to be the girl you prefer
(if only for tonight)

all these secrets take me back
to lies and drugs and uncertainty,
to when nothing i said was true
and not even i could trust me.
and i'm so tired of being the girl that ***** your boyfriend
and smiles to your face,
but the attention feels so good,
and i just want your
         (hands, lips, tongue)
eyes on me.
and if that means
i have to lie,
then i guess
i'll always be that girl.

and i don't understand
         (but i want to)
where you go when your eyes get far away
or the shadows in your head when you say
you're not okay,
but i do understand
the way your fingers lace with mine,
the warmth of your skin,
the hungry way you kiss.
i'll never get your jealousy,
but i know love,
and i know loss,
and i want to know you.
and i hope this isn't a pattern
or my insecurity
or my boundary issues manifested,
but then you smile,
and i feel good,
and that's enough
to make me forget
(for now)

and i don't understand how
anyone can be happy when they are alone,
when voices crawl from hidden places,
shadows lick hurrying heels,
the distinctive scent of self-loathing creeps up unbidden,
cloying and sharp.

i don't understand happiness
without someone to build it upon.
i can't grasp the concept
of contentment in solitude.
i don't know how to be okay
in the time between late to bed
and early to rise,
when i pace endlessly
and hope against hope
that someone is awake.

and i want your attention
the way a wound wants a bandage--
urgently
but fleetingly
         and i know i need stitches to heal,
         but at least you staunch the blood flow,
         and if there isn't a mess,
         it's like it never happened,
         even if it
                                    never
                                               stops
                                                            bleeding.

It's beautiful the way you make me laugh,
But sometimes I get scared,
And sometimes it's hard to breathe,
And sometimes I can't see what's real through the tricks of my mind,
And sometimes I just wish
That I could lay my head on your shoulder
And cry.

nothing compares to that feeling
that catches my breath
and tightens my chest
and makes me wonder
why anyone ever does anything
but this

and it's quite possible that she's absolutely mad
but she sparkles and fizzes and pops
and loves truly
and gives freely
and takes the business of loyalty
quite seriously,
and those who can see past the madness
are rewarded with her all-consuming love
                                     (forever)
                                           (i mean it)
                                                (no take-backs)

any two people can grow old together
if circumstances allow.
it isn't spectacular.
we can do better.
let's grow beautiful together,
let's grow strong together,
let's grow whole together.
let's grow together even when we're apart
so that time only brings us closer.
let us always love each other in this strange and beautiful way
so that i always have a reason to try harder
and be kinder
to make sure someone loves you
the way you deserve
to be loved.

i don't think that i will know you five years from now,
but i will remember you,
and i will hope that
wherever you are
and whatever you're doing,
you are happy,
because that's all i ever wanted for you,
anyways

I did that thing I do,
Where I push people away
Without even trying.
And I can't ever translate
The breathless and overwhelming love I feel for people
Into actions and words
Or anything all
That is visible to others.
So I constantly seem
Like I don't care,
Or I don't love,
Or I'm only being nice
Because
I'm high.

And this girl with the rough edges
And the sailor's mouth
Just might be the most beautiful thing
I've ever seen.
It's not a secret that
I like a girl who can hold her liquor,
But it might be a secret
That this girl,
With her tattoos
And her piercings
And her ****-'em-all facade
Fits so perfectly in my silly dreamer's heart
That I sometimes forget
She isn't mine.

And I don't dream about you anymore,
But I still get scared when someone pretends to hit me,
And I can still feel that empty ache in my chest
In the middle of the night.
And I talked ad nauseum about the things you did to me,
But only once about losing you.
How do I explain the secret beautiful parts
Of the boy with the scars?
How do I explain the difference between
The boy with the lovely words and utopian dreams
And the one who put my head through the drywall?
How the pain of having you
Will never come close
To the exquisite agony of knowing I will never see you again?
I loved you, at least a little bit,
And that matters,
Too.

Imperfect expanse,
Rolling landscape,
Sacred and ordinary.
Scars faded almost invisible.
Stretch marks slashed red on lily white,
Reminiscent of the wounds
From the straight blade I kept in a drawer.

Canvas thick with paint,
Layers of love and hate
Painted on by lovers, strangers,
Self, and others.
Cigarette butts and crushed beer cans
And masterpieces on the walls.
Cherished and reviled,
Wrong for society's standards of beauty,
Exactly right
For me.

This time next year,
Where will I be
In relation to you?

it takes approximately two months to fall out of love,
apparently

and i love you
and i hurt you
and i need you
and i want you
closer

and i don't know how to make you know me
the way i want to know you,
the way i want to know the landscape of your body
and the landscape of your mind.
i want to know the hidden parts
that have grown wild and beautiful
left to their own devices.
i want to know all the lines of your life
that i can't see in your palms,
and i'm glad to see the beautiful,
but i want to know it all.
i want to see your pain
because that's a part of your story,
and your story is a part of you,
and you are a part of mine.

i promise i won't leave
a mess,
i promise i won't leave
without scattering seeds,
i promise i won't leave
you the way i found you,
i promise i won't leave
empty promises,
so i can't tell you that
i promise i won't leave.

that moment of clarity,
of understanding,
of the crystallization of abstract into tangible,
when  two worlds explode into one
and you think you're complete
but then,
inevitably,
time changes everything,
and,
inevitably,
you're alone again,
and it's only then that you realize
you were complete to begin with

And it's like
The reason I start so many poems with those three words,
"And it's like",
Because every poem is just part of a constant flow of thought,
A window opened into a world that moves on.
And the world is moving on,
Has moved on,
Will move on,
Would move on without me.
And that's okay,
Because my world
Moves on without him,
Without her,
Without them,
Without every last one of them.
Whatever it's taken,
I have survived.
And even though I've been hurt so bad I thought I'd never recover,
I keep on loving,
Because thinking
Isn't
The same thing
As life.

And I do believe I was created,
Naturally selected
By mother nature herself.
How can I take offense at Darwinism?
I am the fittest,
And I have survived.
I am the product of millions of years of evolution,
And that's a lot to live up to.

Whisper words
And feather bones,
Lips like echoes,
Eyes like shadows.
Unbreakably ephemeral.

Silent steps
On carpet,
Night thief
With her cloak of stolen stars.

It is easy enough to pretend
She was never there
At all.

My mouth tastes like cucumbers
Mixed with regret.
The air hums with electric energy
And the smell of rain.
I want it to be winter again
So I can watch the snow
Cover up my tracks.
But for now I'm left with
Footprints in the mud
So that everyone can see
Where I've been.

And it's like
Every time I fell apart,
You were there
To patch me up
With stitches and bandages.
And now, even though I've healed underneath
And will not fall apart,
Tearing away those protections
Still ******* hurts.

And it's strange,
This not knowing my own mind.
This "was is the drugs
Or the meds
Or life?
Or was it
Just me?"

A sea of contradictions,
Full of fear,
But empty.
Dying to feel anything at all,
But living
To escape.

And today,
I am me with no pretending,
Spread bare,
Torn open raw and bleeding.
Today, I am not a perfect mess for you to fix,
A riddle begging to be solved,
A player of games.
Today, I am not the hero,
The villain,
Or the martyr.
Today, I will not throw myself at your feet
Or lie and say I do not love you.
Today, I will be me,
Even if that isn't what you want.

These many secret stirrings
Band together
To form a tapestry of verse,
Of sound,
Of color.
Scattered fragments
Puzzle into place,
United after a lifetime
Of drifting in air
Like so many specks of dust.
And these little suspended things,
These pieces so useless alone,
Meet and find meaning.

And I,
The product of puzzles,
Of tapestries,
Of so many meanings;
I,
The artist,
The poet,
The singer;
I
Give shape to these accumulations
Of nothings which together form somethings,
Turn these somethings from thought to form
And set them sailing into the world
So that one day,
Perhaps,
You will find them
And know me.

Whisper her name,
Let it fly in the breeze
With the echoes of a million unspoken words
And the love letters I'll never send.

And it's like
The less you speak to me,
The harder it is
To get you off my mind.
Since you've made it clear that you don't care,
That I mean nothing,
(Or at least comparatively little),
You consume me.
In denying my attention,
You become an enigma,
And I love nothing more
Than a good mystery.

Regret tastes like salt,
But they wouldn't know.
He doesn't worry,
And she doesn't eat.
He holds her face in his hands,
And she looks right through him,
Wishing to be anywhere
But where she is.
He recites poetry over the phone,
And she has to mute the speaker
So he can't hear her laugh.
Only from his sadness does she gain any satisfaction,
And so she toys with his head,
For sick pleasure
Is better than none.

Footsteps and shadows
And shots in the dark.
Days in sunny fields
And nights in dark alleys.
Art and dreams and songs,
Drugs and illusions and lies.
Beauty, divinity, truth
In the eyes of drunken strangers.
A shot at salvation
Among the ranks of the condemned.

Darling, you’re fantastic.
I love you,
You know,
And I don’t say that lightly.
On the nights
(Like tonight)
Where sleep doesn’t find me,
I am consumed by you
In lieu of dreaming.

On the days
(Like today)
When I see you, hold you, kiss you,
I’m giddy, dizzy, happy,
And it’s all because of you.
My idiotic grin?
Entirely your fault,
You beautiful creature.

When I write poetry,
(Badly, sloppily,
Freely, openly)
It’s a window to a world
Populated by people
I’d mostly just like to forget.
(Or such is the norm,
But here, we find
The exception.)
But when I create,
When I sculpt, assemble, paint,
You are my muse,
My inspiration.

My cheesy, worn-out, affectionate clichés?
Those are your fault, too,
You marvelous ****.

And always the façade.
The constant lie,
The forced smile,
The empty laugh.
You deserve so much more
Than I can ever be.
I want to be happy for you,
Sane, normal,
Whole.
I want to make you smile;
I want you to look at me
With that unbridled adoration in your eyes
Forever.

But then forever seems like much too long a time
When I’m only seventeen
And I’m already done.

Your ******* voice,
Your stupid words,
Your sickening pet names.
The familiar cadence,
The rise,
The fall,
The simpering, whining,
Saccharine tone.
Is it really any wonder
I’m afraid to touch my voicemails?

His smell, his marks, his bruises,
The evidence of his passion,
His anger,
His destruction.
They faded away before
His body was cold,
Before I’d even had time
To begin to miss him.

But you, your words,
Your ******* voice.
The soft, frayed edges of
The things you meant but didn’t say,
The things you said
That meant nothing.
These insignificant things
Fill all the dusty, untouched
Corners of my life.

Today, I began the process
Of erasing you.
Your voicemails are gone.
Your power is fading.

It's funny, the things you remember
And the things you forget.
I can't remember the way
It sounded when you laughed,
But I remember the way
Your whole car shook with bass,
And I could feel it in my stomach.

I don't remember those nights we shared
After too many shots of god-knows-what,
But I remember the shapes and colors of every bruise,
Beautiful and blue.
I could never make them so beautiful,
You know.