i cry to feel emotion

to sympathize
to confirm my mortality
to express joy
to release bottled up
     hate, sadness, guilt

but the worst is when i cannot cry
i beg the tears to trickle down my face,
only for me to wipe them away

the absence of them
makes me feel like
my sentiments aren’t true
     they’re fraud, phony, insincere

if i can’t control or understand my own tears
why should i expect someone
to dry them for me?

because i can’t explain
why they’re present in one instance
and absent in the next

i want to know you at 3am
or on a wednesday afternoon

to know your dreams,
to be your thoughts
and explore the other side
of your crescent moon

maybe i just like
the mystery of you,
but i'm hoping you like
the mystery of me, too

you hurt me
you are the moon that controls
the tides of my eyes

you are a dark moon
with thousands of craters,
thousands of imperfections

i have imperfections too,
but the difference is:
i think you hate me while
i love you

I want you to know me by my handwriting
Let’s start licking envelopes again just to say hello
I’ll sit at my desk drinking coffee in the morning
A stack of letters in the drawer ******* with a string
You know I would keep every one of yours
Even if you lived next door or wrote me every day
I don’t know how to throw anything away

i want to be
where you are

in your city
with the lights blurring past
as we ride in the car
going somewhere, anywhere
to your favorite restaurants
or to a concert of a band we both love
it really doesn't matter
as long as i'm with you

i want to hold your hand
and smell the scent
of your cologne
to se you smile back at me
to hear your laugh
to hear our laughs combine
and create a song
all of its own

i want to be
where my heart is:
with you.

I will not ask you to stay

If you must go, go
I don't need you
I will breathe (carefully) without you
I will smile (slowly) without you
I will go on (eventually) without you

I'd be much happier
If you chose to not leave,
But if you must let go, let go
And I will too

Hopefully one day
I will teach my heart to not break
Whenever everyday thoughts
Lead to you

I'm afraid I'm much too weak,
I'm afraid we'll always be
A book with the end pages ripped out,
I'm afraid I'll always wonder,
Always ache,
Always place everyone second to you

I'm afraid I'll always love you,
But I will not ask you to stay

Time isn't wasted at the end of the day
When you're in bed thinking about all the things
You could've done,
You could've said,
All the empty boxes left on your to do list

Time is wasted
When you're standing on a rock at the edge of a waterhole
And decide to not jump
When you're sitting in your car trying to justify reasons
For not going in
When you anxiously hit backspace
Instead of expressing how you truly feel
When you ignore your heart that's screaming
"You deserve better."

It's lost in I could have and I should have,
In missed opportunities,
In letting fears override judgement

Time is not necessarily wasted
In passing minutes, months, years
We waste time by
Counting seconds,
And by letting seconds pass
When we could've made
Those seconds count

when i'm sitting alone at night
     in the quietness of my large and aging house
i hear so many noises i'm oblivious to
     during the daylight

the clicks of the air conditioning
     switching on and off,
the creaking of the floors and walls,
     the subtle squeaking the fan makes
in the living room

it's as if my house is sighing
     it's sighing at me
disappointed in me
     he asks why i don't notice him
during the day
     why i only notice him late at night
when i'm lonely
     and there are no other noises
to entertain my ears

i tell him that i'll try to listen more closely
     in the morning, but then i fall asleep
and i wake up and i do not remember
     what i promised my sweet house
so he continues to sigh all day long
     hoping that at some point
even if it's late at night when i'm lonely
     and there is no other noises
to entertain my ears
     i will notice him again

if only for a little while

just as you cannot stare at a cut
and watch it heal,
you can’t keep glaring at the pain
and expect it to go away

so look away

let your eyes focus on
daily beauties like sun that shines
through bedroom blinds
and warm sheets
that wrap you up at night

saturday mornings
and crisp november air,
hot showers and the Opportunity
that waits for you at your front step
each and every morning

and one day,
you’ll unravel the bandage
you’ve wrapped around your heart
and the only thing you’ll see is a light scar
that’s there to remind you
of how strong you’ve become

although this life is beautiful,
it isn’t easy
and whether you believe it or not,
you are strong.

i wasn’t feeling okay

so i put on my overalls and went
outside 

to wander around my backyard,

trekking around in clunky rain boots

as i hummed and tried not to think
i like to write
 little notes

on the leaves that are now 

changing colors
and when i’m done

i let them
fall

so i can flatten them

beneath my heel

till the small words

are crinkled and no longer legible
amongst the dirt and grass
and so desperately,
i wish i could

let the thoughts in my head

fall
to the ground

so i could flatten
these
 pitiful feelings

beneath my heel

until they were no longer legible

amongst the hurt and hopefulness 

in my heart

ask me who my favorite artists are
ask me what my favorite season is
as me were my favorite memories lie

ask me where i’d love to go,
what i’d love to see,
why i cut my hair the way i do,
who i desire to be

i want you
to ask me these things
because perhaps
my answers will make you
fall in love with me

i surely fell in love with you
whilst you were listing off
your favorites

she was like
        a wilting flower
drained of all things
that kept the others upright

he was like
        a rushing brook
who saw her crumpled and tired,
crowded by overgrown weeds,
and wanted nothing more
than to clear the earth around her
and see her bloom again

so he took all he had
        and poured it into her
and when finally the pinkness
had returned to her cheeks
        she looked back at him
        and saw that

he was now like
        a withering shrub
frail and planted in dry clay

and despite the deep conviction
she had in her heart to restore him
        like he had restored her
all of her best efforts
left her with with exposed roots
and dirt beneath her fingernails

he wouldn’t let her stay
        to continue to try
        to quench his thirst
so she left him with a watering can
and promised he’d soon find relief

no word is strong
yet gentle enough
to convey what i feel
for you

you hold so much back
while i pour out my heart

i want to go back
and live in the moments
when you looked at me
with loving eyes

now all i see
is pain radiating
from your careful soul

all i’ve done
is stolen a couple beats from your heart
and left you in an ocean of guilt
for breaking mine

sometimes
i bump into the thought
that i don’t really care
about anything

not school
not being pretty
or healthy, or better.

when you wipe off
the good girl cosplay
the soft peach blush
and the freckles
and the lip gloss

the straight a’s
and the sweet potatoes
and the self-discipline

you will find a wild thing
dancing around
in her underwear
drinking iced coffee
for lunch and
doing nothing but
writing and reading
and abandoning any
semblance of sanity

completely consumed
by all the things
i shouldn’t be.

and when i have
destroyed everything
around me
with my negligence
and delusion

when the decent ones
have seen themselves out

when there is nothing
left inside of me

there will always be poetry.

although you've gotten taller,
your eyes have remained
the same shade of trusting brown
and deep down
you are still the little girl
who stayed up late
whispering secrets to her best friend
beneath flower patterned sheets

and you're still afraid of spiders
and you still cannot sit still
and as you grew up
you noticed that the world
is a lot smaller than it used to seem

and i think when you looked
into the wonder-filled eyes
of this little girl
you saw a reflection of yourself
and it reminded you that
although you’ve gotten taller,
your eyes have retained
that same glimmer of hope

“you’ve changed.”

digs itself between your ribs
gripped by the hands of someone
who had already painted their portrait of you
but then you came along and sprinkled
rose-colored glitter across your cheeks
dragged sky-blue painted fingertips
down the sides of your face
exhale deeply
dust off your hands
different looks like ghosts to some;
they don’t see people as perennial flowers, ones that
bloom in the summer, but wither by winter
only to bud again as something new in the spring
they assume autumn’s mess of orange and brown is the
end—
that things cannot be reborn
so clenched fists punch holes through canvas
leaving red-glittered knuckles and
spit that looks like teardrops
without considering that maybe blue
has always been your color

soon i will f a d e
like a photograph
left upon the windowsill,
and you will wipe away
my name from your lips

my laughter will become
a faintly familiar echo
in the hollows of your memory,
and unlike your thriving soul,
i will be fixed in a state of affliction
by the absence of your tenderness

yes, the fire in your heart
that once burned brightly for me
is growing dimmer by the hour,
however, you shall remain with me
e v e r m o r e

you wait for it to come
that aching feeling,
that sinking feeling

like waking up
after running a marathon
you didn’t train for;
like all the ocean is
in your lungs

but then you take a breath
another one, another one
until all of the sky is
in your lungs

and after a very, very
long winter
of bitter snow and
frostbitten feeling

the sun hits you
just barely
just enough to turn
your skin a shade
of golden

and everything
is okay

we are taught by the rain

the soft water,
the heavy tears

a mother who runs a bath, without asking
she just knows

trench coats are worn only if you care
about getting wet

when you swim in the ocean,
you do not know the difference

learn
to float

to catch the droplets
on your tongue

to run naked through puddles
forget your galoshes at home

and you will understand

some knobs come without locks
they live in houses where
the windows and doors are open
through every hour of the day
bees and flower petals
float through the open air
the cat comes and goes as it pleases

even when the seasons change
when the weather brings a gentle snow
the covers the floors in white
remember the beauty
of living without deadbolts
of walking into old spaces whenever
the sky reminds you through
contorted clouds

you do not need to pack it all up in boxes
to mop the floor, to sell the couch
you can keep the door open
as long
as you like

his heart was full of depth,
but he chose to let it hide
and masked his pain with pills
and smokes and jokes and lies

just as the sun rises without fail
even when the world feels like it’s ending
like it couldn’t possibly still be filled
with light
one day, it’ll hurt less
it’ll feel more like a good memory
and less like
being stuck in a bad dream
and it’s impossible to understand why bad things happen
how they could possibly be turned into good
but you’ll doggy-ear pages
and write down notes in your phone
notes that look like prayers but sound like hope
and you’ll smile and smile and smile
and smile and smile and smile
because to ache is to have known love

and to love
is to live—
infinitely.

it feels like pulling fabric out of drawers
and none of it fits
last night, you put everything in the dryer
and fell asleep while
the things you thought you knew
tumbled and knotted and turned into
an unfamiliar mess

it feels like a bumblebee landing on your shoulder
you’re supposed to stay still
and wait for it to move on
until it realizes you are not a flower
it doesn’t
it stays and buzzes in your ear until
you turn to dust or learn to scream

but then, one day
it’ll feel like waking up to
rays of sun through the window
when you haven’t slept in weeks

like forgotten pocket change
like a present on your half-birthday
like an entire april without rain

and it’ll feel like
it was always there—
you’d just forgotten
to turn the light on

thank you
for introducing me
to good music

whenever i listen
to ernest greene
i think of you
and it's not sad,
it's not me missing you
or wishing things
were like they used to be

the thoughts
that are attached
to those songs
are happy
because i'm happy
i met you
even if now
we only speak
from time to time

you'll always be
a happy memory
and those are rare
to come by

I should’ve realized it
when you told me
that you didn’t know
if you were in love with me,
yet you had no problem
with saying
I love you
over and over
again.

lulls of silence—
wide-open meditative spaces
where everything is washed
and vacant,
stretching on into pale skies
in every direction,
void of anything
it is lonely, maddening,
a desert, my home
where i feel very small,
where there is nothing
to run towards—
they haunt me like shadows looming
on bedroom ceilings
above twin beds,
where i lie below, motionless
with a dream catcher
hanging on the wall above
my messy, braided hair and
chapped lips buried
into a pillow,
empty

it’s unsettling how many people i’ve had to beg to forget me, lately. how many i’ve tried to convince that i really am as insignificant as a stranger you made eye contact with for a moment at the stoplight. for so long i was begging so many people to stay, to keep holding onto me, even if it wasn’t in their best interest. all i wanted was to be selfishly adored. now all i want is to be left alone.

My breath is lost as I gaze upon the magnitude of the mountains that surround me. I marvel at how beautifully the water reflects the sky, pure white clouds stretched across blankets of soft pinks and blues as the sun sets behind the trees. I see the steadiness of Your hand in the horizon. I see Your love of variety in shells scattered along the shoreline. I see Your flawless detail in the veins of a maple leaf. I see Your creative spark in fireflies glowing subtly against the darkness of an airy August night. I hear You in the winter wind, I feel You in the summer heat. My soul is flooded with joy at the sight of Your creation. I cannot help but lift my hands and praise You.

at night, i dream of sun-drenched eggshell walls
baking in the morning like yukon gold potatoes
where we wake unbothered by the encroaching light
i’ll meet you in the kitchen to switch on the toaster oven
the coffee ***, pulling our ceramic mugs from the drying rack
carrying our books with bent covers to the balcony
where you set down thick slices of french bread slathered in butter
and a bowl of fresh, cold strawberries on a small round table
that we found at a sunday yard sale two summers ago
we take turns taking crisp bites in between sips of steaming coffee
mine with raw honey and cream, yours black
our oily thumbs staining the corners of thin ivory pages
i listen to the sound of you reading; of the world waking up
birds singing their sunrise songs; and my heart
slow, and buoyant, and irrevocably yours

i should be glad
that you've moved on

that someone has filled
the spaces inside of you
i left vacant

that someone
will make you happy
in ways that i couldn't

that you're no longer
tormented by the aching
that i will never be yours

but i'm not
because i had a box
beneath my bed
in the shape of a heart
where yours was stored

i checked it today
and all that was left
was a note that read
"i now belong to someone else."

The air feels like falling action,
It feels like this is coming to an end
I can see the curtains closing
And I don’t know why I haven’t cried or
Why my heart feels like it’s made of stone

Maybe this isn’t the end!
Maybe it’s a new chapter!
A rising sun!
A see you soon!
(How should I know to say goodnight and not goodbye?)

But if this does end
   If it’s a closed book
      A setting sun
         Never see you again
(How should I know to say goodbye and not goodnight?)

I know we tried,
I know we loved with full hearts,
I know it hurts to say goodbye.

the rain has stopped
and the birds are lining
the sidewalks, shaking
their feathers dry.
today will be slow
and i’m okay with that.
i’ll cook and clean
and sit on the balcony
and breathe in the mild air.
i am happy and lucky
to be here.
it makes my heart heavy
to know that i must
remind myself of that
so often.

i don’t want to sit around all day
impatiently waiting for him to call
and when i finally hear his voice
i don’t want to feel like he’s
the air in my lungs i need to breathe
and when it’s time to say goodbye
i don’t want to fight over
who should hang up first

i’m not looking for someone
to make me feel whole,
because i already am
i’m not looking for someone
to save me because
i’ve already been saved

i don’t want to be holding
hands at the wrist so if (when)
he lets go, i’m still holding on

i don’t want in-between
fake promises from prince charming

i want diner breakfasts
at 3 in the morning and
long car rides with broken radios
and handwritten letters with
nothing scribbled out because
he doesn’t care about perfection,
he cares about being real

when it’s time,
i want to be in love
not in love
with feeling loved

i always regret the nights i stay awake
for no reason at all
except to trace and retrace every fear
that lies awake on my chest
the evening grows closer to the sun
and more unproductive
c h  o   p     p      e      d
into little bits where the light creeps in
a hazy glow, lost memories that are insignificant
and not much of a loss
down feathers scattered across an orange sunrise
and pillows piled on top of piercing silence
all i wish
is to be asleep
tucked into a dreamland
where nothing can excite me

Two February’s ago, all I wanted to do was sleep. I was anchored to my bed with the sadness I was letting myself drown in. Now, I daydream about surviving on 3 hours of sleep, I dread going to bed, I keep my eyes open as long as I can. My heart sinks when the sun sets, I crave daylight; I’ve fallen in love with being alive.

if i were to press my palms on the jagged edge of my fear
with the soles of my bare feet parallel to the sky
and sun-bleached hair spreading out over the grass
like a picnic blanket for little bugs in the dirt
to sit upon and eat finger sandwich crumbs
i could focus my gaze on the upside-down sea
and watch all the things i carry float around
in the blue-black waves wiggling like half-hardened jello
where the small fish nor the white sharks give a ****
whether i am beautiful or witty or doing okay
and when the sky fades as it always does
and the tide continues to pirouette in her borrowed
pink ballet shoes with moon dust in the binding
i will forever decide to run down dirt roads
until my lungs burn
and keep going

i have paid the fines
of dozens of overdue library
books i never finished reading.
i love reading.
i love curling up
in a big leather armchair
while the sun reaches out
to me through the window
as time slows
and my coffee grows cold.
but tolstoy and fitzgerald
sit on my shelves
or in my purse
carried everywhere
and collecting dust.
i can see the silhouette
of who i would like to be.
the curve of her hips
the stillness of her limbs.
she grows her own herbs
and tries out new recipes
while her husband is at work.
she doesn’t mind driving
for hours alone
and enjoys singing
along to the radio
going five under the speed limit.
she is not in a hurry.
she is proud
and sure
and poised.
she reads books and returns
them on time.
she gave up on dreaming
and hoping
and longing
and finally began
living.

looking back, i’ve realized
that in the moment
i tend to be anxious and impatient
and i don’t trust
that everything will work itself out
and i ache to know
exactly what is waiting for me
around the corner
   will i alter my circumstances
   or will my circumstances alter me?

i mindlessly allow myself to become faithless
and although i’ve overcome so many obstacles,
my eyes become fixated on the present
and i forget to take a step back
and reflect on my past

everyone always says,
“don’t look back,”
but i think it’s important
to remember where you once stood
and recognize how far you’ve come

i know i’ve changed
and i know i will continue to change
  
so why at 2am on a monday night
do i get stuck believing
that things will always be the same?

hope is beautiful
and can be destructive
at the same time
it keeps us hanging on,
but sometimes
for things
that will never come

he’s telling me about the girl at school
he can’t get out of his head,
and how he feels like
it’s always this chain of
"i don’t want all these people that want me,"
(i winced)
“and the one person i want doesn’t want me
in the same way.”
(i inhaled sharply)

i told him he’s overthinking it,
and when he asked, “how do you not?”
(i forgot to breathe)

my eyes got watery, but i blinked quickly
before they could settle
(i exhaled)

and replied,
“i'll let you know.”

i am waiting for my coffee
i am the old couple eating pastries
with their chairs turned towards the window
i am the wafting scent of musk and amber
i am the bright magenta trees lining route 240
blooming in april while it rains
i am the veiny hands i know nothing about
except that i wish they would touch me
i am gulping down the foam
tasting the bittersweet memories on my tongue
the ones that have yet to happen
i am remembering what it means to have teeth
to feel so different, so distant
but entirely the same

i am
monday nights filled with
candlelit journal entries
and sipping hot tea while
watching rain bounce off
the roof and open windows
in autumn and messy hand-
written letters and white
tees and cuffed jeans and
pb&j; with the crust cut
off and folded origami
cranes and watching the
sun rise while everyone
else is tucked away in
their beds and midnight
car rides and candid smiles
and lists written in blue
ink and wildflowers and
mountains and birds singing
and books and movies that
make you cry and nicknames
and flannels in the winter
and soft music and loud
music and moments recorded
only by memory and pumpkin
pie and forever stamps
i am all the little things
and if you don’t make an
effort to understand why i
love all the things i love
you will never understand
me