They say, that the sun sets best in Arizona.
The only reason I believed them
was because the first time we met
you leaned in close, crooked smile and all
pointed to the horizon ablaze
and whispered

"I painted that for you."

I've downloaded it's image on my retinas,
so even in the pangs of night
I know it's warmth.

Through my search, I have noted:

That everything is more beautiful when it burns.

That the sparks of a first kiss will be forever envious
of the pulsating rays of the sun.
And that love isn't beautiful until it is set on fire.
You taught me that.

We spent our time getting lost in each others horizons.
Staying up late, chain smoking and
getting drunk on Walt Whitman
until morning dripped from the skyline.

And like the rainbow that serves as
a reminder of God's mercy,
the sunset is a reminder of yours.

*You just couldn't let me burn any longer.

I wonder what everyone else was feeling
                         when you were rushed to the hospital.

Again.

Eyes rolled,
mouths scoffed,
                      unsurprised.

Like the only place it made sense for you to be was
locked up
                                                  or six feet under.

I managed to stitch together the fragmented sentences
I had heard
and fill the spaces in between
with what I could infer.
Two sole letters
reverberated off the cave walls of my mind:

OD,
                                OD,
               OD.

An anthem I fell asleep to where I dreamed of a bedroom

for remission to make love to your addictions.

Those two letters became five before I could grasp the finality.

D
                          E
             A

                 T


H.

I was shattered.
The pieces of myself,
I’ve retrieved off the floor
and put them together in the puzzle of my life
where I have no place for drugs to fit.

I think about you more often than anyone is willing to believe.
When you took your first sip of alcohol,
                        a mixed drink of
     one part peer pressure
                          and another part curiosity,

        did you know you’d end up drinking your life away?

Driving and drinking don’t go together-
but maybe no one ever told you that.

But soon, it wasn’t enough.

You felt the need to get high to get through the day,
but did you hear your life start to break and our hearts along with it?

You always had a ‘go big or go home’ mentality,
I just wish you hadn’t applied it to drugs.


“Drugs don’t ****” has become the war cry.

I know.

They do so much more than that.
       They rip families apart
       steal honor from fathers,
        children from mothers,
        and life from anyone.

You huff and you puff and soon you become
       the big bad wolf who brings
              the house d
                               o
                               w
                               n

I still hold you in the highest respect
and I can’t make that point clear enough.

You never stopped fighting.


That monkey on your back didn’t live an easy life.

Whoever said that the eyes are
the windows to the soul
had obviously never seen
a set of poetic hands.

As they tumbled
syllables into songs
like waterfalls
roaring a powerful
“Hallelujah.”

Hands drenched in blood
decorated with scrapes and bruises
grasping for memories long repressed.
Memories only brought back
when their pen grazes the
inviting blank canvas before them.

2 o’clock in the morning
crying to no one in particular
as their heart slowly
but however, beautifully
bleeds onto the canvas,
crinkled around the edges
because it’s taken awhile
to get these words out.

Whoever said that they eyes are
the windows to the soul
had obviously never gotten a glimpse
of the complexity that is
a poet’s mind.

Minds crammed with the
hurts of yesterday,
the dreams of tomorrow,
and the change they wish to bring about.

Different experiences call certain memories
from subconscious to conscious
as their dreams slow dance with doubt.
And their ideas for change
are wasted on ears
filled with fingers of ignorance.

Still they press on, in a
beautifully, depressing battle
of desire versus dejection.
Hoping a single phrase
will strike the ear
of someone who needed to hear it.
And touch
the heart of someone who needed to feel it.
Because the potential to reach
the unwilling,
the unable,
and the unwanted,
is worth the uphill struggle.

Whoever said that they eyes are
the windows to the soul
had obviously never experienced
the power of a poetic heart.

Hearts strong with experience,
but cautious because of it.
The unrelenting beat
as it is used, stepped on,
and thrown away.
Do you hear it?
Ringing in your ears.
Unable to escape from
it’s heartbreaking
melody of “what ifs”
and “if onlys.”
Hiding behind
walls of regret
and instances of deceit
where it was once stolen.
911 was called,
but they were
cardiac arrested
for allowing this break in to occur.
An accessory to their own pain.

Whoever said that the eyes are
the windows to the soul
had obviously never met
a poet.

I want to sink into your soul and seek shared sunsets.
Curl up in your arteries and get lost in your horizon.

Refresh me like a new day.
Encase me.
Embrace me.
Erase me.
I want to get lost in you.

I dream of you in colors that don’t exist.
Speak of you in words unfathomed.
You’re a new creation.
Mine.

Consume me.

Refuse me.

Use me.
I want to find myself in you.

The bass was here.

I remember
late nights,
phone pressed against my cheek.
Your whispers lit my soul and I awoke.
I saw myself in your smile,
heard my voice in your heartbeat—

but found the strength on my own.
I needed to believe you.
You liked being needed.

But here I am,
digging up flowers
amidst headstones— I couldn’t let this rest.

But there you are,
a wandering tourist just looking for a home.
And I, a speed bump.
You tripped—
while trying to catch the Sun.

I’m sorry my attractions weren’t worth capturing.
You were too scared to use the camera slung around your neck—
what if you dropped it?
Well, it broke anyway.

I gave you too long to be honest & overstayed my welcome.

The bass was here.

We live in different worlds, but found each other in our past.
You liked Woodrow Wilson,
                                                             I should have known it wouldn’t work out.
I found myself in poetry
                                              

                               you taught me that.
Couldn’t you see I was new at this?

You didn’t want to repeat history—

you never gave me a chance.

Time tables turned— turn tables over time.
You twisted your essence to fit my definition—
                                                               you

                                                               loved
                                                            

                                                                how

                                                                 this

                                                                 felt.
To finally be on the other side.

The bass was here.

Your lies became the music I danced to, alone in my room
I loved how we sounded together.
But I never listened to the lyrics
space,

                                     time,


less.
The bass was here.
I didn’t mean to make you leave.
The base was here.
You
were
here.

Word is bond, but your words
left me bonded. Blinded.
Like my horoscope— I used to believe in you.

[Hi(s]tory) changed when the planets aligned and she became
i
l
   l
     u
       m
          i
            n
              a
                t
                  e
                    d.
His home.


History still repeats for me.

Distance played a part in this equation—
       you never let yourself get close.

But you got close enough to save me.

The bass was is here.
It just sounds different now.

The bass makes me weak.

                                      All I knew
                         was that I wanted to know
                                 e v e r y t h i n g

                   about you.

Caress the inner corners of your mind, with mine.

Hold your hand
               as if to learn
                      something new
                                        about myself.

Second period— I only knew what I had heard—

you smiled, eyes twinkled, brown met blue.

Never had I been so grateful for assigned seating.

                                                       ­                               You never
                                                           ­                              would have chosen
                                                                                                                                     me.

Our whispers became muddled by “shhs”
as others tried to hear the teacher
over our l a u g h t e r

this was my favorite part of                                              us.

But here I am
                   in over my head,
out of my league.

I can’t remember ever not wanting

                                                        ­                        you.

But there you are,
                    sharing your heart with her.

I thought that year would never end.


I never left your side.
We talked every night.
I hope you don’t  mind,

                      I

f
   e
   l
l

                     for you.

I’m sorry I’m so inconvenient.
I tried to be what you needed.
You only wanted a close friend.

They say,
that a girl and a guy cannot stay friends because one will eventually fall for the other.

“Eventually” came quick with you.


The bass makes me weak.

You were the
f
i
r
s
to break down
           the walls
                         I cowered behind.
unclog the arteries
                                                       of my
                                                   w i l l
                                           and
                                   beg me into
                                   e
                                    i
                         ­          n
                                   g
You tricked me into believing I was worth knowing.

We fit like two words in a crossword puzzle—

not obvious at first but it makes sense in the end.

You know me better than I know myself.
                     I have dreams
                                                          ­                         that play
                                                            ­                hopscotch
                                       ­                         on the corners of my mouth,
                                                          ­                  when they see you

they float.

                                                         ­           when you smile

they fly kites.

The bass makes me weak.

I almost lost you, twice.
Due to
           tripped up tongues,
                              too much waiting,
                                                & “friends.”


You can’t use that you never knew as an excuse.

The bass makes me weak.
You never even gave me a chance.
The bass makes me weak.
You
make
me.

the distance between you and I was
                          the distance of our proximity to
                          our emotions—

                                       I was too close.

You fall for girls who don’t want you

I’ve convinced myself that’s why you haven’t fallen for me.

I want to be your definition of amazing.
I want to move you like earth quakes rumble the Earth
when they dare show off their beauty.
I want to make you question everything yet bring you clarity, all at the same time.
I want to get to know you.
The you that you’re free to be when you’re alone.
I want us to be like the eye of a hurricane because even in this whirlwind of life,
                                                                    we’ll make beauty.
I want to have the privilege of growing old with you and the honor of calling you mine.
I want you to shatter every belief I’ve ever held
                                              and help me pick up the pieces
                                                                                and create harmony.
I want the planets to dance to the ineffable melody
of our heartbeats becoming one.

I want you for as long as you’ll let me.

I want to spend every night tucked between the sheets, enveloped in your scent.
I want your arms generously graced around my body
and the thought in our heads that if we ever let go, we’d lose part of ourselves.
I want to kiss the outlines of your smiles and we’ll call it dimples.

I don’t know who you are yet, but I want you.

And I’m sorry I want so much.