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?

you are still where i see
myself in thirty years -
your clouds and long
arms - but, god, i am at
least trying to find
something in someone
else until your joints
start speaking my name
with your steps again.

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.

i like that you make
me drive slow, that
you remind me to
take smaller steps,
that you do not hold
me like you're at all
worried i'll fall apart
in your grasp.

i'm hope someday that
i will turn into a willow
but tell me how does one
grow up to be a tree?

i
keep
thinking
you   should
be    taking    up
spaceinmyapartment,
claiming a side of the bed
and the couch, getting    up   in
the middle of the night for a glass
of water. becauseyoumake sense here
in the  soft  afternoon  light  of my living
room, in my  hands, in  my  heart. it's like i
had   been  running  for   so  long  that  i  had
forgotten how to   stop   my legs until you came
along, until you reminded me of what it was like
to           pull               air               through           the
e  n  t  i  r  e  t  y          o  f          m  y        l  u  n  g  s
and not just into the first  two  inches, until you
told me that you think i can be doing so much
more- that i deserve  a  life  bigger  than the
city limits of this missouri town. you are
endless possibilities and unfathomable
potential,   the  slow  simmer    to my
constant  movement.  please don't
stop loving my weak arms and
the heart i have    patched to
my   sleeve.  please    don't
forgettocomebacktome.

today was the type
of day I know you
love and if you had
been around (and we
were the kind of
normal we used to
be) we would have
stood at the big doors
side
by
side
and watched the drops
run down the length
of the windows and
you would have leaned
down close, whispered
"I wish we were out in
that" and squeezed my
arm the way I liked.
I miss you.

******* i know
i have definitely
given you more
than you probably
deserve but i am
somehow still
never enough
never enough
never enough
never enough
never

we are destiny
we are fate
we are- what do people call it?
soulmates?
no not soulmates but something else
that translates to "meant for this"
something that stands for "I cannot break from you, please don't leave me"
I don't want to build a life with
anyone else

I haven't figured out how to
even begin to sew myself
back together because
I swear there are
pieces  o f   me
scattered all
over  this
town.
I
think
I  l e f t
most   of
them   o n
y o u r  front
porch yesterday
but then there are
some in Lawrence and
Overland Park and I don't
know how to find them. I don't
want to be happy with someone else,
Ryan. You are the only person who has
ever looked at my  heart  (so mangled
and disfigured by hollow promises)
and still wanted to keep it. I will
never  ask  for  it  back,  I  can
guarantee you that, so you
might as well get used to
the sound of it aching
for you from under
your bed and in
the    back    of
your closet.

god, all this air is
so thick. i've been
dormant for too long
i fear. i have not hit you,
hated you, told you how
badly you ****** me up
to your face yet but lord
you did. you turned me
into somekindof outline
with blurred edges and
creases that just won't
flatten. i wanted to be
yellow andgreen and
red comingoutofmy
seams but you took
that all away from
me, you disgusting
excuse for a human.

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  .

everything inside me you
had sewn up i tore open
again. my god, come back.

i hope someday someone fixes you
(not fixes you,  really, that  word is
too  harsh)    i  hope  someone  will
love you enough for    you    to love
them back, for those gaping   holes
in your stories,inyour chest,inyour
futurethatyoualreadyhaveplanned
out to be sewn up tight and secure.
i hope  someday   you  let  someone
help  you  g e t  your  ****  together,
that you want to make it work     so
badly that you grovel, that you beg,
that you spit  your  guts  out  on the
sidewalk outside their house just to
prove    your point. i hope someday
y   o   u   '   r   e          h   a   p   p   y   .

I
slowly

secretly

etched
my name
into the
skin on
the back
of your
forearm.
You can't
escape me.

You only want
what you want
and I can only
give you what
you allow me.
But, god, I
have so much
more to offer.

i only  ask  that you do
not forget  my  laugh
and the smell of my
shampoo,       m y
ticklish   thighs
and the  s o f t
f e e l i n g of
m y  mouth
on     your
m o u t h

the last time you left my apartment
back in may i had so much trouble
turning the doorknob after you
had  been  the  last  to  wrap
your   fingers   around  it
t h a t  i almost didn't
leave     for     work.
now i  c a n  barely
sit on my couch
or stand by the
kitchen door
or  pick  up
mysuitcase
or    touch
my own
s  k  i  n
in   the
s po ts
y  o  u
have.

We've been talking
for longer than normal
and it feels sometimes like
there are bits of my heart
dripping onto my stomach
and I'm worried you can
see the warmth spread to
my face from the
sensation. I'm torn between
telling you and letting
this be a secret I share with
only my insides.

I spread out everything I had inside
of me on your living room
floor
in small, neat stacks.
I said
fix me
fix me
fix me
please
but you didn't know
how.

But
I
wasn't
enough.
And I'm not surprised.

I hope you think of me in
typewriter font. I want to be
stamped across your skin so
everyone will know that you
call yourself mine. I have
branded your initials into
every vertebrae of my spine
(can you feel it when you run
your fingers down my back?),
sewn your name into the collars
of my jackets, tattooed your
fingerprints on my neck. All
that I am belongs to you.

you are sea salt and pine
needles, the lingering scent
of cigarettes and my shampoo.
i am used to being stuffed full of
an image of who people wished i
was but you simply take each
piece of me like it is more
magnificent than the
last, like i am
somehow
made
of
something
more than skin
and bones and
aching lungs.

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.

And people like
you make me
want to know
God the way
I used to.

i like your nicotine
breath, a black lung
frenzy drawn in
and out at the base
of my throat

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.