icouldneverquite
get you down on
paper. iknewyour
favorite band and
favoritemovie and
what you sounded
like when you slept
but ididnotknow how
to put the thumping of
yourheart againstthe rain
or the gravel of your voice
echoing in that soft spot right
below my ear into words. there
were gold ribbons streaming
from your hands always
always (weren't  there)
at least i think there were.
i only painted your outline once
in orange on a piece of cardboard
but it didn't fill my apartment the
way your laugh did so i covered
it with yellow rosebuds and
threw it in the dumpster
on my way to work.

please
move
slowly

when i was
little my
parents
said
i was
growing
like a ****
(and maybe
i still am) but
what if i want
to grow like
something
else?

funny that we
become stories in
other people's chests,
that we can spend days
weeks months years
centuries carving every
letter of every word that's
been spoken to us on the
inside of our ribs while
others are content to just
let the syllables fall in their
normal rhythms across their
lungs and no they wouldn't
mind if some of the words
caught on a bronchial tube
or two but it wouldn't be
the end of the world if
they didn't.

When Robin Williams
died I thought of you.
I wanted to call you
but I don't have your
number anymore. It's
816-248-something. It
has to be that because
you have T-Mobile and
here they're all 816-248
but I can't remember
the last four digits. You
don't like to talk on the
phone so I never learned
your number. I'm not
sure what I would say
to you if I were to get in
touch with you or run
into you at the grocery
store. Maybe I would
tell you I hate you I miss
you I can't understand
what made you think that
what you did was going
to turn out okay for me
or her or even you. God
just please tell me you're
sorry you were such an
awful human being.

strained vocal chords
are merely the very
beginning of attempts
of telling myself
that i am worth more
than this. i am messy
and jumbled and i
will never do my
dishes within two
days of using them
or wash something
other than my socks
and underwear at
the end of every
week or speak in
sentences that make
sense outside of
the corners of my
brain,
but that's okay.

listen,
i avoid your shows
and your friends
and your mom (and
god i loved your
mom more than i
loved you, i think)
and i have even
stopped going to
target in case you
might be working.
i'm so tired of
going out of my
way to be normal.

do you dream
about me-
no lipstick left
and wild hair?
i hope i am
swallowed by
golden light in
all of them,
that you are only
able to see me in
the wilderness,
that you wake up
with a pain in the
middle of your
sternum where i
used to run my
fingers while we
watched movies or
listened to the rain
under your covers.

blue haze, i
wanted your
hubbabubba
chewed up
dreams, but
now i feel
like i am
drowning
in a garbled
mess of blue
blue blue
blue bluer
than your eyes
(no not
drowning-
you would
find that too
dramatic) i
am choking
on bits of you
that keep
surfacing on
my tongue.

at the end of the
day i am just a girl
who wears red lipstick
and watches too many
movies to be considered
sociable.
please  know  that if  it
ever comes down to it
i will still pick you.
regardless of what
you did to me, it
will always be
you.

most of my favorite songs have
become  prisons.  i  can  hear
the sound of you humming
beneathe every line and i
swear  i  c a n  feel  your
nose pressing into my
neck   w i t h    each
passing    chorus.

occasionally i feel a
need to draw you,
to paint the veins in
your arms, to write
you into the margins
of other things i'm
working on. but i let
it sit, i let it stew just
on the edge of my
fingertips and pulsing
in the palm of my
hand until it is less
of an oncoming train
and more like a paper
plane on a playground.
i draw myself, i paint
myself, i write myself
into the margins instead.

go       d    
at       the
        end       of the      
        night i       am  just      
     looking       simply        
             f o r       someone      
who talks       like      y o u

i feel less like
chunks of me
a r e     falling
into  the river
that i  so very
love.     thank
y  o  u    f  o  r
walking away
from what we
could    h a v e
b e e n.  i   a m
w o r t h   t h e
entire     s k y-
every   star  in
the milky way
-and   i f   you
couldn't   s e e
that  then  you
shouldn'thave
been   allowed
to    c a l l   me
y   o   u   r   s  .

i just wanted to be a vine
growing up between your
lungs so that when you
breathed you would feel
me there. not like a
tightness, no, but simply
brushing on the very
edges of your laugh or
rough sentences.

my favorite teacher in high school
told me that once  you step  in a
river, you and that river  w i l l
never   be   the   same.   and   i
wonder if we are  l i k e  that
with  each  o t h e r.  do  we
stamp our thumbprints on
people's  chests,  do   w e
never     f o r g e t      the
omnipresent    memory
ofthethings thatwere?
your  t h i n g s   are
swimming in  t h e
gulf of  mexico by
n o w,  i assume-
that     pathetic
letter a b o u t
h o w   y o u
d r e a m e d
you  would
losethelove
of your life
(   m   e   )
forever
(you  did)
is    soaked
and  bleeding
out of its creases-
but i  will  probably
always  remember  the
curve of your mouth and
the sharpness of your laugh.
i do not remember you fondly,
no never fondly, and i only ever
want  to  drink  another  virgil's
rootbeer if i can spit  i t  in your
face  afterward, but i'm  hoping
someday i will   bleed like your
words and god i  will   fly, i can
promise you that. you did   not
break me, you  only taught me
t h a t     hearts,   t h e y     need
styrofoam    fencing-     s o m e
padding but nothing like your
cement  b l o c k s-  and  that  i
deservebetter. ideserveorchids
a n d  sunflowers,   homemade
jam in the middle  of the night
because  us sleeping is out  o f
the question and jesus *******
c h r i s t i deserve a heart that
has nobarriers. i want to bethe
r i v e r,     stampeding    i n t o
someone's life like the scariest
thing they've  ever seen until i
have taught  them  everything
they   could   want   t o   know
a b o u t   the  ramones    a n d
fleetwood m a c  and painting
with  your  eyes  closed. i  just
want     t o    b e     t h e    river.

T h e r e  are images
of you blurred just on
the  very edges of  my
sight line.  My peripheral
is constantly catching you
fixing your glasses or watching
tv with one
arm resting on the top of your
head and the other reaching
out to  find me or messing
with  the  soul  of  your
loafers that couldn't
h o l d
themselves
together   after
eight years of traveling
this town with you.

why don't I have a real job how can i
be this scared to go back to school i
want to move away but i can't go to
portland like i wanted to because that
was ryan's thing i wonder if he'll still
move there will he take her or will they
break up before then or maybe they'll
get married and stay here because
eyelit is here which means i definitely
need to move away is he going to
propose with a banjo pick like he did
with me or will he get her a real ring
"you put that on the wrong finger" "i'm
not trying to do that yet" "did you hear
that megan he said 'yet'" i miss your
friends and your mom and i can't
stand that i'm not allowed to talk to
them anymore why didn't you pick me
why didn't you pick me why didn't
you pick me god you told me you
loved me you told me you wanted a
farm and kids and a garden why did
you do this to me i loved you so much
i could have filled the ocean with the
contents of my heart that belonged to
you i hate you i hate you i hate

if you were here i like to
think that i would yell, i
would scream (because
even after all of this i
haven't lost my will to
be boisterously loud) or
maybe I would hit you
(god I've never actually
put my hands on another
person unless it was soft
and meant "hey i love you
please don't leave me")
i just want you to feel the
thunderstorm tumbling inside
me how can i make you see
that how can i make you see
that how can i make you i
wanted to buy a house with
you, you ******* *******

I swear I've been doing really
okay.  I take  full breaths  and
I've  been sleeping  almost all
the  way  through   the  night.
I   don't  cry   w h e n   I  walk
through  the  l a s t  place  we
kissed  or  the   final    s p o t
where   you   told   me  you
loved me. I can watch your
favorite movie or listen to
yourfavoritebandwithout
falling apart. The antique
mall no longer turns me
i n t o   a   puddle   and
macaroni  and  cheese
only barely reminds
me  of  our   f i r s t
date. But last night
Kaitlyn and I went
to the  river  and I
stood in the same
patch of dirt where
I watched your notes-
all white and stark in the
moonlight-  begin  t h e i r
journey down south. I sat on
the big rock where Kaitlyn and
Chloe held my hands for what felt
like forever until my chest was rising
and falling  like normal (two months
ago almost to the date but god how
was  it not yesterday?) and  there
were  simply stars stars stars as
f a r  as I could  see, and t h i s
little,     tiny,     insignificant
piece  of  me  missed  you.

you  liked   t h e
way  i   pronounced
"bloodflood,"  all  clean
syllables,  made  me  say
it­ three times for you while
you ate  your  sandwich.  you
said you mostly  mumbled  and
thought no one could understand
you but, god, i did. every eyebrow
wiggle had a  paragraph  beneathe
its surface, every smile was a  song
you   hadn't    written    yet,   every
thumb  stroked  on my cheek was
a promise of forever. you always
made   perfect   sense   to   me.

you made   me feel
like a house full  of
sunlight, a handful
of   lilies,  a  willow
tree in a  light  rain
shower.  thank you
f o r   loving  me  as
m u c h  as you  did.

i wanted it all- your
picket fence promises
and the daisies on the
last   digit   of   your
f   i   n  g   e   r   s

I  wonder  how  many
lifetimes I  have  lived
where    y o u    h a v e
****** me  over. How
many   centuries have
I   loved   you,   have  I
known your fingertips
better  than my  o w n,
have   I felt  t h a t  you
w e r e   my  answer in
everycrackand crevice
of  my  body?  In  what
life  will  you  get your
*******  ****  together?

y  o  u
a l w a y s
told    m e    i
was too  skinny
but no no no i am
beautiful, i am strong
(stronger than i used to
imagine i  could be)  and
my heart is still thumping
like   it   has   been   for   all
these   centuries   i've   lived
even after losing you, even
after feeling like i wasn't
enough  to   make  you
happy.    b u t    jesus
c h r i s t    i    w a s
enough     i    was
enough   i   a m
e n o u g h   .

i saw your mom
today (god she looks
just like you) but i
didn't stop to say
anything to her. i'm
not sure how much
she knows now. your
band played today but
i left before it started
because i don't know
what i'm allowed to
tell your friends. you,
just you, are playing
tomorrow (this festival
is foxlin's yearly big
break) and i'm going
to close my windows
so tight, stuff my fingers
into the open cracks,
so that none of your
melodies travel the two
blocks to my living room.
i wonder how many
songs you'll play
that are about me.

I    have    been
trying too hard
to  dim the  fire
burning between
my lungs and I'm
getting    tired    of
the water my efforts
have   l e f t    sizzling
over   m y   stomach

sometimes my mouth was too
sharp, my  tongue  was  too
fast, my eyebrow would
arch just a bit too high
and  you  would  get
that    slow   smile
I    loved,    s a y
"whoa    there,
sassafras."

i barely  dream  about
your  fingers  i  barely
dream  about    y o u r
fingers i barely dream
a b o u t  your  fingers

what
do  you
do     now
that    i    am
not                 a
part                    of
your                       life
do                          your
hands                    feel
the                 same
do             your
hands   feel
the  same

there is something serene
about  being  held  under
t h e pressure of an ocean
of a year's  worth of your
words.      i       sunk      in

                               quickly,

my only goal  b e i n g to
find the bottom in hopes
that  the  answer  to   a l l
your  problems might  be
down  there  somewhere,
but instead it  w a s thick
and   dark   and   when  i
looked back  i could  just
barely seethesunthrough
the   water.  n o w   i   am
s        t         u        c         k
in bubbles and blurs and
i swear all these canyons
down herearewhispering
sentences  o f   yours  i've
b e e n  trying   to  forget.
"you are  m y  light at the
end  of  the   t u n n e l . "

you made me
want to go

slower,

breathe
deep er,
notice the
dots you get
on your   face
when  you  need
to shave or the small
fluttering in my chest
when you just said simple
things like "chill out" or
"yeah?" and now i only
want to speed up my
hours   until  i  feel
like   i  can   walk
without my legs
r e m i n d ing
m e        o f
y    o    u
.

you
used
to look
at me like
i  had  been
plucked out of
the sky by some
magnificent being
just for you, like my
heart   was   n o t   an
abandoned  house, like
my fingertips could spell
out your  future  in the air
right before your eyes. god
what if i never find another
person  who will  love  me
the same  way you  did?

i think
i've forgotten
how to write.
they say you're
supposed to push
through that, but i
keep writing the
same thing over
and over again. i
can only say "holy
**** i miss you" in
so many ways. i
used to say it in
laced fingers and
lingering forehead
kisses. now i say it
in every syllable of
every word i've
posted on the
internet in case
you might see
them (aside from
the fact that they
would otherwise
drown me in my
sleep) and in
desperate
searches
for notes
that i just
maybe didn't
grab when i
threw out the
final pieces of
your things last
month. i don't
know how to
do this, Ryan.
i can't do this.

one year ago was
the conversation
(you know the one)
abouthowyouknew
were were meant to
be together. i had
thought this would
get easier but lately
i've been missing the
wayyouusedtosqueeze
my arm   and   tell me
something beautiful.
i wish i could ask
you to come back
to me but i know
you'll pick her
every time.
i'm sorry
i loved
you as
much
as i
did
without warning.
i hope
someday
your heart
will find mine
again,   though.

i
can
only
write
about the
tsunami  in
my  v e i n s  so
many times before
the  words      stop
being real to me

as much as i don't have my ****
together (as much as i forget to
do my dishes or take out the
trash or breathe regularly) i
would have figured myself
out for you,   would have
taught myself to be tidy
and small, would have
studied   the    art    of
going  a   f u l l   day
without  having  a
panic       attack,
would   h a v e
read   up   on
how  to  get
myself  out
of bed and
i n t o  the
s h o w e r
every  day.
i     haven't
watered my
plants   since
the  first  week
o  f      j  u  n  e.

there is a hurricane
flooding into all of
my empty rooms.
the problem is that
i would rather be
quartered than live
with these weeds
growing up my
esophagus and this
tunnel in my stomach.
i thought it would
hurt less by now.

but susan
said "he thought
the world of you.
you could tell just
by the way he looked
at you" and i'm pretty sure
all my resolve is melting with
every second that my heart is
trying to find a new home.

you always said it
reminded you of
coming home after
your fiancée cheated
on you. today it
reminded me of your
fingers and my favorite
ring. i listened to take offs
and landings the whole
way home. i pinched my arm
through the entire distance
of edwardsville. i drove
in the center lane and
went through smog of
me saying i would have
waited thirty years for you.
i wish there was a
different way home
from lawrence.

i
am
s  o
sorry
that   i
couldn't
help you
find  your
way    back
to your heart.

how do i learn to forget the ups and downs of your speech, the soft pressure of your fingers dragging down my skin, the promises at the end of your sentences and the hints of forever seeping out of the cracks in your dusty brick walls? at the end i think there were only a few spaces where you let me see you, let me in. i just wanted to be enough for you.

I love that every time
you hear that word-
wholeheartedly- a
switch will flip in your
brain (a Megan Switch,
if you will) and you will
think of me telling you
why I love that word,
think of my laugh,
think of my unstrong arms,
think of that note you
wrote me just two months
ago (the same note that I
ripped to shreds and
threw in the Missouri River
with the rest of your things,
watched the pieces flutter
in the 3 am air before they
began their journey to the
Gulf of Mexico) with that
sentence scribbled at the end.
"I love you wholeheartedly."

I had a
dream last
night that I
told you I
wish you
had picked
me but that
it hurts to
breathe the
same air as
you these
days and
you kissed
my fingers
in retaliation.