i've become the person i wanted to be
two years ago, but i've forgotten
why i wanted to be this way in the first place

(it's time to reconstruct myself again)

my mother tells me to
choose wisely, and
i don't know if it's wise,
but there is no choice-

my answer will always be
you

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)

i want to cut myself
open, and pour out every
word i thought about
telling you but never did

and stitch myself
up without anyone's help,
and clean away everything
i have depended on to fill
empty spaces, and replace it
with something new

i want to paint over my
wounds so that i don't have
to be reminded of what
i went through to get here

i want to be beautiful without
you, i want to be courageous

i thought your memory would
weigh me down, but it turned out to be
an anchor; i've never felt more
close to you than i do now
(and with this weight i'm clinging to
it's like you never left)

i want to know the story
behind every freckle on your
back and ever scar on your
hands, i want to know how
they stuck with you and i want
to know the story of how
i stuck with you too

"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 want to be
allowed to
kiss the
tips of your
fingers and
trace your
collarbones
with my
tongue

i don't need you to hold my hand
anymore to reassure me that you're there,
but sometimes i still get scared, so
i'm begging you tonight--
                                             please
                                                       don't
                                                               *go

saudad (n)-- 1. knowing that
coffee and cigarettes
will never smell
quite as good as they
did on you

2. hearing your name over and
over again, then suddenly,
not at all, because even i am
too scared to whisper it
to the dark

3. watching you fade before
you're even gone; if you ever come
back home, you won't be the man
you were one year ago.

we lounge in the backseat to
wait out the rain.

your fingers still against my
thigh, grapefruit juice drips down my chin,
and we stare ahead like this is
what we were meant for --

you pack another bowl, lana sings
on, jazzy and sweet, and i

i overflow

you told me to stop chasing,
but you didn't say to give up.
since then i have stopped
clawing my way through the galaxies
to get to you--

instead, i hooked myself to the last star
you painted your name on
(and i will never stop waiting there
for you to return).

do you remember when we
were children, and we would spin
in circles for minutes straight
just to make ourselves dizzy?

that's how my head feels when
i see you these days- it's like i can
feel the world rotating under my
feet- every thought, every edge
blurring until they're gone, but
(luckily) this paper is lined thick and
your name alone
is poetry.

when i asked you why you hate
thursdays, your hands twitched,
and all i wanted
was to hold them close

i know it's easy to forget,
so here i am
telling you i love you again

(i'll say it 'til the sun comes up)

i wish my generation would stop
romanticizing misery; if he only loves you
because you are sad, then what will happen
when he's the only one to make you happy

(are you prepared to watch him walk away
for another girl reading bukowski?)

i am done with being
strong; i am not an earthquake
or a hurricane, and this is not
natural, just a disaster

i want to collapse,
i want to relax,
i want to relapse

some days i forget
how to love everyone
but you.

i heard once on the playground that the human heart
is about the size of it's owner's fist;
that day i spent my whole afternoon
gathering handfuls of earth within the
palms of my hands just to see
how much i could hold, as if that could show me
how much i was capable of loving, but dirt
slipped through my fingers when i loosened my
grip, and i was scared that people were the same
(even at eight, i knew that sometimes the only reason
people stayed was because you held them too tight,
and if midnight provided a last-minute flight
they wouldn't hesitate to catch it because holding on
was harder than running away).
later on, i tried to catch people like fish,
reeling them in and then leaving them on a hook
because when i held them at a distance they were
pretty to look at and i could feel their heat, but when i
clutched them close to my chest, underneath my line of
sight, it was much easier for them to
break and hide.  that all changed when i met
you though; i disabled all my traps and
reached out to you with bare fingers, telling myself
if i could hide you between my hands then
maybe you wouldn't mind hiding in my heart.
i started out timid, grasping handfuls of your
shirt and the way your laugh sounded when it was
me that caused it, and sometimes at night
when i pretended you were there with me, i would
reach out for you, but daylight was different
and i've always had small hands

(i realized it was never about taking your heart when you
reached for my hand and held it like it was your favourite secret
you couldn't keep any longer; it was about letting you have mine)

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.

we could have fallen in love.

under different circumstances
(if i were there or
you were here)
we would have been something
                                           beautiful,
because you're the boy
who writes me poetry that
makes me feel
not so alone,
and i'm the only girl who's ever felt
so sure about a boy like
you.

it's a shame distance is the only line
i don't know how to cross.

i am not in love
with you, but i am in love
with the way you smile

when you get simply
overwhelmed by something too
beautiful for words

your sadness is not
beautiful, but your
scars are gorgeous

they are epics across
your skin that tell the
story of how you, just like
all great heroes,
survived

at night, you wonder if anybody actually
saw you today, and if they did,
had they noticed your shaking hands?

(sometimes you question if you were
taught english correctly, because every
i love you comes out as i'm sorry

and you are so tired of stuttering)

we go out after the first storm
like explorers in new terrain, and
these steps are gentle and uncertain,
this world is new.
it is still grey but you point to a patch
of sun between the clouds and say,
that's what you look like beside
everyone else and i used to think
i stuck out like a **** in the midst of flowers
but you make me feel like i am a butterfly
amongst unchanging caterpillars.
a gust of wind pushes rain drops off the
tree leaves - they cling to your mouth like
fresh dew or sweat beads, and i
want to kiss them clean

i haven't believed in
anyone ever
like i believe in
you.

you had always
kept your
**** together
when you felt like
falling apart, and i

i want to be brave like
that.

i want my name to become
synonymous with
your definition of hope
        (i don't know how to save you
        but i know how to try,
        and if you let me, i'll be your saving grace)

it's gonna be a long time
he says, hands clutching his arms
and i want to pry his fingers
away, kiss the tips and
hide him from his fears

not forever, though
i tell him and
i hope he knows that
scars fade but we are both
talking about something bigger
so he smiles and says

*no, not
forever

i think maybe i only love you because
you're older, because you have large hands
that have held more than mine ever will

(or maybe it is because instead of choosing to
hold the world, you chose to hold me)

i hear the phone ring when
it doesn't, the door open
when it's locked, the
light switch flip when
it's off and i turn around and
look for you
still

jesse only smiles when he means it.

nowadays, it takes a needle
to get the boys and girl
around the streetcorner high,
but all jesse needs
is an average girl with a pretty mind.

his timid mouth and crooked teeth
is the prettiest treasure a person could find.

i am done cutting off parts of myself
to give to you,
only to watch you rearrange me
to look more like her.

i'm haunted by my past,
but i don't want to be
someone else's ghost.

i want to live my life slow
and sweet, high on your couch,
lana del rey on repeat

i know that we all break in different
ways (and who am i to talk?) but
i thought you were stronger than that.

he said
it's just easier this way,
to let you go before you're
gone

she said
you're only hurting yourself
more, letting go instead of
holding on to hope

he said*
i just don't want to hold on
anymore

she said*
but you have to, for me
please

(but for her own sake,
she'd already prepared herself
to get ready to let go)

i can't remember
what it's like to sleep in sheets
that don't smell like you

the day we went to the aquarium
was the day i decided to let myself fall
in love with you, and by 11:54 that
night i was practically suffocating
under the weight of words i did not
know how to say, so i simply took your
hands in mine and hoped that you
could read between the songs that i
whispered as you fell asleep.

we aren't much older
now, but wiser nonetheless,
and i have figured it out

i have burned bridges
and put out their fires with
bare hands, tried to make
something of the ashes
because i always thought
moving forward was the
best way to deal until
i wasn't able to go back

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.

when he asks if you're in
love with him,
*lie

i.
some days are more
worth living than
others; today is not
one of those days

ii.
your words stay pinned
on my mirror, and i
don't know if i am
keeping them there to
torture myself
or to remind myself
that i should stay
alive

iii.
i used to be okay,
and i don't know how
i ever was that way
or how to get back

iv.
you used to draw maps me
on my arms; nobody knew where
they went except for
you

v.
i want go where
you do, but i don't know
how to find you

if i'm being honest with myself,
i am always scared

i am scared that someday i will trip in the
school hallway with everyone around, and
i am scared that my family will stop being able
to take care of ourselves. i am
scared that a third world war will erupt and
it will start two streets down the road from me
and end in my front yard

i am scared that one day i'll convince myself
that nobody really loves me, and, even worse, that
nobody will be around to tell me otherwise. and
i am scared that i'll drown at camp this summer
and i'm scared that if i don't, i will want to

i'm scared of needles and feet and airplanes
and on especially bad nights, i am afraid of the dark.

mostly i'm afraid that i will never stop living my
life on the brink of a panic attack, that i will always
back down from a fight, that i will never learn
to speak for myself, and i am scared that i will never
become anything more than this