I am from

A yellow house and a little red bike

Bruises and Band-Aids on my knees

From learning every time I fall



I am from

The Band, The Beatles, Buddy Holly, and Bruce Springsteen

Our small kitchen table and Christmas cookies

From a family that almost fits on my Grandparent’s front porch



I am from

Summer memories and freckles and the Field of Dreams

The swimming hole, egg salad sandwiches, popsicles and pecan sandies

From Gramma and Fred and the Mill Road



I am from generations of tiny waists and dainty wrists

Of Marlise and Melissa and M’s

Brown eyes and pine needles and Big Rock

From denial and acceptance



I am from

Tea with my mom and driving with my dad

My beautiful Hazel

From the Harvest Party and my beloved barn



I am from soft white clouds of comforters

A room painted the shade of pink lemonade

Arizonas and cosmic brownies and Matt’s Honeydew melon Sorbet

From Quickway and the Gazebo and Cherry Valley


I am from a collection of keys with no locks

Chewed cuticles and paper cuts

A mouthful of words and a bad habit of tripping

From the love of glue and sharp scissors



I am from years of *****, bare feet

And freedom to be me

Getting the mail everyday except Sunday

From picnic tables and corn on the cob


I am from a love of language and words and poetry

A love of planes and tractors and the Superbowl

A big family as strong as the Brooklyn Bridge

And just as supportive too


I am from my dream catcher

Catching my fantasies of fast cars and shooting stars

A bottle full of memories and polaroids taped to my wall

From hip hop and coca cola and heart shaped sunglasses


I am from the baby freckles on my shoulders

A love of sun and freshly mowed green grass

Brave New World and Brandy Melville

From tweeting and handwritten letters


I am from the studio floor and my ballet slippers

My favorite black leotard and Fuentes

12 years of pointed feet and tutus

From the dressing room and the barre


I am from the Star of David and 8 burning candles

Suburban Philadelphia and Black Friday

Diners and Chinese Food and Fortunes

From my dad


I am from the cornfields and red barns

Chickens and cows, fresh eggs and warm milk

Valedictorians and Ivy leagues

From my mom



But most of all, I am from the puzzle pieces of myself

The dark, dusty, unexplored corners of my brain

The fear of death and rats and failure and loneliness

From the love of life and belief and hope

i just want to know if it's karma
maybe in reverse
telling me i am going to do something
so very wrong soon
which is why right now
nothing is right
i just want to be happy
and not so entangled with sadness
and not so enraged by everyone smiling
i just feel alone because i chose that
im trying so hard to do everything right
but it's not okay
so i run away
down seven flights of stairs
down every dark alley
until i feel alive
or dead
i just don't know which one i want anymore
and i wasn't afraid and my heart wasn't broken
but you got everything you wanted
and im still hoping

you taught me how to go on adventures
and leave my phone at home
and how to let time slide by
and ignore my calendar

you taught me to how to stay in bed
all day
with you
and do nothing but be cold together

you taught me to go swimming in storms
and to smoke in the snow
you taught me how to be ignored
and how to give up on someone

you taught me to swallow words
and win staring contests
and to never stop asking questions
even when nobody had the answers

you taught me to be right
and to stop lying and start laughing
and to swim in my underwear
in the middle of the forest

you taught me how to walk on a guardrail
holding your hand
and find treasures in the trees
and run away from home

you taught me that fear is just an obstacle
you taught me that you're afraid
of something too
even if you hide it too well

you taught me that I'll never be perfect
and neither will you
and you carved an M into my lighter
just because you knew

I taught you to drink in the morning
instead of eating breakfast
and smoke in the bathtub
and fog up mirrors and draw secrets

I taught you to forget me
and to fight back
and that im not and never will be ticklish
I taught you how to say i miss you

I taught you to be 19
and to write letters
I taught you my favorite things
and my quirks and sparks and games

I was going to teach you to play chess
and to braid my hair
you were going to lean Old Pine on guitar
but you gave up

I was going to teach you to love
and to know everything
I was going to teach you my middle name
and how to read Brave New World

I was going to teach you to hold on
But you taught me to let go
and I learned that nobody breaks my heart
not even you

i am a rectangle
because i too have dark, dusty corners
and sharp edges

and you can fold me 1000 times
but i will still be the same
i will never change for you

I will always be the strongest
and biggest
among my family

because i come from generations of
tiny waists and dainty wrists,
of little feet and fragile frames

of empty rectangles with soft corners
and simple lines and ribs and
what you might call petite

but i am a different being
and therefore i do not fit
in any of my grandmother's dresses

i could blame my bones
or my health or my happiness
but i see only distortion and mutation

and i should have been tinier
and i should have been skinnier
but i am me and that is that

and when i see my mother
and my two beautiful sisters
i tower and glower and envy

for i am alone in my body
while even my twin stays smaller
while i grow and glow and glare

city rooftops at night,
all the bright lights,
my keys and cherry cokes

blisters and sore feet
all the concrete
walking, talking, exhaustion

yellow taxis beeping
never sleeping
whirs and blurs

my morning tea
sunny parks and bumble bees
flowers on the street

subway trains and stations
becoming impatient
don't wait if he's late

July in the city
hot, sticky, and gritty
a bittersweet summer  

the best days i remember  
the nights lasted forever
emerald dusk to golden dawn

rings at riverside park
juggling after dark
the corner by the river at 12:32

so meet me at 27th and 7th
or 34th and 11th
I'll be there

in red heart shaped shades
and a long messy braid
a frappe in my hand

a pink polaroid in my bag
my feet will never drag
snap, shutter, click

there is beauty in every dusty door
and every marble floor
in every street and every avenue

if you're with me,
and you believe what you see
you know that the city sets you free

it was after pink fuzzy sweaters
and clean white sheets
after the snow, then after the rain

that you became a cough
a sigh in the wind
i don't know you anymore

but before, it was strings of lights
fluffy comforters and shiny coins
keys jingling in my pocket

without you, it is trains and frames
of what i can still remember
you didn't owe me at all

i spied you drinking coffee
black black, no sugar
you know I only drink tea

so you slipped away like
slippery soap in my claw foot tub
right through my claws

i fought for us and you fought for lust
it was never even
you never knew me at all

i don't want to play the game
of "who cares less"
because i always lose

so write me a letter
in your tongue, our old language
if you remember

the winter was bitter
cozy and cold
and i found comfort in misery

perhaps it would go away when the sun came out and the flowers bloomed and seeds sprouted with new life and new promise

but
the rain came and gloomy days remained
and i still smiled with a grimace
and i still stayed up and stared at my ceiling and wondered

when i would be happy

because it's a heavy blanket over my legs
a spider web of stories and a shattered window that couldn't be glued back together

it's the half moons under my eyes
the lack of mirrors
and the chewed cuticles

it's fine
sadness
creeping into the cracks when you're not whole and finding the best parts of you
and nesting and spreading and staying

sad

i spent the summer avoiding mirrors and avoiding eyes
inhaling cigarette smoke on a back porch
cutting open my fingertips
and collecting grime under my nails
i spent the summer crawling out of my skin
stuck between the reality and the formality
the bare truth and the possibility, the chances
i spent the summer trying not to be afraid
doing everything that seemed wrong
and trying to feel empty
trying to feel lost and free and open
i spent the summer cracking my rib cage until i could breathe
running my fingers along my sternum
wondering when it would break
i spent the summer with broken keys and resisting locks and secrets and sadness
i spent the summer with a veil
and a mask and no makeup
being careless and ruthless and obsessive
i spent the summer memorizing numbers
and listening and retreating
chasing grenades and waiting to explode
standing on edges and envisioning every violent act and staying reserved
i spent the summer lying and crying and dying and spying and prying and denying and bleeding and clawing at my spine and my scalp
until i could feel
everything
and peel onions and not cry and never cry and chop and dice and still, not cry
i spent the summer existing in yesterday and remembering and regretting but pretending and realizing but ignoring and pleading but boring and falling and catching and around and around
and burning calories and not believing
in you