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.

My heart feels way
too heavy for my
ribs to hold and I'm
just waiting for it to d








                                                      r­op.

it has been ten months three weeks
and five days   since   the last time i
spoke words that  were meant only
for your ears and i   am doing okay.

we have wandered to these parts
(yeah, 'these parts,' mim, that's what
we call that here in kansas)
because you said this was the only
place the sky could almost touch you
if you stretched your fingers far enough.
when we reach the top of the hill
you climb up on a rock that seems
impossible, shout nasty words
because you don't think anyone can
hear you way up here. the sun
starts to slip toward the horizon
and you turn to me with a pink
reflection in your eyes, tell me to
reach my hands up until i can't
reach any further.
oh, this is a good one. you feel that? you feel that?
i look at you, your arms far above
your head and eyes closed, your
skin honey colored in this light.
*yeah. yeah i can.

it smells like
chicago and deep
breathsofyouthaticould
not get enough of,     l i k e
a thanksgiving spent playing
with your hair     while you took
a nap on your grandma's      couch,
like  exploring   your   mouth  on  top
of the parking garage on black friday
between  my two shifts at work, like
telling you goodbye  in my favorite
coffee shop while you drank your
black tea and made promises
promises   promises   that
even then i knew you
could never keep.

orange marmalade
gooey on our fingertips,
sweet on your lips. i say
i could spend all day feeding
you toast and honey but no
no only cookies you tell me.
the warmth from behind your
knees runs through my thighs
and i think i could get used to
the way the sun turns your
skin as golden as your heart.

how
m a n y
times   d o
i have   to tell
myself  it's  okay
to feel like there is an
entire tree growing inside
me  before  i  actually  accept
it

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.

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

I remember the first
time we kissed in
your living room on
one of the hottest
days in June. You
spun me in a circle
to the sound of that
new French record
you had just bought
and then you pulled
me to you
quietly
gently
and with a fire in every
crevice of my body
I said, "You're
tall. I like that." You
ran your thumb down
my ear, whispered,
"I like you" into my
forehead.

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.

******* 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

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.

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 know that you tried
so hard but leaps and
bounds only mean
something if what you
land on isn't scrap metal,
isn't the hammer and
nails you used to spell
"MEGAN YOU ARE
BEAUTIFUL" on every
wall you knew I could
see until there were no
blank surfaces left and
I wasn't paying attention
anymore and you decided
to tear the words down
because I took them for
granted. I'm so sorry I
thought the ways you
knew how to love me
weren't right.

it took me so little time to learn
your syllables and cadences, to
memorize your  vowel sounds
and predict the next breath in
your  sentence  but  i  am
starting to forget and
it feels so good
feels so good
feels      so
good

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

If you'd let me
I'd stay on your
couch and listen
to your heartbeat
until I couldn't
hear anymore.

god, you
said something like
"this just makes our story
more interesting" and
up until that moment
I had thought you'd
given up on writing
new chapters with
me.

This is
not the
first life
I have
loved
you in,
nor is
it the
last.

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.

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.

You are
not the
only
one
who's
scared.
I
promise,
I promise.

and it was not
love at first
sight, but
it was love
at first chin stroked
by your thumb,
at first soft
kiss
in the middle
of your living
room, at first
morning waking
up with your face
buried in my neck