I.
my friendship is yellow

my friendship is being your favorite color


II.
you are falling and you don’t realize until you hit the bottom and your fingernails have dirt underrate them from digging and digging because your skin has been white-hot burning for so long the air against your skin as you free fall felt like relief


III.
and i know i was alive once because i can still hear ocean waves crashing in my ears


IV.
flickering embers 

distorted by ***** wine glasses

you aren’t here

but i’m starting to think you never were


V.
through the swaying leaves of almost-summer,

not yet humid but enough to wear your favorite green sandals,

enough where you are not yet care-free,

but you can almost taste it

like strawberry juices dripping down your chin

I am not one to turn tragedy into poetry.
But may this once,
I will be selfish.
I will turn punches to the gut
into butterflies in my tummy
and I will write
about how ironic it is
that my dad,
giving me this brain
that has its signals crossed,
its white flags
disguised as rally cries,
also gave me this blood.
The one that pumps through my veins
and refuses to move forward,
to let me let go.
That my dad,
who gave me this home,
and who gave me this world
and then turned it into a war zone
gave me a body like a tree,
rooted, etched into by lovers hands
and blood like war -
violent, stubborn, refusing.

i do not want to remember you
as you are right now -
all sticks and stones
and broken bones,
a rough sketch of a person,
shaky lines as if the artist
was having a panic attack in the corner of a coffee shop.
tears fall onto the page and blur the lines
so i do not know where you stop
and the medicated beat of your heart begins.
you were a work of art,
a statue carved out of marble,
the universe took its time creating you
long hair like princess
but the strength of a warrior.
but as you lay in your bed,
diseases erasing you so aggressively
they tore a hole right through the page
and we cannot color you in as fast
as you are fading.
you are fragile,
a paper doll
turned into a sympathy card
*i'm sorry for your loss.

i want a drought.
i want the rain to stop hitting the roof like incessant knocks of a jehovah's witness
("have you been saved?")
you are unwelcome here.
i want a drought
because i don't think that my veins, running like rivers, my heart, swelling like a cloud about to burst with rain,
can handle one more phone call in the middle of the night,
one more stifled sob in the shower of an empty house.

on the day of my uncle's funeral,
(they called it a 'celebration of life'
but i've never seen a celebration
where there were so many people crying)
i thought that he would show a sign that he was here.
but it rained all day
and the only thing that i could hear over the noise
was his children crying.

a month ago, tucked into a booth at an italian restaurant,
my mom got the call that they were taking her off the ventilator the next morning.
i had never experienced the feeling of the world continuing to spin
until my mom was crying, my dad was praying, and families all around us
ate their pasta and drank their iced tea and laughed
while our family was falling apart.
the next day, it rained and rained
and stephanie passed away, as simple as a plug pulled out from behind a hospital bed, and a hand going cold.
when my friend took me for a drive,
so i could get out of the empty house,
so i could stop feeling like my throat was constantly on the verge of closing,
so close to suffocating, but never there,
the rain hit the windshield
and on any other day, i would've found it calming,
but it was mocking me.

today, your body lays in your bed, your arms so stick-thin that i don't think i will ever forget the shape of your bones,
your hands are too cold for your mother to hold any longer,
and your heart finally gave in,
and it is raining.
in little intervals,
like just when i think i am out of tears,
they come again,
sure as the setting sun,
hidden behind gray clouds.

so please,
rain, rain, go away.
let me breathe.
let me grieve,
let my eyes dry,
and let me go.

she gives me advice
and tugs at the corner of her mouth
some drugstore excuse for a smile
when i squeeze my eyes shut
because the tv
is ruining my dreams
she says things
i know are not true
but i act like she knows
more than me
she is so much
happier than me
act as if she has gotten saved
and i am still learning to swim
when i know
that she is no longer drowning
she is stuck at the bottom
of the ocean
inhaling the seawater
pretending it is oxygen
and she can breathe
just fine

some people
just aren't meant to fit
like jamming a puzzle piece into the wrong slot
we collided
and we exploded
and we burst
and then we started over
and all i do with you is /want/
i want you to like me
i want you to love me
i want you to kiss me
i want you to call me yours
i want you to come back
i want you to talk to me
i want you to say you're sorry
i want you to hug me
i want you to kiss me
nothing is enough for me
and maybe i'm too selfish but
how can you blame me
when i see your lips 10 months later
and i can still taste the chapstick you were wearing
the night you kissed me

My body is a palace.
And you snuck in, at 3 am,
a robber disguised as a martyr.
You upturned every table,
looked in all the places I showed you in secret,
touched every part of me,
but only left with the pieces
that made it impossible to pin the blame on you.

i am so sorry
about your loss.
i am so sorry
about your heartache.
i am so sorry
about everything.
this is not how a romantic story is supposed to conclude.
i am so sorry
that the doctors couldn't save you.
i am so sorry
that the bed is empty.
i am so sorry
because you were the glue.
i am so sorry
because you were far too optimistic
your heart was too full
your spirit was too high
for everything not to fall
apart around us
in the way that only a death this sudden can -
ripping everything in its path
to shreds -
rippling like a wave
my father crying in an italian restaurant,
kneeling at the edge of the bed and praying
pretending that i do not hear
the crack in my father's voice,
or the shaking grip my mother has on my hand.
if god exists,
i think he's a sadist.

a house is not a home
a house is not a home
a house is not a home
a house is not a home until you paint the walls with your insides
a house is where you can count 63 creaks of the bed in the room to your left on a night you cannot get out of your own head
a home is where your skin mixes with the person below you until you cannot pull yourself apart without ripping yourself to shreds
and you probably definitely love him, you tell yourself, and you count 47 creaks of your bed
where is your head?
he breathes into your neck
and you look at his walls, painted with his insides, this is his home
where is your home?
you are vagabond, choosing to take bits of everyone else you have glued yourself to in order to keep yourself whole
you use their late night whispers to build a temporary home
but keep yourself far enough that you can sneak out the back door without the walls collapsing in on you
(that happens after you are gone)
does it hurt?
your wallpaper is made up of other people's insides
where did yours go?

there is a boy in a big jacket inhaling and exhaling smoke as if it is easier to breathe than air
i want to throw up at the smell, the taste in my nose holds the fatigue of chemotherapy and malignant cells and "it got bad so fast"
i used to think cigarettes were romantic and poetic
the only person i ever saw with nicotine lodged between their teeth had alcohol coursing through his veins that was not his
and i loved him so i loved that little pack of cigarettes he kept in his back pocket
i want to throw up at the smell, the taste in my nose

there is soil underneath my fingertips
from ripping up flowerbeds
because when i dyed my hair red
the color of roses tainted with metallic blood
for you
you told me that it looked prettier
in her garden
the color of my eyes
is sandy, ***** like my name on your lips
but her eyes look just like the ocean
that i am desperate to reach every time the tide is high
you make yourself known with shaking hands
and unstable heartbeats
and the floorboards howl with every step you take
and yet
every time you feel i am getting too close
you remind me you are
*just visiting

you have cuts all over your hands
from stealing paper moons
to give to him
and the tears are like salt in your wounds
because you said he was like a fire
and every moon you gave him he burnt to the ground
and no, it wasn't his fault, he can't help the way he lights you up
and leaves a trail of ashes behind him
and no not tonight not tonight not tonight
repeated like a mantra in your head
because every time the sun went down
there was a monster in your bed
he crawled up from your nightmares,
your father thought he had put him to rest
his words grip you tight like a rope
an anchor that held you at the bottom of the sea
but his words tasted so sweet
you thought he was keeping you afloat

your hair was brown when i met you
and it was just long enough to spill over your shoulder
like hot coffee on a Monday morning.
he broke up with you in October
and you showed up 3 days later
with the split ends that always tickled my arm chopped off
and dyed an angry, passive-aggressive red
like some kind of statement, a confessional
because in 10th grade
ditching you at the movies
feels like he's just left you at the altar
and you started holding my hand
and losing sleep
over him
while i started falling in love
with you
*
365 days later
we aren't talking anymore
and i feel like i'm being suffocated
but then you text me at 11 pm
and i say, "we haven't spoken in months"
and you say, "he broke up with me"
and just like that
every shade of your hair
and the way it used to catch in the sunlight
fills up the gaps between my fingers
where yours used to be.
and when i see you the next day
your hair is shorter than it was in the summer
and it's dyed an official, goodbye black

they say not to set yourself on fire
to keep someone warm
but i am aware
that my bones are ablaze
my blood is boiling
and i can't feel the flames licking at my skin
i am spreading myself thin
engulfing myself in flames
that turn into a wildfire
i am dissolving in front of their eyes
but they are too busy
enjoying my warmth to notice
that i am crumbling into
hollow bones and cracked skin
a fragile frame that can turn into smoking ashes
at the slightest touch
so stay far enough way
to still feel my warmth
to keep yourself sane
but don't get closer
because i cannot risk
the burn

you say that i am your sun
because i am the center of your universe
and touching my skin gives you warmth.
i know that you are my moon
because you are always beside me when i am awake at 3 am
and you light my path home when i am stumbling
and drunk on you.
together we are an eclipse
one touch can send the whole world up in flames
i will always rise in the east
and set in the west
and we will never revolve around anyone else
but each other

i wish they were just sticks and stones
because you cannot fix a heart
like a broken bone
you cannot put it in a cast
and force it back into place
a smile is not a band-aid
it's a mask
you were wearing me down from the start
butterflies bursting through my heart
your heavy heart is not a home
just a place for your worn-down soul to roam
i don't cry anymore, you've stolen all of my tears
but i still feel those butterflies kicking when you're near
i'm drinking tea and crossing out your name
i'm picking petal off of flowers just to keep myself sane
i'm reading books you would hate
and staying up way too late
i guess winter brought you down
and spring was never enough
i am a star hanging off of a paper moon
and you are laying in your backyard with her
and looking right through me

the truth is you were never satisfied
because all you wanted to do was see me fight
but when you tried to steal my heart
i had already ripped it out of my chest for you
and when you threw words at me like daggers
just to see me cry
i was too lost in your eyes to hear
how much you hated me

you tell me i'm beautiful
and i don't feel anything
except maybe a little bit of resentment
you tell me i'm perfect
and i think about the coffee stained mug sitting in the sink
what did i eat today?
there are three wrinkled wrappers of leftover christmas chocolate in my trash can
you ask how i'm doing
and i wonder if i had any water today
no one ever told me
about trying to love someone
when you have an anchor tied to your ankle
do i feel nothing for you
or do i feel nothing at all?
is there a difference?

planets sprout from the ground
venus is picked up by a boy with nothing but good intentions
stars fall from the sky, and i reach out my tongue to taste them
i tell you i think we need to learn how to
dance in the stars,
tiptoe through the milky way,
tap dance along the constellations
we walk on ceilings here
and we sleep when the sun comes up
everything is backwards
upside down
flipped on its head
we walk on clouds
and we smile when we are sad,
and you tell me you love me
you have always loved me
you will always love me
everything is backwards.

i wish i was a cigarette
you had someone else buy for you at 7 eleven
i wish i was what you wanted to fill your lungs with
i wish i was more important to you than oxygen
even if just for a moment
i wish i was the one you'd turn to when you felt alone
and i was what ran through your veins when you were alone in the dark
i wish i was as lethal as nicotine, wish you were addicted to me
i wish i was the last *** in the carton,
the one you kept tucked deep in your pocket
because you loved it so much,
didn't wanna burn it up and turn me to ashes
you just kept me close to you
and twirled me between your fingers when you got fidgety
i wish you'd ignite me and watch me burn
if it meant your happiness
but you just ******* out and a way
like smoke into the night

all i know is
it's getting harder and harder
to pretend like
i'm fine with being your
just friend
when every time i pass you
and you smile at me
and your lips part
and your mouth opens
all i can think about
is slamming my lips against yours
until i cannot see the image of his lips touching yours
anymore
and you are bruised with my love
because all i know is
the evening you kissed me
last summer
by my front door
i felt every nerve ending ignite with fire
and i could hear music in my head
like a movie
and i couldn't get the taste of your chapstick out of my mouth for 3 whole days

i try to tell myself
i only fell for you so hard
because you were the first person to ever show me affection like that,
to ever hold my hand when i was anxious
or bring me chocolate when i had stomach cramps,
or skip class with me just to wander hallways
you were this far-gone kind of crazy,
like you were on cloud 9 and you could fly
and when i was with you, that's where i was too
but my cloud got heavier and yours stayed afloat
and i fell back to earth while you drifted away
and now i can't help but feel like
no one ever fit between the spaces of my fingers so perfectly
like yours did
i could never walk so casually, swing our intertwined hands and not care that everyone was watching us
and i pass you in the hallways and i get anxious,
because you say hello and it takes me so long register that it's you
that i don't even have time to say anything back
and she can tell that i am anxious, that i'm biting at my nail as if i am trying to rip it right off of my skin, so she grabs my hand
but it's a struggle to get it just right, and even then somehow it is not right
my arm is stiff and she's trying to help me forget what made me anxious
but all i can do is notice how different it feels and the ridges of her skin are not yours
and it feels nothing like you and
oh, god please just come back because i miss you and you are right there
but we don't talk like we used to and i doubt i'll ever get to kiss you again
and the seasons are changing and you were right there with me last year when this happened
said you understood, knew how the seasons change some people like they are leaves
i turn into the prettiest of colors in autumn, but i'm slowly slowly slowly falling down, breaking off and
dying
buried beneath all of this forewarned snow
they say it's going to be a harsh winter and i can't imagine anything being harsher than
memories of getting slapped in the face on christmas eve and
remembering panic attacks on new years eve, shaking and crying and trying to clean up my basement at 1 am
somehow this all seemed easier last year,
i didn't shake all the **** time and i didn't receive that pitiful look from my therapist and the depression seemed more manageable and i seemed less detached
but now i am beginning to realize
that without your hand to hold,
the spaces between my fingers are going to swallow me up

I quite like
sitting cross legged
barefoot
in the passenger seat
of my mom's Honda.
When the air is humid and warm,
summer is rising out of the darkness that
encompassed me this winter,
and I was so distracted
I missed spring.
I like hearing
the audible gasp
in a movie theater
or
noses sniffling, tissues being exchanged by strangers
because
for once
I know that these people
are feeling the same way I am
and that I am not
alone.
I like hearing your quiet snores beside me
after we've fought
because you did not get mad enough to leave
and I'll work it all out tomorrow
I promise.
I like feeling
the kick drum resound in my heart
at concerts
because I can feel it
and it is there
and I may have to get away from the crowd
but it is still music,
it is still passion
I am still there.
I like when you've just cut your hair
and I know you hate it
because you must have told me a thousand times
how they ******* messed it up
and ****, you are so angry
but I am distracted
because I am seeing your eyes
for the first time;
and they are a jungle
and I am tangled up in your branches.
I like crying over trivial things
like movies and books and the way you looked before you got onto the plane,
because that means that I am not caught up
in the urge to drag a razor across my skin
or all the things that I have held myself back from.
I like unfocusing my eyes
and clearing my thoughts
so all I can hear is music
and not drown in my own thoughts
for once.
I like falling in love
with someone I cannot have
because the fear of rejection
is not there
and I can love wholly
and completely
because he will never know me
and this makes me feel content.
I like being unextraordinary
and leaving no mark on this town
except for maybe
an empty soda can on the stage of the park and
crushed, unlit cigarettes
because
it will be easier for me to get away
and no one will remember me
or the way I liked the weird things.

it's never
'what should i do'
with you
it's always
'what do i want to do'
and it always has been
even when we were younger
and we played horse
i was always the horse
i was the support
and everyone looked at you
above me,
those stars in your eyes
as i held you up for everyone to admire you
maybe this is how it was always meant to be
maybe this will be forever
but you can't just
choose to **** up a life like this
i can't pick up the pieces if they are too broken
too broken, too strong
too stubborn to be smart about any of this
i don't know how you've survived this long,
cigarette smoke floating out the window like
the way you left the way you used to be
for your new skin
a little too tight, a little too tough
blame it on anyone you want,
blame it on me, your parents, yourself
no one is listening to you anymore.
you've lost all control you've been fighting to keep
for this many years
no one will believe what you say, no one will take your word for it
not anymore
it's my word now, the weight has fallen onto my shoulders
as you are too weak and not willing to keep it
yes, i am chosen now
to be the strong one
the support

if you were the sun and he were the moon
he'd die every day just to let you breathe
and if you're in need of a home for your broken heart
he'd make a house out of sticks on the beach, where you could live happy ever after
he'd live for you, he'd die for you, he'd do it all over again for you
he'd study the way your eyes roll back when he said something cliche
just as you'd watch the cigarette hang off his lips like a circus show in an artificially lit gas station
he'd rub little circles on your hand when introducing you to his friends because you were nervous
he'd fight off all the little demons dancing in your head by spinning you around his room like a ballroom floor
he'd say 'i love you' even if he knew those words couldn't hold you together forever
he'd say them for him, for you, for the nights ahead where you're miles away thinking of laying on his bedroom floor
you'd say 'don't' and he'd kiss you in the middle of your sentence to lengthen the limit of your forevers
he'd hold on to your wrists when you tried to slam his door, he'd let you hit him when you were angry
he'd climb up in the sky and hang off the edge of the crescent moon, and he'd reach up to grab a star to bring back down for you
he'd rearrange the constellations and align the planets to be just like you'd always dreamt about
he'd feel a pain in his stomach when the sun caught the tint of your hair the first day you said goodbye
he'd call you just to hear your voice on the answering machine, because you would never pick up
he'd stay with old friends just to ask how you've been, and feel an emptiness when he found out you were doing just fine
a boyfriend, an apartment, and a disease called growing up that you'd whispered you'd never catch one summer night
he'd do it all for you
if you just
let him in

Autumn leaves.
Autumn leaves us in a wake of what used to be, golden, brown, red memories fill our heads
with promises of a summer never to end.
But it did,
and now it's here,
and I'm falling down like autumn leaves.
Autumn leaves me questioning why those clouds ever had to move away from that beach house
and why the cold wind ever had to ******* away.
And why you never wanted to sit inside,
because we froze our ***** off just sitting on the rocks
and it didn't matter how much we shook, whether it be from the pills or the winter wind,
we didn't go inside.
Autumn leaves us with a bitter winter, pretty for a second, and then gone with the blustering wind
like some kind of ******-up morning after.
Autumn leaves me with a heartbreak, not my first, not my last
but an in-between overdramatized romance novel
with a disclaimer at the beginning that said: This is not a love story. There is no happy ending. (Is there ever?)
You filled my lungs like smoke, and you made my head spin like butane.
You were my first drag of my first cigarette, and my last goodbye of the first summer I stopped caring.
You are this town, a whole lifetime of crushes and a coffee shop down the street.
You're no more than a paper heart, bent up and torn at the edges.
I'm no more than a pathetic piece of tape, trying to hold you together, trying to fit your mold.
Autumn leaves us with an awkward silence, louder than any concert I'd ever gone to with you, any concert I'd ever liked to go to with you.
We could've drawn straws in a steamy cafe on a cold night, but Autumn never gave us a chance to start over with September.
Autumn leaves us with damage-control after your calamity, and the irrevocable steps I took to fall into you.
Do you even remember how I was on that first day? Nervous eyes and conversations about colors?
Do you remember the talk about getting out, New York City in all its romanticized glory?
Autumn left me with an emptiness in the pit of my stomach, because I feel so lost without you.

there was a boy, with a name like a superhero
and hair like the ocean
i think he knew he was special,
from the way he dressed to how he didn't give half a ****,
he knew he wasn't like the rest of us
he's out of this world,
alienated, quick, loud
he was floating on clouds
and he never came down.
don't ask me if i loved him,
because i didn't.
don't ask me if i thought he was perfect,
because you know i did.
and his eyes are deep as the sea,
begging me to come out to shore, come out to play
in the depths of the waters
and i stared into his eyes in the middle of the crowds
and watched the tears appear in his eyes
and disappear just as quickly, because he can cry on demand.
his brother is gay and his father is on the board
and his hugs make me feel warm.
i know this boy
and he colors outside of the lines
and he breaks the crayon in half,
and finds another way to express himself.

He always asks me why.
"Why are you so sorry?"
Well, let me count the reasons on my fingers
even though I'd need more hands than just my own.
- I'm sorry that I care too much and not enough at the same time
- I'm sorry I say the wrong thing at the wrong time
- I'm sorry the moon hides when the sun comes, and the sun for the moon
- I'm sorry I keep talking about him, he's all I can think about
- I'm sorry I keep losing atoms
- I'm sorry I have worry thoughts that cloud my brain like smoke
- I'm sorry I like the smallest stars better than the bigger ones
- I'm sorry I can't write poetry
- I'm sorry I like stupid boy bands
- I'm sorry California is so far away
- and that I can't drive
- I'm sorry I like 90s TV shows and movies more than the ones they play now
- I'm sorry I don't have more hands (then maybe I could keep my head held high)
- I'm sorry I bolted at the mall when I saw them
- I'm sorry I never said goodbye to Popou, even though Jimmy kept telling me to, even though they said he wasn't going to die that night
- I'm sorry the chemicals in my brain don't work right (but I'm trying really hard to fix it)
- I'm sorry my anxiety rules my life, because that is not who I am
- and I'm sorry for saying sorry so much
- for being a hypocrite
- and spending too much of my time on Netflix
- I'm sorry chameleons never get a chance to be themselves
- I'm sorry it took me so long to get over him
- I'm sorry that I don't believe you
- I'm sorry that they don't have Wawa's on the west coast
- and I'm sorry Dobby died
  I'm sorry to you, too, for all of these reasons.

I am not wired to be happy.
Have you ever seen Easy Runner?
I am not like everyone else, I do not fit in with the in crowd, and I'm not like the out crowd.
I really should be going.
I don't like Pokemon, and I don't like anime.
Maybe.
I don't want to chop off all my hair, or dress up like a boy.
I do weird things sometimes.
I hate the way he looked into my eyes, because what if he thought I was a freak?
I don't think you're annoying.
I loved the way he did his own thing, and how he acted when he was hopped up on energy shots.
I doubt it.
But what if he thought I was a freak?
Magical.
Maybe, one day, I will get out of this house and realize that I am not what I make myself out to be.
Do comics count?
And maybe one day I won't be so scared of his purple sweatshirt or the way he waves to me.
I don't know why that sounds so interesting.
But that day is not today.
*I get like that sometimes.

i remember the first time bryn brought a boy for christmas
his name was chris
and we had to distinguish between him and my cousin chris
so we called him gay chris
because he had lots of pockets
and he always looked better than my cousins
who hardly ever tried to look presentable.
i remember last christmas
how damon gave elise
sweaters from a thrift shop and fleetwood mac records
and how happy she was.
i never wanted to be allie from the notebook,
and i never wanted you to be noah.
in the 8th grade,
hidden between shelves of a torn-down library where i'd sit for hours,
was a short, thick book with pages of romanticized post-it notes
and the smell of sawdust.
dash and lily's book of dares
was all the things i'd been dreaming about.
the first-glance feelings in the middle of new york,
the warm feeling melting through your bones with an even warmer drink.
i've always wanted a chris
or a shaina
or a natasha.
i've always imagined thanksgiving day going differently for once in my life.
when my uncle asks me if i'm texting my boyfriend,
i want to say "yes, actually" and i wanted to find a boy
to take to my grandmother's house.
i wanted to show him
how tristan would pay me to go sneak him cookies,
and the way we fought over couches.
but now we took all the couches out of the basement,
and i think someone else is living in that house.
but there's still thanksgiving,
there's still an extra seat at the table,
and i'm not sure but i think justin is bringing maya this year.
so when it is my turn to go around the house and say hello to everyone,
and my uncle asks, "how many boyfriends do you have?" teasingly,
i can smile and say "just one"
and it can be you.

I left my heart in that tiny room,
with such little space,
you could hardly walk through the door.
I left my heart next to my blue guitar,
up in the window where you greeted me,
down the wooden steps we came bounding down.
I left my heart on the table in the kitchen,
where we sat and made rhythms
because there wasn't enough room at the table.
I left my heart in the sand on the beach,
where we walked when my dad made us get the hell out of that room,
where we'd stay forever, if we could.
I left my heart next to my headphones,
still playing the soundtrack of my summer,
the one that got me through those endless hours in the car.
I left my heart on the corner of the hot tub,
where you made me read you magazine articles,
and we took Courteney there after dinner.
I left my heart in the still of the night,
when you made fun of my music,
while we got lost and didn't even mind.
I left my heart next to my suitcase
when I packed up to leave
and didn't want to wake you up before I left.

she said we'd get through it together
get over him together
but now she's going to a movie with him,
and i am wearing someone else's sweatshirt and thinking of him
and his favorite movie.
it doesn't matter how many pills i take,
they will never change the face i see in the mirror.
sometimes i think i need to just get out of this town,
out of my own little head,
my own little hell.
and i guess i am happy
with him
when i am sitting in her kitchen
and eating mexican food.
but i guess
he will never like me.
because how can someone like you
when you don't even like yourself?
i'm chasing clouds,
endless daydreams,
turning into nightmares.
it's weird
how i feel fine
walking down the street
with jasper
but i don't feel fine
in my own house.
and sometimes, i think this is so normal.
and i go over to her house
and see the way she acts,
and i am reminded of reality.
the tension i feel in this house
isn't how families feel.
and the way my dad treats me
isn't how 'perfect' families work,
or even broken families.
and they wonder why justin never comes home.
she pierced her nose
and she's ruining our plans.
i'm stuck in this room,
the four walls hold stories that i will go to my grave with.
they soak in the things that i can only let out
when i am alone.
sometimes i wonder
why the **** it is worth it
to go through all this pain
for a few moments of illumination.
but then bereket grabs my face and kisses my nose,
my uncle hands me $20 because i want a latte
and my dad won't let me have one.
alex tells me my poetry is beautiful,
and all i can think is,
"if it is as beautiful as you think that i am
then i am ******."
adrian says words
and ben lets me wear his sweatshirt.
justin leaves the garage door open
to never look back;
chloe ****** off her parents
to rebel against her own mind.
sometimes i want to curl up in a ball
and never wake up.
because going to school, to group therapy, to yoga,
why the hell is it worth it?
hours upon hours of an endless loop, brought on by my brain.
the way i feel in my heart
when i think of if i will ever make it,
if any one will ever want to love me,
or like me,
or tolerate me.
if he says my poetry is as beautiful as i am,
then i am ******.

hallow's eve
the only day of the year
misplaced teenagers
and ruined dreams get to take the stage
because,
on this october 31,
you can be anything that you want.
ghosts of your past haunt you day and day through,
and today, they are visible to everyone else, too
so, go
run around these streets pretending to be what you are not,
pretending to be the perfect image of your father's daughter,
someone who can finally live past their older brother.
hide behind the mask
and make it last
because when the clock strikes 12,
all your demons disappear back into your head.
but tonight,
you can be anything you want
and no one at all

so, here we go again.
another october, spent wishing it was summer
when all you did over the summer
is wish that it was fall
another october that fades into a chilly november
a few days a month are ok
and a few moments you are happy.
here we go again
he has started the fire again
it wafts through the vents up to my closed door
and it makes me think of last year,
another november, spent kicking leaves
and warming your hands.
another november,
with no one to keep you warm.
and there is a strip
on the third step from the top floor
where you can feel the heat
so clearly
it's like wind.
and there is a boy
sitting in someone else's arms
with no idea
you love him
so clearly
it's like the wind.

she comes home in the middle of the night
and i help her take her shoes off.
she can't walk in heels,
but in the glow of the night life,
she becomes someone else.
for once
in her life
she is
no one
but herself.
and a boy will buy her a drink,
take her home.
but she is so gone,
because even when she is with him,
she is thinking of a lost boy.
she is thinking of a boy in a coffee shop, smoking all his problems away.
a boy with dreams when they met,
that slowly faded into ash and dust,
nothing now but hazy memories.
she can still remember his eyes,
blue and bright.
now,
they are so dark
she can't even tell their color.
they could be black
and she wouldn't
even
know.
every day, they said "get over him"
every day, they said "he is nothing but trouble"
every day, they said "he will only break your heart"
every day, she said "you don't know him like i do"
and then, after, they said "i told you so"
and she said "you don't know him like i did"
so even when he is kissing her shoulder and i am in the other room,
counting the creaks of the bed
she is thinking of the summer they fell in love.
maybe it was his i-don't-give-a-**** attitude,
maybe it was the attraction of rebellion,
but he changed everything
and she swore she'd never been so in love.
and then, when it was over,
when all the caps that they'd thrown into the air were all cleaned up by the janitor,
we went to new york city
and she reinvented herself.
she packed up one box,
and got the hell out of that town.
she hasn't missed one thing that she left behind,
didn't regret one moment,
except for him.
and so, when they were done,
he put his clothes back on
and left her there in her own bed, lonelier than before.
i had to go in and place the advil on the table,
for the hangover the next morning,
that would be there just like the sureness of the sun rising.
and i was the one
who tucked her in at night
while she was passed out,
and mumbling his name.

there are people in love
and there are people on swings in the middle of the night holding someone's hand and there are people laying in their bed crying and they are sad but they won't be sad all their life
but someone should tell them that they need to know that and the people on the swings need to know that they need to engrave that moment in their mind and then maybe they won't end up like the person crying because they can remember when they were swinging
there are boys who are in love right now climbing up  into a bedroom window to sneak a girl out and hold her hand and make sure she doesn't hurt herself when she falls and it won't be like that forever and when she is back in bed she can think of his tight grip and the night air
and i don't believe in love but i believe in a feeling of butterflies in your stomach and falling asleep with a smile because of someone and it is not forever it is just temporary but in another way it is completely forever because you can never forget that person and you can never forget walking to 7/11 after a concert and buying out the whole store practically but the people who you are with turn in to ******* but in the memories they are not ******* and you can remember the summer air maybe and i feel like i'm really stupid for writing this
but maybe there is someone out there who is in love and even if i don't believe it maybe there is and i hope there is a couple swinging on swings and not letting go of each others hands even when the swings move in different rhythms and he is looking at her and he is thinking that she outshines the stars in the summer sky and she will probably grow up and they will not break up ever but on graduation when she goes to nyu and he goes to la they say goodbye and they both know that they are not going to be together but they don't want to break up and they never will because maybe she keeps his big t-shirts when she is lonely and on his drive to la maybe he listens to her favorite songs and they never forget each other ever and they are never really totally alone because they were together that night on the swings and that is enough

i still have smoke on my jacket
and stars in my eyes
sitting outside the house and talking ****
and there's no place i'd rather be
your dad knows there's beer in your cup
and my mom knows were inhaling flames
we stay up late just to regret it in the morning
talking about the times we watched the sunrise
we follow the glow of the lights
and walk these streets like we own the night
tripping over memories of a simpler time
in the backyard pool and on the porch
on the swings pretending we have wings
we may not have any money but we never needed the riches anyways
because brooklyn lovin'
is forever

with every crunch of every fallen leaf, i am reminded of you

i bet your skin wouldn't be so golden, muted by the grays of autumn

i bet your eyes wouldn't be so bright, making it harder to find you as the days grow shorter

i bet you've found your way home by now, already ******* another nameless face

i bet you still have that stupid bandana, wrapped around your head with a case of beer in your hand

i bet you still think of those nights, hot sweat and my sunburnt skin

i bet you still have your opinions, winning arguments with your charm even when you are wrong

i bet you sweet-talk your way through school, with that little glint in your eyes you could get away with ******

i bet you can still feel me kick you under the table, and you can still feel my gaze

i bet you've forgotten the color of my eyes, though god knows i won't forget yours

i bet if we bumped into each other tomorrow, we'd go right back to being us

i bet you'll get a job in the board, working 9-5's and still never catch the disease of growing up

i bet when i walked away, you never even looked back

to say goodbye

Darling, it is all ruined
you've had your fun
but the lights are out
and it's done.
Even the drunkest souls
have drifted into sobriety,
the lost boys have all been found,
and Tink's light has just burned out.
So do me a favor
and stop clinging onto dying embers;
even when you take me home
I will still remember
this place, your face, and all of these adventures
but even those stars in your eyes
have been lost to the darkness.
For us, it is time to grow up.

She is warm blankets on a cold Sunday morning.
She is the reminder of better days to come on a Monday.
She is the late-night Tuesday jam sessions.
She is the unexpected "hello" on a boring Wednesday.
She is the cold coffee you grab on your way out the door Thursday.
She is the anticipation of the weekend on Friday afternoon.
She is the confidence lacing up your shoes for a Saturday night.
She is everything you want, and nothing you can have.