empty pens
college newspapers
puzzles that we'll never do

silverware
thank-you cards

and a pile of graded papers
to help me remember;

to relish in the proof that
I once worked so hard (for you),
that there was a time I'd give myself
to writing, writing, writing words,
and you'd give yourself to
reading them.

the failure is now to face
my work and art and effort
that so easily came to me when it wasn't me
I was working for.

but it wasn't for you, either;
it was for your love.
but still I never passed.

Because the word "love" is
appropriate to describe both
how I feel about you and
how I feel about ice cream,

Because I can no longer
use the word "literally" literally when
I try to say I literally
am dependent on
the sound of your breath
encouraging my lungs to sync with yours
and find sleep when
I'm with you, curing
my twenty year fight
with insomnia, literally.

That you are literally the reason I
can chase my dreams
because without the sleep you give me, I
wouldn't be dreaming at all.

Because "you're the best" is
said to even our
least favorite coworkers,
when I would use it
to literally say
"You are the best",
the most superior to all
that I love, and
I use those words correctly
when I say that,
and if
"love" is the word to describe my
feelings for you, then
I don't love anything or
anyone else because
what I have for you
is literally the best.

You're beautiful, girl
more than you know--
the world screaming in your face,
it's hard to hear love at your ear.

you're young, not 'too small'
you have deep eyes, not a 'funny stare'
and into the glare
of the hurt and used,
stand stand stand
smile and be kind;
'everyone' includes you.

All skin has color
it's a lie to say 'white
as it is to call 'black'--
rejoice decoration
on everyone, which includes you.

Express with your face,
your voice, your arms--
it's not too long before
you'll silence yourself for
something you cannot name, only feel
and into the glare, stand stand stand,
be strong, be real.

I allowed my heart to be battered
by more than just myself
which was already too much

Don't pummel your heart
don't tell yourself lies
don't torture your mind
and begin to despise

don't relish in tears
don't scratch, pull and cut,
don't grab at the 'fat'
don't give in to that

you think it sets you apart?
it only sets you 6 under
along with the rest
of the dead souls blessed
with bodies they hated to death.

Fighting with an aching body
and doubtful mind,
protesting muscles are no match
for a warmed heart,
but make me crumble
when fear enters.

There is a wall,
but I haven't hit it
yet.
Give everything still,
expect more
love more
open more
be more.

Vulnerable to important eyes,
I do this on purpose?
There is no cheating;
it's an honest profession,
of tricks over lies.

And now my heart is a closet
and the wardrobe is diverse
but so much goes unworn.
So when to dust off
that confidence dress,
and lay to rest
my suffocating overcoat?

My heart is a closet
when it could be a park--
it could be anything.
This is my metaphor,
and I chose closet.....
THAT is why I'm a closet.

But now

my heart is the sky.

My eyes are the stars
my hands are the earth
my mouth is the sea

my legs are the trees,
their roots and branches,
my arms are the wind, the clouds,
the thunder, the lightning, the rain.

My pelvis is fire,
powerful, flexible, enticing and necessary.

In my metaphor,
now that I am life itself,
I can live.

I miss you,
meaning,
I romantically picture
our finest moments
of conversation--
we laughed together,
you embraced me,
I swear I saw
your eyes sparkle
as they looked at mine,
and I get the feeling
you like me,
which almost makes
me like me.
so when I say
'I miss you,'
I think I mean
I miss liking me.

I can't stand
being around you
almost as much
as I can't stand
your absence.
If you make me crazy,
then I don't want
to be sane
and you make my pulse race--
please, let my heart be forever diseased
with loving you
a little too much more
than what should be expected.
I'll watch you be
just fine without me,
pretend I have better things to do
than arrive early
and leave late
just to get the chance
to glimpse you
and casually make contact:
"Oh, you came."
As if I didn't care,
when your casual drop by
is the entire reason
I'm here first
and last.

That which consumes you,
let it eat you whole.
Open your mind
for it to be devoured,
even if it comes from
the blood in your veins,
paint the picture.
And give yourself away for free,
to be broken by love.
Die by it,
if it's the last thing you ever do.