I have been letting people
dig in deep and take out
chunks of me for their
bookshelves for far too long
now. I cannot make
them stop. So I always
love more
I always love
I always

I love you because I
can't find a way to
make your words
into something
more beautiful
than they
already
are.

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.

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 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 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.

back the first time you said "I'm not
worried because I know our story
isn't even close to finished"
and I didn't believe you.

I still don't
believe
you.

Today I am glad that you
will never look at me that
one way- like I am made
out of gold or something
they scraped off of the
surface of the moon, like
I am every answer to
every question you could
have possibly had- again.

we let these valleys run deep
in our veins with no questions
anymore. it has become second
nature to know these winds,
to hear the song the leaves sing
before a storm rolls over the
hills on the other side
of the county.

i always thought my
eighteenth year would be
the last i would know the
rustle of the pampas grass
in the early morning or the
way the snow settles deep
over everything beyond our
property. now twenty-three
draws nearer quicker than
a younger version of me
could have ever imagined
and i feel it tightening in
my chest with each passing
day, that small town desire
to find the things i've been
left out of for two decades.

mama used to say i had
the universe in my bones,
told me she thought i
would explode from it, said
just yesterday that there is
a longing inside me that
she doesn't think will ever
be tamed. i never thought
the midwest sun could hold
me, yet i keep bowing at her
feet, keep begging her to
swallow me. maybe if i stay
a while longer it will be
enough to carry with me.

i wonder how much home
i can soak up before i go.

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.

i have been trying to
lose you in his hands
but i think i am finding
myself there instead i
think i am finding
myself there instead

rocket ships and
blooming flowers,
i feel as though i've
gargled with shampoo
but in a good way where
i'm fizzing from the

inside

                                     out,

all the way

up
my
throat

and through my nose. i
have been finding myself
in the cracked porcelain of
my shower, in his
laugh                                          
             ­                             lines,
in my mother's

smile             smile
smile

for me please. didn't
i used to love to be here
for a lens why would
i have ever hated my
own mouth?
there is so much
b e a u t y
in these curves and
cr ev ic es.
i am so proud to be
the owner of these

hands

and of these

hips

thank god i am back thank
god i am back

l i k e      t h e      g l a s s
bottles on my bookshelf
you havemade yourself
a permanent  and dusty
home. i used to hate the
smell  of   my   skin  and
the shape of my   mouth
butyouhaveneverlooked
at me  like i am anything
less than a human being,
anything less than  gold,
anything less than   god.
i   have been yours since
we were fifteen,    i have
been     yours    since we
w e r e             f i f t e e n.

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.

and while you were
a willow he is an oak,
a redwood, a maple,
a sequoia- the mightiest
tree- standing humbly
and unassuming in my
background until i
stumbled over one of
his roots and decided
to follow them back to
find leaves that were
so sweet, so smooth,
so familiar on my tongue.

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

I've forgotten how to write
a poem that isn't about the
way your hands feel on my
waist, or the shiver I get
just thinking about you
breathing and whispering into
my ear until your words
turned into my dreams, or
the way I think I hear "forever"
beneath all your sentences.
My god, you have torn out
everything I used to have
inside me and kissed it until
all the missing pieces started
to grow back, sewed the gashes
that spelled "UNWORTHY"
on my heart. You are the most
beautiful thing I have ever had
the opportunity to call mine.

Shhhh
listen.
I can feel you
leaving
and you're
still here.
I've known this
for a while
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.

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

I
slowly

secretly

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

though i  k e e p    thinking i should
be    kinder, i should care more, i
should give more but h o w do i
do that when i give    from the
inside out, reach all the way
down to the      bottom   of my
stomach and    dig  out anything
anything anything     that might be
of use or want until   i   am    scraped
raw and uncontentingly           empty.
but if you want more i will   f i n d  it.
i will     stretch my arm further, i will
pull out every     inch   of whatever is
left in there if you need it that  badly.

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.

******* how did you
make me never want
to be touched touched
touched please do not
look at me please do
not breathe near me i
used to crave hands
like they were homes
and i was traveling the
country but now i can't
imagine someone ever
putting their palms on
me or near me i've
been stopping to make
sure all the air intended
for my lungs has been
making it there but i'm
struggling with it every
day when will i be okay
when will i look at another
person and not try to find
you in their laugh lines
and unshaved face when
will i be sewn up from
the inside out i think you
ripped out all of my
stitching a long time ago

my journal is two
inches thick with
words about your
eyes and I wonder
if you love me
that much.

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.

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.

the hill dips down deep
behind our house, stretches
out to touch the creek and
runs itself right up to the tree
line. when i was sixteen and
i wanted to die i would come here
and beg the sky to tell me why i
wished my skin would fall off,
why i couldn't bare the sight
of my own hands. i used to
think the ground would
just soak me up,
wouldn't it, if i stayed
there long enough. but
katie always found me, always
yelled for kerstyn to scoop
me from the heap i had
created out of myself and take
me to my room before mom
wandered upon me, the brim of
her shirt filled with blackberries
and her fingers stained.

but now i lay here and i
fill my eyes with sky
and sunlight, think about how
thumbs is buried not too far
off, think about how every once
in a while i'm sure i've caught a
whiff of the fur around her neck
when the wind shifts just right. i
let the leaves trace my body
and crunch under the weight
and pull of my fingers
and i
breathe breathe breathe
until i remember that i no
longer have to force myself to
do it. is this what normal feels like?