You asked me not to talk to him.
Then he started flirting with me.
I couldn't make him stop talking to me.
I've kind of wondered what
would happen
if he asked me out.
Now I know.
I told tell him
Sorry, but I can't.
He asks
Why?
I swallow the lump in my throat.
Because I made a promise.
I leave it at that and walk away.
I said no even though I wanted to say yes.
Because I made you a promise,
you meaning absolutely everything to me.
We share secrets
and gossip.
But that's the one thing I wasn't allowed to do.
I said no because I made you a promise.

I want you to look
at me.
More than a glance.
Less than a stare.
Look at me.
Look within me.
Look into my eyes
and tell me.
Tell me I wasn't a game.
Tell me I wasn't a joke.
Tell me I wasn't a challenge.
Tell me I was more than another girl.
Tell me you truly had feelings for me
and I wasn't your **** Barbie doll.
Look me in the eyes
and tell me why
you can't stand to be near me.

Why do people
look at me
cross-eyed
when I turn up to volume
as Alice in Chains,
Nirvana,
Black Sabbath,
Guns N' Roses,
and all my rock music
pulse through the speakers
of my Jeep?
Is it that unexpected?
Because it surprises me most when you
have that puzzled look on your face.

I feel
mesmerized
by those
blonde whiskers on your chin.
They make you look older,
sexier.
I wonder if
you're just too lazy to shave
or haven't gotten chance to get around to it.

My reflection shows in the mirror and
my rib cage protrudes from my skin
my hip bones jut out.
My hands run over my skin before I pull
a shirt over my head and pants up my legs.
You used to purposely freak me out.
You would **** in and skin would almost dissolve under your bottom rib.
You wanted me to stick my hand under your ribs, pressing into the dissolved skin.
That's the only part that freaked me out, pressing under your rib cage.
I didn't care that you could **** in and have your ribs show one by one.
I didn't care that you had me feel the dip in your sternum.
You used to pull your sweatpants down your thighs when you sat down.
There would be a skinny slot that the shorts you wore underneath and your boxers would leave because they hung onto your bulging hipbones.
I was to get over you.
I didn't fall for you until you showed your interest in me.
Finally, I began to like you in a way I never planned.
I was to get over you
that was the plan.
But you still have my head spinning
thinking I was stupid enough to fall again
and
here I am,
writing you a poem,
because hard work to keep myself in shape
even reminds me of you.
I guess I'm able to say life was about living for the night when I was with you
because talking to you alone got my mind off things and allowed me to have fun.

Eyelids grow heavy
from little energy and the need for sleep.
Glasses slide up my nose, pressing the nose piece into my skin, leaving indentations.
My finger twitches
as it holds my place in my current horror story that hangs off the edge of bed.
Cool air from the fan puffs out the entrance of my pillow case and makes the tied ends of my blanket flutter.
My eyes struggle to stay open, even though the ceiling light remains on.
Will someone find me passed out?
Mark my place with a bookmark and remove my glasses before shutting the light off, kissing my forehead a goodnight and shutting off the light while easing the door shut behind them?

You walk through the door
blonde hair
blue eyes
126 lbs-from being tall-
thin as a stick
long, skinny face.
I look down to see what shoes you're wearing today.
Converse, as always.
Yesterday, they were white.
I've seen you wear
teal
red
yellow
gray.
All hightops.
I am curious to how many pairs you
actually own.
What color will you wear today?
and tomorrow?
Maybe Thursday of next week?

I walk into the building and am greeted with
a stairwell in front of me,
bathrooms and the office to the right,
classes to the left.
I start down the stairwell.
My hand reaches out to the wall,
running over the nature paintings
of raccoons, trees, leaves, and deer.
I look over my shoulder and see that it continues
to curl around the corner and the wall across from
each room.
I continue down the stairs,
left into the gymnasium.
Behind me is the lunch window,
in front of me is the counselor's office
(only open on Wednesdays)
and a steep, skinny stairway up to the hallway of classes.
How I miss this old building
that some jack had to go and burn down.

I want to be
that wild seventeen year old.
Doing things that Daddy would let me spend
the night in jail for.
Take me out past that ranch
where no one should be.
Ignore the sign on the fence as we jump it and
run like hell
having the time of our lives.
Let's go down by the river and spin
those ATV and Jeep tires in that brown mud.
Go sit out behind that ole barn,
peeling with paint,
and down a bottle of whiskey.
Let's be innocent and free.
But I can't be that person-
I will maintain a clean record
and live my life safely.
No matter how much the edge temps me.
I just wanna be that wild
seventeen year old
before it's too late.

My heart stops
as he calls us his
Bubble Team
one of his favorites.
We tied to fourth place,
unable to know if we
are going to State
until next Thursday.
We made it to State,
almost-
and probably-
being denied the chance to actually go.
I couldn't be more proud of anyone
on my team.
We're like a puzzle.
We may be different
but we all fit together.
We can do this,
I just hope they give us the chance.

I'm sick of being that girl that
everyone gets tired of.
You want me,
and when I come to realize
that you're trustworthy enough
to have my walls trimmed down
you no longer want me.
You want someone else.
I'm tired of being special for two weeks
and being dropped
like a hot potato.
I miss being able to make you smile,
I miss being able to make you laugh.
Now I only see you laugh
and smile
when you're not around me.

There are many things
that you could teach me.
      to snowboard
      to be good at Mario Kart
      to laugh and have fun on my own
      to kiss with passion
      to let my walls down
There are some things
that I could teach you.
      to drive a stick-shift
      to do Pre-Calc
      to speak French
      to love other sports
There are things
we could help each other on.
      to get better at soccer
      to fix cars
Mario Kart is your SPECIALTY-as you say.
I've been driving a manual for three years.
I know about classic cars.
You know about new ones under the classic name.
I'd like to say that maybe we could have deeper conversations,
but we already do that now.
What could beat the PG-13 discussions we have?
If anyone took them out of context,
they'd be rated X.
By our word choice.
But within context,
they're perfectly harmless.
We make plans
but if we're gonna do anything
you might as well fill those shoes and take care of me.
Because I'd do the same for you.
*Parce, bébé, je pense que je suis tomber pour vous.

Nothing is ever out of reach
when you're seventeen,
anything is possible.
Because when you have
to do your dreams on your own
turn to nightmares
that haunt you.
Because this is life we were
taught to live.

It's fascinating how
something so simple
and small
can bring up a box full of memories.
A photograph,
driving past a location,
revisiting old hangouts.
This was the place that I grew up.
It's fixed up from what it used to be.
Skipping school-
having only being caught twice.
Running out to the parking lot and squealing off like
a bandit.
The old arcade,
blowing dollar bills
left and right.
Winning worthless prizes.
Singing every song
we ever knew
to the steering wheel.
Having plans to get out here and have our big dreams come true.
Having my first kiss
by the train tracks.
The school is now closed.
The Mall and arcade were shut down.
The same old song are played on the radio.
The train station now terminated.
Weeds and dandelions grown of the rails.
The faces are all still the same.
Memories can't be erased
or replaced.
I miss that town.
I miss the people.
I believe I miss the one place I promised I'd never return.
I want to stay.
It's too hard to leave.
It's time to say Goodbye.
Because nothing will ever change.

You broke my best friend's heart
without knowing it.
Even if you are my friend
she's my best friend
and you broke her heart.
You're handsome.
You're super nice.
She thought you liked her
the way you were around her.
Until you showed me your phone,
when you were texting the other girl.
You said you were talking
and had a date this Friday.
Although she was not at my side,
I could see her heart
break-
cracks spreading throughout.
Do I tell her? Do I not say anything save her from heartbreak as of now?
I took a breath and decided to tell her
try to let her down easy
and keep her from being broken over a best friend hiding a secret
and a long-time crush looking away from her.
It took her forever to respond
and I knew she was hurt.
There was nothing I could do to make the pain disappear
and that bothered me.
Why do we always fall for others who don't like us?
I can't stand to see my best friend heartbroken and bothered.

The tip of my nose burns
from the repeated contact of the Kleenex.
I stand to blow my horn
and everyone turns to look at me once more.
Well, I'm sorry,
I think.
Minutes later,
I am turned around in my seat
talking to old friend
about him having allergies
and me having sinuses.
The professor has a look of fake fury
on her face.
Would you two shut up?!
she raises her voice.
We're having a nasal conversation!
he fires back.
I crack up,
unable to control my laughter
about our conversation of blowing our noses
and the watering of our eyes.
We're having a nasal conversation.
One of the funniest-most meaningful
and stupid
lines I've ever heard.
One I'll never forget.
Because we were
having a nasal conversation.

I can't seem to hold a best friend.
They run off after so long.
Ignore me,
find reasons to avoid me.
Maybe I did something wrong.
But I tell myself not to apologize.
Not to swallow my pride and apologize for something so stupid.
Saying hi to another friend isn't something you should have gotten
mad about.
But every time,
I swallow my pride and apologize
for something I probably shouldn't.
Because I don't want to lose you.
Now, neither of my best friends
are wanting to talk to me or be around me.
After the unmentionable number of best friends that I've gone through,
maybe it is just me.
I'm sorry I don't do drama.
That's why I'm a tomboy.
I don't do drama
and avoid it as much as possible.
But now I feel as if I have no one to talk to.
Truly,
sometimes the only person you can rely on,
is yourself.
And I learn that lesson more and more every time.
I'm sorry I can't tear the entire wall down
to the ground.
I just have to protect myself,
because I can only take so many blows.
Maybe it's me.

I remember the days when
jeans would come up past
your belly-button.
Now they stop before they reach
your stomach.
I remember when
skirts and dress
were long enough to cover the sacred places.
Now they're barely long enough to leave
the slightest bit to
imagination.
I remember when
tank tops
showed just enough cleavage to drive a guy wild.
Now they hang low,
showing everything.
I remember when everything was
modest.
Now everything is revealing.
I remember when being modest
was ****.
Now being modest
is to be a *****
and hideous.

You nod towards
the mustang.
A yellow ball in your hands.
I smile and slip a bat from my softball bag.
I climb into the drivers seat,
sticking my tongue out at you.
You laugh and climb in.
I drive to the track and field combination
with the seatbelt alarm chiming the whole way.
I shift into park and climb out.
I swirl the bat around
waiting for you to set up your pitching stance.
You throw the ball and I line drive it by your face.
You dive left and up.
The ball smacks into your glove.
I round second and you start running after me.
I step off third and your arms trap me
as you spin around
bringing me down
on top of you.
We burst with laughter.
I miss these days.

I wonder what went through your head
when I replied with Kay
I didn't use a period at the end
like I normally would.
You said you always thought I was
mad at you
when I used a period at the end of a sentence.
Maybe I should have used a period.
But I wasn't mad.
I wasn't necessarily sad.
I knew it was going to happen.
But when you told me that you couldn't go
after you wanting to go all day
you didn't use a period-
so you weren't mad.
Was it an excuse?
or did something really happen
and you couldn't go?
You almost begged me to go,
to take you,
to drive you around.
I finally said yes.
Suffered the wrath of my parents-
of who you are,
who your parents are,
where you work,
what your grades are like,
THE talk (multiple times, I might add)
but I saw it as a harmless hang out.
Maybe not though.

Friends.
That's what we are.
We explore
unusual topics between
opposite ***
friends.
But that's just us,
that's how we are.
But it feels weird the day
that you ask me-
Are you going to the bathroom with me?
I tell you no,
thinking you mean this as joke
while we're walking in the same direction
with different destinations.
Then you look at me with a smile.
Help me go to the bathroom?
Wait, what?
Excuse me?
Do you mean this as a joke?
Or is this one of your flirting techniques?
Maybe I'm over thinking and this is a joke?
Another friend told me he'd never ask me that.
So why did you ask me that?
Why?

I want you to know
I'd never judge you.
That I'll listen to you
and your problems.
That I will help
put you back together.
That I can help you build that wall
just right.
Where you can trust
the right people
and block out
the wrong.
I want you to know I'm in the same boat.
But I care too much.
You have trouble seeing
that I will always be here
and there
anywhere you ask.

I let my fingers run over my skin.
Feeling
every bump,
every dip,
every vein protruding
from flesh.
I look into the man's eyes
as life disappears
Looking him in the eyes
as he becomes still.
Watching hurts more
than knowing.

Will you realize that she had a boyfriend?
She's not over him.
And that she doesn't like you-
the same way you don't like me?
It's too bad that we can't save what
we once had.
Everything we've had is on the line.
It's hard to see you with her.
Every time I turn your way,
all I see is the way she touches you.
Everywhere I look,
I just see the way she holds you.
I just can't seem to get over you.
This is where the ending begins...

All of her friends
talk about
how its such a pity.
From that one night
of a bit too much
liquid courage.
She let a stranger
crush her hopes
and dreams.
He was
broad shouldered
with hair blackest black
and eyes the color of the sea.
She awoke and left his bed at dawn.
She looks down at her baby girl
with eyes bluer than blue.
She cries herself to sleep
due to killed
hopes and dreams.
While she was barely hanging on,
she cried and said
*I think his name was Richard.

He may be old,
but he is the most
handsomest man
ever.
Mid-sixties maybe.
His eyes are blue.
Pale blue but circled by dark blue.
His hair is gray,
but was once brown.
His skin is wrinkled and worn
but was once smooth.
His face is small
and heart-shaped.
I can't stop staring at him.
I imagine him
as a young boy,
entering the military
in a green suit.
The way he smiled for his picture.
How he hugged his crying mother goodbye.
Smoked a cigarette as he served for his country.
Overcome the nightmares
he's seen and heard
while protecting America.
He was handsome then
and he is handsome now.
He holds the door open with a smile
and I thank him for
the dinner that he
bought for his wife,
my parents,
and me.