The other
night I was
                                        greedy
              ­                          selfish
                               ­         muddled
and I didn't know
how to say
                                       "I need you
                                        wrapped
             ­                           around me
                                        because I've
                                        been having
                                        trouble sleeping
                                        without you."
in a way that
wasn't desperate.
But desperate is
                                        what I was
                                        what I am
                                        what I will be.

Last night I just
needed you
closerclosercloser
but it felt like
you were so

                                                          far.

Finally you
grabbed me and
pulled me to your
chest and you
said, "God, why
was I trying to
sleep without
you right here?"

There's so much pressure on
my chest and I can't figure out
how to make it into real words
that sound like "don't *******
text me after two years of silence
and just say 'hey whats up,' you
massive *******" except nicer.

Can't you just
have the same
thrumming in
your chest for
me that I have
for you?

Today my skin kind of smells like you and I'm trying to stay away from my shower.

And if you opened up my stomach you'd find it full of feathers that flutter every time I think of you breathing slowly into my ear until I was dreaming of you. I don't know how I'll be able to sleep again without you.

You came back (almost a year
on the dot) and you brought
your girlfriend and I realized
I could have never been for
you what she is. I could see
how similar we actually are
and how stable she is and I
absolutely couldn't see myself
going though life with you.
And that felt so good.

I learned I cannot play
the banjo and I haven't
heard of half the movies
on your shelves, but I
like the way your
voice sounds when
you tell a funny story
and how you
absently strum your
guitar and play with
my fingers at the same
time. I could have stayed
at your house for weeks.

Today my makeup
was gone by noon
and I didn't take a
shower and I only
slept for three hours
last night so my
eyes were extra
puffy and I ate too
much at lunch and
had an attitude the
next time we saw
each other afterwards,
but you still gave
me a hug and told me
it was valued at
twenty thousand
hugs and you still
told me I looked
beautiful even
though we both
know it wasn't true.
And I can't
                    stop
                             smiling.
So, thank you.

I'm trying to figure out what
lie to tell you (I was sick I
worked late I lost track of
time) because I don't know
how to tell you it made me
physically ill to think I
would have to sit and watch
you be red-faced and in
love and about to start this
brave journey with a girl
who isn't me.

I want to get over
the sound of your
voice on that hilltop-
smooth and quiet
and gliding into my
stomach like the best
ice cream I've ever
had. My heart has
had so much
          t
          r
          o
          u
          b
­          l
          e
finding a hiding
place outside of
your mouth.

I wasn't prepared for your
kind of love. It made my
hands burn and my teeth
throb and my chest could
never fill all the way with
your smell- like cigarettes
and toothpaste and old
spice- and sometimes I
think I can feel you but
I'm always
      always
      always wrong and it's
never you. And I think
maybe that's okay.

No matter how old we get Any
Man of Mine will always
remind me of you and teeter totters
and long curly hair pulled
back into perfectly parted
piggytails. I hope you
carry a little piece of me
wherever you go in life
(and you're going to go big
places, I'm sure of it) and
know that your heart
can always find mine
because you're the only
place my heart has had
any sort of safe home.

I'm finding I don't
have much to say
anymore unless
the sentence starts
with your name.

My feet
a   c   h   e
for streets
they haven't
yet walked
and I want
to feel
concrete on
my fingers,
catch the
breeze of a
crowd as they
cross the street.
I need to be
somewhere
too big to
get lost.

I want to walk on
runways but I can't
get past that spot
on my thighs
where they touch
and the crease in
my stomach keeps
me up at night
wondering if I
should have eaten
that should have
thrown it up
should have taken
another diet pill.
Probably not
probably
probably.

I'll never forget the way he smelled at the
park that first day in his flannel shirt
with the water dripping from his
hair. While he pushed me on
the swings, a cigarette in his
lips and the rain falling off
of him and onto my face,
he tip
          top
                tapered
across my rib cage
and into my veins.
His fingers felt like
they did the same
most quiet nights.

I think maybe
I loved you a
little bit. I knew
it then but never
told you. That's
okay, though,
because I think
you loved me a
little bit, too, and
never told me,
either.

If you have to be what
you eat I'll just have
those dandelions that
float away when you
blow on them, or a
yard of silk that
flutters in the wind. Just
anything to help me fly.

I tried to
write
a poem about you
but instead
I scribbled a
big, orange-ink blob
and I figured
that made
just as much sense.

I cannot find
solid ground
in you
anymore.

I miss the way
I layed
draped
across you
in your "cloud bed"
that night. You told me
about your stuffed Simba
toy and how you hid
him under your bed
so he would be close
to your heart.
Then you said,
"I want to keep you there, too"
for the same reason, I think.
And I told you,
"When I was little
I thought my
Mary Jane's
could turn me
into Cinderella."
And you didn't think
it was stupid.
I should have kept you.

I want to be
the ponytail holders
you find on your
bedside table
long after I've left
in the morning.

Tonight
it's foggy
and I'm
nostalgic for things
that haven't yet
happened.

Your hands felt
like home and
they told me things
you wouldn't with
your mouth

The problem is that
when I sleep I
lay like you're already
here

It's 4:36 am
and I've
spent
too many of the
past nights
at this
hour
remembering your hands.

I want fog and
red ears
that you'll pinch between
your fingers
to keep warm
and a cloud of your
breath
on my face.