i would chase away
all your demons, if that would
help to change your mind.

i once knew a boy who spoke of
rustling leaves as a euphemism for
supreme love; he told me that he could hear them
whispering, "come closer, yes,
i really mean you"

can you hear it? he asked,
can you hear it too?

i closed me eyes and tried to remember
the last time i had heard an invitation as subtle as
the ones that hid in the solace of
autumn's last breaths, and there it was
buried in the softness of your palms outstretched
to the stars (longing to hold hands with the heavens)

when i opened my eyes again, i found myself
face to face with the only truth i would ever
learn: that every thing i've ever
needed to know is hidden between that boy's
words, your curious fingers, and the orange rain
that falls in november.

your loss for words
is the most beautiful poetry
i have ever known;
i want nothing more than
to hold that secrecy
behind my lips
and keep it there
forever.

thank you for
turning me
into something
beautiful from
dust.

kacey tried to ****
herself at thirteen; she cried
when it didn't work.

she didn't try once
more; she was tired of feeling
insignificant
in everything she did.

today i woke up not knowing where i
was or how to get back home,
(or if i would ever feel at home again)
because although i awake in the same
bed every day, this room is unceasingly cold
and i find myself more and more lost in these
sheets that i don't know as my own  anymore.

i had lain there for forever trying to remember
the last time i had felt comforted by sleep-
when the only thing i could find under my pillows
were nightmares about empty skies and
words that got lost in translation, i had to stop
in my tracks and reteach my self how to breathe.

i'm starting to get this awful feeling
that i'm not always going to fall asleep alone
but i'll still wake up terribly lonely.

sometimes, i wonder
if you still cry
when you hear our song
(just like i do)

and i know it's selfish
but i still hope that every
love poem you write
makes you think of
me

i wish i could hold all your freckles
in the palm of my hand,
(sprinkle them across my body
and drown in them slowly,)

so i could carry a piece of you
with me, always.

some words move me so much
that i am surprised
they do not cause an earthquake

(i wonder how my bones shake
without the world taking notice)

(could you feel it too?
each last part of me,
poured into the smile
i handed over to you.
because i don't know how
to speak around you,
so i figured everything else
would just have to do.)

to tell you the honest truth,
i'd give anything to sit
and be quiet with you.

hold me*
        he asked,

(but my hands
     were too
    full)

yesterday a bird sat down on the power line
just outside my house-
he clamped his beak on the
wire and twisted and pulled until it
snapped in half.
he touched the broken line to
the one underneath it
until sparks flew and he
smoked,
               fell
                     to
                         the
                               ground
                                             .

his body was too mangled
to identify what kind of
bird he was
but experts say he was most likely
one of the two
endangered monsters that
swam in the pond behind the oaks.

i wonder if the remaining will
**** himself next.

days like this, i want to
apologize to the sky
for not thanking it
every time it rains--

(too often i got
distracted by the way
your heartbeat sounds
alongside a storm

or how your eyes
become cloudy
like it is
outside

or your smile
you can't contain
when lightning strikes
and turns everything
purple)

but you're gone now,
and even still
i feel butterflies in my
stomach
every time it pours.

i wish i knew then
i didn't need you
to make things beautiful

i would give anything
to have to show up at my door,
take my hand
without delay
whisper in my ear
*let's run away

i would do anything for you,
even if that means
waking up at three in the morning
just to hold your hand
so you don't have to chase your
nightmares away alone.

i can't dive right in anymore-
i gave up baby steps
when i thought life
was about taking chances,
but i take it back

i can't do this anymore

i need somebody to guide me slowly
so i don't choke,
because i'm terrified of drowning now
after all the times i've been
held under for too long

(thank you for knowing this
and keeping me afloat)

we stole dandelions from the fields
like hard-time criminals
and watched as they melted
in the palms of our hands--

i should have realized it was a
perfect euphemism
for the months to follow.

attraction is just
a synthetic reaction,
but we've got
*chemistry

and, i swear
nobody could have
                      saved her
that day, she was a victim
    to graffiti and
       road signs.

you* are my daisy
by the c h a i n l i n k
fence.

step one:
find somebody who is
beautiful, kind, charming, intelligent,
witty, caring, and
broken

step two:
fall so in love that you are convinced
that no matter how many problems
this person has,
they are absolutely perfect

step three:
when they break down and show you their scars,
hold them when they cry,
kiss them on the cheek,
and make them tea

step four:
when they tell you they wish
they weren't so ****** up,
and that they wouldn't blame you
if you walked away

promise that you'll stay

step five:
realize that just staying is too inadequate,
that everybody says they'll stay
then has their bags packed in a week

immediately upon realization,
swear that you will not-leave
because staying requires no change or effort,
while not leaving is a risk

step six:
let the person know that they are worth that risk

i wonder what you'd look like
if you were stripped of your skin,
would your bones be as perfect
as your shell?

or would they be heavy with scars
etched into you slowly, filled with ink,
and laced with names you
wish you could forget?

i am beginning to wonder when i started finding
imperfections so beautiful

maybe it was when i decided
i would never be perfect,
and that the only way i could look at myself in the mirror
was if i started with the ugly scars on my ankle
and made my way up slowly
past my knobby knees,
prominent hip bones,
too-small chest,
pointy nose,
until i looked myself in the
eyes,
taking in every abnormality or distinct deficiency
until i could convince myself they were unique enough
to be considered in someone else's eyes
"pretty"

i began doing the same thing with everyone else,
turning their flaws into something charming
so much
so that when i came across you,
i didn't have to think about it-
i knew from the start that you would be
perfect.

silence can be a beautiful thing
when it blankets the cold
of a kitchen floor;
(there is something lovely
about the lines of your hands
and the peculiar smile that
plays at your lips
when you can not voice
what you need to speak)

you whispered to me
        -it's amazing how much
        you can say
        without words-
in the quiet, i
could not help but tell you
i love you
a thousand times over.

lately i've spent hours a day
crying over you,
but that doesn't mean
you didn't make my life
so absolutely
extraordinary

(and it sure as hell
doesn't mean i'm
over you
yet)

it's spring again(,) and again
i'm the only thing that's
                                     dying
(this       how    
         is              i
                                 feel-

like
           f
             a  p a r t)
                l                  
                  l
     ­               i
                      n
                        ­g

with every step, i felt myself break
just a little
                  bit
                       more.

i'm sorry i couldn't look back,
i was too afraid of finding you
collecting my pieces
to return them to me;
this time, i want you to keep them.

i'm unraveling just as quickly
as your words,
and here we are
falling
again,
but this time,
not in the
right
way.

as a child, i was more of a
hide-and-seek kind of girl;
i had no mind for playing
pretend.  

yet here i am now, and these
past three months have been
my greatest show yet--

but ****,

               where
      have
                                 you
                                             gone?

because i've been seeking for too long,
and i can't find you anywhere.

"i heard you crying in the shower," margo says.

i put my book down beside me.  i blink, margo blinks.  her hair drips beads of water onto my carpet.

"yes," i reply.

"does that mean you're still sad?" she asks.

"no...yes- well, not really. not in the sense you're thinking," i say.

"oh."

"yeah."

margo makes her way from the doorway to my bed and takes a seat at the foot.  she's still wearing a towel instead of clothes, and her skin is pink from the heat of her shower.  she looks like she has more to say, but i don't ask, so she doesn't tell.  instead, we just sit and watch each other.  i wonder what the hospital has made me look like to her, and she probably wonders if i actually love her enough to get better this time, or if i was just saying it to make her happy.

"since when do you wear make-up, kiddo?" i ask, hoping to break the silence.  the black lines underneath her eyes are suddenly the only things i can pay attention to.

"i don't know.  i guess right after you left," she says.

"oh."

"yeah."

i.
maybe people really were made
first as one large whole,
then cracked into pieces
and scattered, so that
if we ever lose our sense of
purpose,
we could know that there is hope
in finding it in others.

ii.
maybe it is fate
that brought me to you,
something magnetic,
or just chance.
i don't care, all that matters
is that i have you--
sometimes i just wish i knew
who to thank.

iii.
it scares me how much i like
the feel of your hand gripping mine,
as though it was meant
to be there from the start
(when i'm with you, i always feel
that much more complete).

iv.
if you carry pieces of me
deep inside of you,
does that mean somewhere
i carry pieces of you too?

if you'd like,
we could play pretend-
i'd be sylvia plath, if you'd
be my modern-day
cummings;

we can meet in
the coffee shop on
forty-eighth and first
and talk about suicide
over tall cups of coffee
that taste like your grandfather's cigars

and when neither of us are
up for walking
we'll go out to the park
and sit
on the bench by the pond
and hold hands

(i won't really feel your fingers by mine
until they become
sticky with sweat; we'll look at each other
and realize it doesn't mean a thing
to either
except for maybe the first attempt on both parts
to not feel so alone)

when the sun sets,
i'll cry
and not have an answer
when you ask for one.

you've got just enough flaws
to be
         absolutely
                          *******
                                            perfect.

i stopped wearing my heart on my sleeve,
when you peeled it off and made it your home;
now i keep it hidden away
somewhere within the depths of your own.

i just want a boy like
holden caulfield-
maybe not all yellow,
but a great whistler

someone who reads novels
before he goes to bed

somebody to catch me
when i dance to close to the edge

i guess that's all i could
ever really ask for.

if only we could choose which scars
fade and which remain;
i'd rid myself of every that bore
semblance to your name.