that's kelvin.
27.3 minutes of silence on a park bench.
following the same conversation that ends with
you're changing.
when did i smoke?
i always ******* lie.

and sadness is not the forest but the axe.
it isn't your locked door but the stairs or the hallway.
sadness is the butterfly and the windshield colliding
and telling yourself that you didn't see it hit or hear it quietly thumping.
it is not  sorry feeling, it is guilt.
sadness is the building and the wrecking ball
and sometimes i'm both.
it is my cold nose and toes,
but i am not a blade of grass or a river,
i am the dinner that gave you poison
rather than another notch on your belt.
sadness is not black and white,
it is a monotonous topaz.
sadness is 7:30 after 27.3 minutes in which flies
were more alive than i was.
27.3 minutes of disappointment,
of don't touch me,
of i can't see
every sporadic, insignificant thing is making me want to holler
and tear out my hair.
and withdraw into myself but
27.3 minutes of silence
does not allow for this.
instead i became a blinking statue
and the color turned from a yellow to a green
and suddenly i was being reached for,
but the hands were moving half in slow motion and half in apathy.
i don't think i wanted to be rescued.
i'm not a ******* damsel, or
at least that's what i thought i was telling everyone.
i can't think through that feeling
this feeling.
like 3am when all your friends are high and you're not.
like 3am when you remember you tried to give a *******
in the woods
while your phone was ringing
because you haven't shaved and they tell you they're disgusted.
and keep talking about it as if they didn't know you were talking about it.

someone please touch my thighs. i'm melted ice cream. the ugly
*******. please wreck me. life on repeat.
chips, chips, chips.
don't ask me to DC. that's our spot. stolen hearts in
the metro. on the freeway.
run, run.
trains. sloppy car ride. you can't ******* drive.
earthquake. you're lying to me.
18th birthday. sitting ducks. *****. triangular windows.
fragile. ****.
hiking boots pinch my toes. i've never been hiking. biking.
shorts.
cartwheels on stage. peel your eyes off of me.

"i'll love you until that balloon deflates"
a 3 am lie.
pining over old prom dates,
trying not to die.
don't act like we're first mates.
stop making me cry.
devours. he satiates.
i'm grasping air, i'm a shallow sigh.

for every night we giggled on the floor
and every cigarette we smoked in your house without your parents knowing.
for kissing one person good morning and another good night
and every yearbook scribble about living together.
for matching haircut,
for matching eyes,
an every freckle on your perfect body that i told you drove me insane.
for every lunch you ate on the bathroom floor.
for every person i told you were a dropout.
and every minute i spent yelling about the jellies in the sea where you got stung.
for being into typewriters,
for being into talking,
and ever golden lock of hair i pointed out,
for the things you wanted added and
for the things you wanted removed.
for the holes we put in our bodies
this is just to apologize.

i want to be someone's prom queen, princess, precious.
doesn't anyone know that i want to be told i'm going to be great?
i don't have any energy left to spend and i think that i've been
spent on. the view from 4 feet under is at least better than
the view from 6. that isn't a promise.
i've been sitting in the shower and still there isn't any
reception. i think that we're losing service and i'm not sure
what we're paying is worth it. in fact, i'm ready to give
up but i think that you're quietly holding fat.
and it takes two to let go.
our hands are sweaty.

Remember when you told me you liked BIlly Holiday?
i could never find that song.
i thought it was leaves
maybe not or at least
i haven't found it yet.
what the **** is that song, it's driving me wild;
i still haven't found you either.

something about starting
sentences and stories and
stanzas with
today
there was an ex friends and
and ex boyfriend.
hello!
but they had different faces
and they didn't know me.
this happened
more than once.
remembering.
shame people are seldom
who i think they are.