I’ve had all my affections poured out over pink skirts as well as pale eyes.
It’s easy to find that pogo sticks and pacifiers
can’t get a childhood
off the ground; where she stood smiling.
Over coats and undercuts are all to cover something.
Replace your teeth with gold
and when they don’t feel
like yours anymore
Then you’ll know.
Your tongue is bronze now.
Plaster’s coming off like a shuffle board land slide
All around this cage they keep us dogs
In, When we bite; its because there isn’t any tongue clicking
Or word bashing left to do.
The sun has found me,
I see it through
slotted bars, and the clouds
are in just as much hell as I am.
I see them with belly full to eyes full of wine.
I’ve been too long in burning this bridge.
It’s the buckets full ,
waiting to quench tinder.
It’s that I’ve drunken everything,
Flammable for miles.
Lock jaw and bite.
Bite down on the trusses.
Bite down and curse god.
He’ll understand all
Your tongues, and spastic fingers.
She says that I puke passion,
that these trees don’t grow in vain,
that fruit is god awful imagery,
And that I have to train every limb
so they can beat the stop signs with their falling pines.

I have never been one to trust easily,
or even to trust at all,
early on I was taught that people are inherently untrustworthy.

The few times I decide to trust,
to let people in,
they sneak inside of my heart and then rip it to shreds from inside.

Watch me implode!
I tell them with disdain,
but no one seems to want to watch me combust.

They run at the first sign of anything unpleasant,
hoping that the guilt will not follow them.
They want to be able to sleep at night.

I hope their thoughts keep them up at night.

Making love in the sun, in the morning sun
in a hotel room
above the alley
where poor men poke for bottles;
making love in the sun
making love by a carpet redder than our blood,
making love while the boys sell headlines
and Cadillacs,
making love by a photograph of Paris
and an open pack of Chesterfields,
making love while other men- poor folks-
work.
That moment- to this. . .
may be years in the way they measure,
but it's only one sentence back in my mind-
there are so many days
when living stops and pulls up and sits
and waits like a train on the rails.
I pass the hotel at 8
and at 5; there are cats in the alleys
and bottles and bums,
and I look up at the window and think,
I no longer know where you are,
and I walk on and wonder where
the living goes
when it stops.

As far as people go I would say I'm not the best.
My emotions are far too volatile,
and I'm much too fallible.

I often feel that I'm falling to pieces,
I'm too codependent so I wait for people to fix me
(which never happens)

My writing is too emotional,
it has no structure,
its only purpose is to make sense of myself.

I'm a mess,
I'll confess that.

At least I know who I am,
accept myself for all of my flaws,
and take another step forward.

of being sad.

I've made a decision.
I'm taking all that I felt about you and putting it elsewhere.

I'm putting these feelings into anything else but people.
I'm putting the feelings of confidence that you gave me into my step when I walk around my beloved city.
I'm putting the emotion into my writing (I wanted to write you as many poems as I could, now I'll do it for me)
I'm putting the laughter into the moments that I am with my friends and find something truly funny.
I'm putting that huge smile you made me feel on when I walk outside and feel the sunshine touch my skin.
I'm putting my fingers, the ones that I used to run all over you, on the keys of my laptop, on the pen I take notes with.
I will use those hands that used to hold yours to instead hold the rain when it falls, to help a friend whenever they are down, to pet my dogs.
The arms of mine that used to find comfort in your embrace will now be used to hug my family, to remind them what they mean to me, and to hug my friends, hold someone when they are upset.
They will soon forget what you felt like.
Lastly, I will whisper tales of our love into the sand of the town that we probably will never admit that we love.
I will give my memories back to the places that they happened, and let someone else erase them with new memories.

I was tired of being sad.
So I decided to try something new.

I gave you everything I have,
tore down all of my walls and gave you the trust that no one gets.
In return you ruined me,
you turned me into this mess who can write about nothing besides you,
I cannot forget the map I made of your body
(we both know you forgot mine long ago)
it's not fair that I'm the one who suffers.
I'm not the one who did wrong,
I just asked for love,
I gave you everything I had,
put all of my effort and energy into you and your happiness.
In return you treated me like I was nothing,
threw everything I gave you back at me
(besides my trust, you just threw that away)

and now I'm lost.

the stale New York City air leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
I wish to be back by the clean ocean air.
I often enjoy that I can hide in a crowd,
go by unnoticed, go long periods without speaking or listening,
but right now all I want to do is be with the friends who have known me a while.

Don't get me wrong,
I love the life that I lead,
the friends that I've made,
the conversations I've had.

There's just something about that place you call home.
You need it every once in a while,
to remind yourself who you really are.