I fell in love with a girl
one summer during high school.
she had bronze skin
and long fingers
and a meek giggle
that would crescendo beautifully
whenever things went just right.
we were happy
for a while.
she made me a mixtape for my birthday
with all the songs that reminded her of me
including the folk song that was playing
when we first kissed.
it was awkward
and nervous and shy
but so were we.
I still listen to it on bad days.
I swear the best days of my life
were spent on a bean bag chair
on her bedroom floor
with her hand in mine
and no words being spoken
because there were no gaps
that words needed to fill.
sometimes we would paint each others' nails
so we would match
and my patience would be tested
as we waited for the paint to dry.
I wanted to touch her
but I didn't want to smear my nails
after she had painted them so delicately.
I had her love on my hands
and she was a part of everything I created.
she got me a stuffed animal when she was on vacation
I swear it was the longest week of my life.
it was a teddy bear with a purple ribbon
and I named him Conor
after our favorite musician.
I still sleep with it on bad days.
but nothing ever stays the same.
we drifted and moved on and found new lives
without each other
and now I barely know her name.
I wonder how she's doing sometimes
but I don't have her phone number anymore.
her old one's out of service
but I still call it on bad days.

the cold, bitter wind
grasps our faces with its icy fingers
and paints our cheeks cotton-candy-pink
as you tuck your chin
into your itchy-warm sweater

we watch a fluttering moth
with crêpe paper wings
and a dream of reaching the
cratered wisdom of the moon
but it settled for
the harsh fluorescence
of an ugly street lamp

its celestial dreams were abandoned
for disenchanted, grayscale realities

our hands entangle
as cold as snakes’ bellies
and as your chestnut eyes
follow the moth’s
despairing circles around the
artificial brightness of the
mocking street lamp,
I realize
you sympathize

I gently nuzzle
into your itchy-warmth
and anxious-cold shivers
as I silently wish for you
to one day reach your moon

When I first met you,
I thought you were the one
But as the months wander by,
Everything's become undone

You can make me laugh and
You can make me cry
I don't always return your phone calls
And I really can't say why

I guess you could say we're
Two bad actors with unrehearsed lines
We're an off-tempo duet but we pretend
Everything is fine

I threw out the snapshots and mix CDs
After our fight last week, I'm sorry
I guess I realized I liked you more
When I'm dreaming

You said you could marry a girl like me
And I just laughed

you stand in front of your bathroom mirror
with puffed-red eyes and dried-tight cheeks
as you practice your smiling and deception

your thoughts feel light but your feet are heavy
and you cannot bring yourself to unlock the door

and soon you’re sitting on your little sister’s
step-stool with the unfamiliar pill bottle in your
hands when the cacophony in your brain comes to a
caesura. The sudden serenity caresses your soul
and makes peace with your demons

you know the treaty is only temporary and soon
you’ll hear the mad ravings of the demons once more
but for now you are grateful and release yourself
from your prison cell into your weary reality

the sadness murmurs beneath your skin
and deep within your chest, but its aches are
distant like an animal caged and restrained

your days become photocopies as you
continue wearing contrived smiles and still
no one knows your proud laurels are also
your crown of thorns

The girl I love
has demons inside her head
and beneath her demure facade
is a turbulence
no one should ever know.
the same eyes that light up
when she talks about her
photo shoots
or coffee
or me
can darken in an instant
and I can't do anything
but hold her as she cries.
the taste of tear drops
on her lips
is bittersweet
and the salty tang
reminds me
that this is my battle
too.
sometimes she'll call me
in the middle of the night
and I know that something's wrong
as soon as I hear her ringtone
(our song)
because even though
her voice is the most gorgeous sound
I've ever heard,
she would rather carefully craft her thoughts
with texts
than open her heart
candidly.
I answer the phone
with shaking fingers
and ask, "Are you okay?"
there is a pause
and I swear to god
there are a million deaths
and a million births
in that space of silence.
"Baby,
the demons are talking
and I don't think
I can take it."
her voice is a hoarse shadow
of its usual smooth sweetness
wounded by chokes and sobs.
"Everything will be okay."
my words are as much reassurance
to myself
as they are to her.
"I'm on my way."
and when I find her
I hold her tight
and I'm relieved she's still breathing.
but the familiar glint
of a razor blade
stained with red
catches my eye
and I start to cry
too.
I pull her beneath the safety of the blankets
and kiss her forehead
as our fingers entwine
and I start to sing her favorite songs
as a mantra to ward off the demons.
she's soon asleep
and I untangle our limbs
and give her one last kiss
before standing unsteadily.
without hesitation
I grab the demon's weapon
from her nightstand
and shove it in my pocket
because I know the trash cans aren't safe.
something snaps inside me
and I throw open her drawer
to reveal dozens more.
I take those, too,
and I search the rest of her room
tearing through her photographs
and vinyl records
and the finger paintings we made together
to collect every blade I could find.
I soon find myself in her bathroom
ripping open her medicine cabinent
grimacing at the bottle emblazoned with her name
full of the pills she never takes.
I collapse onto the cold tile of the ground
knees drawn to my chest
eyes stained with tears
pockets full of razor blades
heart devoid of hope.
The girl I love
has demons inside her head
and they talk to me
too.

And it seems I will only see your face behind glass
As you turn yourself away from my beckoning
Muted like a songbird with a gouged throat and
Broken wings - my hands press against the wall and
I envision the last time we touched

The shackles on my ankles feel heavier as
I imagine eclipsing the space between our bodies
The bruised, maroon stripes across my back
Swell like a prisoner's garb and bright blood
Spills from my mouth; the color of your favorite wine

I know now the world has no room for treachery and
I can feel the temptations march beneath my feet
As I fall to my knees with a beseeching scream
The gods wrap their warm fingers around my limbs
Dissolving me back into the mother-earth where
One day, I will meld with you again

I keep telling myself our love is like
a lake in winter; cold to the touch but
beneath the ice is dormant life
waiting to reawaken

And on its surface are both ballerina
figure skaters poised with perfection and
toddling children  wearing scrapes like
first place medals

Sometimes the surface cracks and out
pours freezing entrails and watery
remembrance - but now is no time for
nostalgia. The lake scabs over with
persistent breaths from the father-wind
and winter's secrets are secured

Some things are best left forgotten
until the season is right

But I know our spring will soon come
melting away the frozen crust and turning
skaters into swimmers as the Divine Sun
breathes life into our slumbering hearts

We said not to wear
them inside, but now what I'd
give to hear their sound

you look like a mirage
as snowflakes cling to your pale skin
and I don't know if I should believe it
until I'm in your arms.
you've gotten taller
and your red mane is unrulier than ever
but your lips still taste of cigarettes and mints.
you smile your familiar smile
that seems to tug my lips along with it
and your childish laugh
erupts from your throat
as if nothing's changed.
the scenery is frozen and white
and my neighbor's christmas lights
shine brightly in the background
as a reminder of the holiday.
you joke about stealing
the candy cane ornaments across the street
and you grab my hands
with a familiar roughness
and though your fingers are the same
the spark that once
set me on fire
is gone.
my stomach feels as cold
as the snow that continues to coat us
and I look to you with bewildered eyes.
Merry Christmas,
I don't love you anymore.

I stitched a quilt from the parachute
I wore when I fell for you
It exploded from my backpack
like my heart

I remember our first conversation
and your nervous giggling
I couldn't quite meet your eyes
but you smiled anyway

You became my best friend
I talked to you everyday
We flew kites, fed ducks, and
ate ice cream - your favorite,
cookie dough

I taught you chords on my guitar
and memorized your hands
The crescent scar on your left wrist
matched the star-freckles
down your arm

And when I tried to catch your lips
you turned your cheek to me
Then, before I knew it,
you began to float away

Now I'm curled up in my blanket
eating cookie dough ice cream
looking at the crescent moon
and wondering how you're doing
without me

I remember your nervous doe-eyes
and uncertain grasps
like a new shriveled-pink baby
engulfed and overwhelmed
by the palpability of a realm
outside the womb

The canary of your hair
melded with the sand of your skin
and the rose of your lips
****** into an anxious
façade of a smile

It was as if
the contortion of your lips
was stenciled onto your taut canvas face
by a neglectful artist
and you wore the mar acquiescently
like a sketch unfinished

And I remember
kissing that imperfect smile
and being stricken by a heavy melancholy
that descended from my lips
to my chest
where it burrowed inexorably

Your limp hand fell from mine
and as my chest constricted
like a reptilian death penalty
I understood your nearly-smile

I didn’t mind the incongruence of our hearts
as we melted together like sticky-sweet ice cream
on a nostalgic summer day, and I wore your
fingerprints on my collarbone like a proud
working man’s necktie as our molecules collided
between our bodies in a miniature mosaic we
couldn’t see – but we could feel

Our bloodstreams were helium and our
organs were neatly-knotted balloon animals
and trumpets pounded behind our eardrums
as we tried to stay afloat in our makeshift raft
in the turbulence of Maybes and What Ifs
but you choked on reality as I tried to
breathe you a sonnet

And the piano burdened our lungs as
I tried to free the confusion from your eyes
but they hid in your lashes and fluttered
against the tip of my nose and invited a
cathartic sneeze, and I felt like a jagged
paper cut-out but you were smooth lines
and symmetry

I don’t know when the yelling started or
when it ceased but the red stains on my face
were the only recollection I needed and
I packed my things in an origami suitcase
and treaded down the spiral stairs and exited
from the top story on wilted-flower wings

I know a girl
with wandering eyes
who paints her dreams
on giant canvases.
her lopsided ponytail
is secured by a paintbrush
and I swear she looks most beautiful
when her lips are pursed
and nose scrunched up
as she tries to get that final detail
just right.
disheveled and sleep-deprived
with coffee stains on her tired smock,
she brings to life
intricate images of her subconscious.
detailed landscapes
free of the burden of mankind
with creatures whose names
I find unpronounceable
but they roll off her tongue just fine.
one day
in her cluttered studio
her paintbrush meets my cheek
with a fiery line of red.
I catch her hand in mine
and she meekly says,
"I dreamt that you were mine
so I thought I'd paint you,
too."
our lips touch
and the paint smears
as we are brought to life
among her dreams.

You moved in like an exotic species
with high heel roots that just couldn’t
take to the concrete soil and
everything felt foreign as your
fingers dragged against buildings’
windows in a curlicue SOS

You were a misplaced piece in the
wrong puzzle box yet you still tried
to make your corners fit amongst
the scenery. You drifted from street to street
like an extra in a movie trying to find
your own spotlight

Your construction-paper elbows rested
on your bruised knees as the dusty
wind married your stray hairs to your
chapsticked lips – and beneath your
feet was a child’s chalk drawing with the word
“believe”

The pastel pinks and blues and smiling
stick caricatures were captured by
your wide eyes that dripped their
appreciation in two slow lines

The picture burned itself in your mind
and tugged your lips upwards as you
decided you wanted to thrive, to
truly feel alive, and to build
your own puzzle around your sides

heavy clouds hang loftily
in the somber grayed skies
as infant drops begin their proud descent
tiny kamikazes upon our bare skin
like kisses from butterflies

the moan of muffled thunder
interrupts the tremolo whispers of the rain
as our naked toes dig into the earth's
sticky-wet clay

laughter drips from your wind-burnt lips
like the droplets from your hair
scents of sweet-rain and mellow-mud
wafting through the air

your wrinkled-prune hand nests within mine
as we slosh and shiver upon rebirthed earth
baptismal puddles swallowing our steps
our sins begin to dry

I tear through cobweb-curtains
in the attic of my mind and gather
dusty memories and things long lost
I never thought I'd find

Delicately, I collect old photos
of forgotten smiles and love letters
that once set my heart alight
and broken lamps, love-stitched quilts,
worn cookbooks with my mother's
notes, and my trusted, rusted trike

I pack them in a cardboard box with
a smile and a wish, and with pride
I tie a balloon for every year of my life
and watch the memories rise

As the box wanders into the clouded
arms of the blue father-sky,
the shackles on my ankles are undone
and as I take weak steps like a newly mobile
fawn, I know that I am free and my
haunting is now gone

Darling, we're reaching the surface now
I guess you could say we're together
again. And though you're sitting here
right beside me, you feel pretty far away

Every time we're pieced back together
from broken hearts and torn up memories
the original picture seems to fade

We're all tape, glue, and staples
with false, empty I-love-yous
Our laughter is more forced
and your hands are colder than
I remember

You remind me of a cut-out with
flat eyes and a pasted smile
but we eat breakfast together every
morning just like a TV couple

You know how I like my coffee
and that's enough to keep you here

I am hollow
but my blood still flows
in sticky red ribbons
I wish I could wrap around my neck
and divorce myself from the doting air
and fade into sprawling oblivion
for I am a speck
of inconsequence

the grass is coarse beneath us
but your hand is smooth in mine.
the summer humidity
has run its fingers through your hair
and the makeup that you didn't need
is smeared beneath your eyes
but you're still beautiful.
we don't speak any words
but the rising and falling of your chest
says everything we need to know.
we look to the inky black canvas
of the night sky
pricked by tiny pinholes of light
that are actually far larger
than we could ever comprehend.
the fireflies enact a light show
as a maestro cicada plays his concerto
and this summer setting seems perfect
but nowhere near as perfect as you.

I met her at church
before we gave up god and
started kissing girls

the sun splits the sky like a blistered wound
as your tired lips sag upon your sallow canvas-face
like a painting faded in the rain
former vibrancy smeared beneath your eyes
with the deceptions of your make-up bag

and a sleeping dragon curls within your stomach
with its claws maiming your innards
and its nostrils setting you aflame from inside
while taunting spiders begin their twisting dance upon your limbs
as a demon's sinuous-clawed finger etches into your skin
"never never"

you wear the scars like a consolation prize
as if they were a bar code upon your generic flesh
and you are broken nails and missed deadlines and fast food meals
as the words in your head are as large as billboards
but as small as the fine print you never read

the dragon awakens within your stomach
its roars echoing within your skull like a mad symphony
as you collapse and crumple like an unwanted love note
and the dragon rips through your flesh
hollowing you like a discarded cocoon
extinguishing the last of your once-burning passion

the tormenting spiders resume their spiraling dance
and with impassive resignation you extend your arm graciously
to the demon who indifferently tattoos
"forever"

You're droopin' now like a sad balloon
cast down from Heaven
Your tail's dragging on the ground
- the one you escaped so long before -
and now you're down, down, down

You remember floatin' in the sky
watchin' little people as they all walked by
busy with themselves and their teeny-tiny lives
Now they're bigger than you and you don't know why
you can't fly, fly, fly

The wrinkles in your face are deep
As you sag closer to the ground
You're sure it's the end and say your prayers to
the Helium Gods and the party favor stores
when a li'l pigtailed girl picks you up and yells,
"Look what I found, found, found!"

And then you know it ain't how high ya float
that really matters in your life
Despite your droopin' and saggin' you don't
got no naggin' 'cause this kid's gonna love you
'til you die, die, die

*pop

Your hands were paintbrushes birthing art
upon my hide, creating new landscapes over
the tired contours of my barren canvas-skin
And before the air-whispers could begin to
dry the paint, we smeared it between our
bodies in a mess of colors sticky enough to
glue our hearts together

The colors stuck to our bellies and spattered our
faces in a brilliant deaf cacophony – and we nailed
ourselves to a cheap craft store frame that we
believed could marry us forever
But as soon as we hung ourselves on the
gallery wall, the claustrophobia of the frame
constricted our smiling exhibit-faces and our
painted toes yearned to touch the ground

I caught your bitter tears in the palms of my
hands and dissolved the paint between us
in a faded erasure of the art that declared us
One. We escaped the confines of the cheap,
unstable frame and I said my goodbyes without
catching your eyes

And we still wear discolored marks of
our once-was-masterpiece like nostalgic scars
that have stained our bones with once-happy
hues and pigments of regret

you don't mind the glass beneath your feet
or the bomb strapped to your chest
ticking second by second like your very own
metronome trying to harmonize the noise
inside your head

the gag inside your mouth feels real to you
but no one steps aside to help you untie
the purpled hands behind your back

and you wonder why no one can see
all the pretty girls strung to banisters
with their lipsticked mouths gaped with
muted screams and mascaraed eyes
bulged by Death's medusa-gaze

at the top of the staircase is a noose with
your name - Jane

and as you tiptoe up the steps, the faces
of the corpses blend and coalesce
into one generic image - a girl no one
remembers beyond her death - and you
realize once your neck snaps you're nothing
more than a statistic

the rope tightens and you join
the data set - the only place you've
ever felt you belonged

the dirt’s turned up, the body’s gone
and the makeshift cross is snapped in two
maybe you should’ve dug the hole a bit deeper
maybe you should’ve made it work

now everything is plastic-wrapped and vacuum-sealed
and all you can smell is germ-x and cheap soap
but it’s better than her perfume
you burned her clothes and lingerie in your backyard
along with her favorite books you didn’t read
— she never asked for anything to be returned

you forgot about her for a while
the words of her eulogy gave you closure
“it’s over”
entwined with clichés and *******
that fertilized your daffodils —
the flowers of new beginnings

but then you saw her corpse
reanimated with Another on her arm
and the laughter that plays in your head
when you can’t sleep at night
spilled from her undead lips

her memory flooded your mind
and gnawed your brain
as you returned to her upturned grave
delirious in a sleepwalk daze
plucking petals from a daffodil