all my poems have stopped
sounding like poems and
just read like I'm trying to
write you the same letter
in eighty different ways.

i am in love with the
messesstickysweetgum
glued to my windpipe
please destroy me with
promises and feed me
forever's straight from
the palm of your hand
because i will store them
when you have given
up already and moved
on i swear i will still
hear them rumbling
from under my bed after
you are long gone

i miss your drunken
"i love you"s   please
just    c o m e    back
i'm     starting       t o
forget    what    your
hands feel l i k e  i'm
startingtoforgetwhat
your hands   feel like

i cannot shake
you because
you are in my
bone marrow
and my every
thought. we
are old love.

I have become
a secondary
whisper at the back
of your
mind. You,
however, I've been
unable to peel from
my frontal lobe since
some time at the end
of June.

If you're reading this
if you're   seeing this
if you're hearing this
just  know   that  this
is  about that   t i m e
(the        last        time)
you grabbed my face
with  both   hands  in
the    stockroom   and
kissed me.  Just know
that t h i s is about the
first night  I fell asleep
in  that bed with your
nose pressed  into my
n e c k       and  how  I
haven't    slept    since.
Just    k n o w    this  is
about how the curve of
your     bottom    lip    is
imprinted   in  the   back
of my dreams on the rare
nights  that  I  do,   about
how  I  like to   r u n   my
fingers  on  my    forearm
because if I     f l e x     it a
certain way it feels a little
like    yours.    Just   know
that this is about the parts
of me I let   you  have and
how I don't   w a n t  them
back,  about  how  I  really
have been  trying to move
on but it's  g o t t e n     me
nowhere  except  dead end
roads or  t r a i l s  that stop
with  me  not  being able to
sleep in my   bed   anymore
because  I  shared  it     with
someone  who  wasn't  you.
This is about how I am still
in    love    with   you,   will
always be in love with you,
cannot  figure   out  how  to
stop being in love with you.
If     you're      reading    this
if   you're   s e e i n g       this
if     you're       hearing    this
I  miss  you.  C o m e    back.

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.

i swear i  felt     y o u



deep


in                          my
chest      before i met
you, like all the time
i  thought   i     w a s
staggering on      for
him i        was really
justheadedtoyou, to
where my feet never
lose            their grip
and the  ends of  my
fingers  won't forget
what your  face feels
like    in   the earliest
hoursofthe morning.
you   h a v e   tied    a
string around        my
lungs    a n d    trailed
it all the   way  across
the ocean with     you,
looped your promises
every twenty miles or
so along the  way so i
have  no choice but to
follow you to find out
where they     end and
w h e r e    we    begin.

hush now
how can
you stand
the noise
you've put in
our ears please
just come
home

the other night
you said you
claim
me- and vise
versa- but tell
me how you
can call
someone your
own but also
not want them?

I have enough
money to run
away to a pretty
city but for some
reason I'm still
here.

I fell in love with the way you slept-
the way you murmured and
reached out for me, your fingers
finding the tender spot behind
my ear and pressing until I could
feel my heartbeat blending with yours.

i am an expert at
unrequited love.
i like to eat it for
breakfast in the
early morning
light of my
kitchen with a
spoonful of sugar
to help it go down
easier.

god help me i want to believe
that i am      something worth
holding somethingworthgold
or   silver   something   worth
rippingthethreadsaround the
edges of your heart  i used to
believe i was the sun and   all
itssiblingsbutnow i am afraid
i  will  only   ever   b e   bones
s  t  r  e  t  c  h  e  d  andheldso
tightly under too pale s k i n  i
want to  wrap  my  thin  arms
around you   until you think i
am  t h e  holy land until your
two breaths to my one  are  in
s  y  n      c  o      p  a     t  i  o  n
until   we     are   whole   again

t h e      s u n       i s
about    to       come    up
where  you are   and i miss the
morning  grouchiness  that  comes
before your first cigarette of the day,
the   smell  of  my  shampoo   in  your
hair,  your  sleepy  face  buried  into
every warm crevi­ce of   m y   body

and I'm not
religious
but you're
the closest
I've ever
come to what
people call
Heaven

and while you may have
known my favorite poet
and what i watch when
i'm sad you did not know
my heart, did not
understand its cadence,
never took the time to
listen to the way it
whispered your name
into the outermost layer
of my lungs so that i
could breathe it out
when i spoke to you.

i shot off rockets into the sky months ago
that burst into words to  remind me to
keep going     keep breathing     keep
holding my heart   higher than the
river of   y o u r   hands that was
flooding down  m y  street and
threatening   to   break  down
my  door.  i  put all  my  best
pieces in aboxandsentthem
to myself    (cc: my closest
friends)   and i am ready
to get them back, to put
my    h e a r t   on   my
sleeve where i have
always  kept it,  to
have you   f e e l
from across this
town that you did
not break me, did not
damage   me,  did   n o t
destroy my gumption or my
eagerness to take on the world,
did not make me into something
i am not.   i am a    worrier but    a
w        a        r         r        i         o         r
and  i  will  not  stop  going  until  my
head is quiet and my hands are still.
and  this  thing you  did  to me- this
supposedly life altering thing- will
just be a soft  reminder  of  only
the  climb i  made  to get  me
back    to    where    i    am.

(I)
god i don't know if we'll ever
match up quite like we did then
when you were just skin and a
pair of boxers under my hands
and you smelled like cold
chicago air

(II)
i packaged up
my heart after
the last time, after
him, and i was trying to
mail it to myself but i think
some part of it got mixed up
with the cd i sent you so did it
end up at your doorstep did
you put it in your pocket
did you slip it in an
envelope marked
"RETURN TO SENDER"
because if you do not
want it i would like
it back

the inside of your mind must
be a beautiful place but you
never let me in, never let
me see, never let me
learn, never never
never

And while others were a

match dropped

down

my

throat

you are a rush

of cool air- the kind that

comes during the quiet time

between fall and winter-

seeping into every inch of my

skin and settling

softly

on my bones.

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.

i was fine   before you so i
will survive after you, but
it's  just  that   i'm   having
trouble figuring out  what
parts of me have    always
existed     and  what  parts
are         your         creation

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."