the sun came up a little late this morning—
she slipped and slid across the sky
in slippers the clouds had made her
when she was just a kid

when she stood up straight
and stretched her gold ray arms
to hug the creatures below,
I could have felt her embrace
from light years away

she is the youth of the sky
eight minutes behind
shining in her prime
a million questions burning
in her mind
yet she moves on
each dawn and dusk,
she brings the morning
in her smile.

You have this sweater
you always roll the sleeves up on
when you leave the house
even when it's 28 degrees outside
because you fear the former owner
will recognize her wine stains
splattered across the cream fore arms
Deep dark Jackson *******
splashed and flashed in furious reds
the night when her husband said "drop dead"
she slammed the wedding gift crystal glass
so hard down on the toppling table
it shattered
and the Red Sea parted
the moment her lips did
splashing the suffering secrets of
hours, months, years
across her form arms
and away to the ears
of the man who couldn't listen
the night she rolled up her sleeves
and left.

I hope one day it will fade
Like the breath or smudged finger print
on a freezing window on a car
that’s driving a little too fast

I hope that one day you find her

Whether that’s me or she or we
never speak again,

at least I know you’re happy

I hope you remember

I hope my eyes are burned into your membranes and every night 

when you fall asleep you see a flash of blue
and feel a sting of red

I hope I am the forget me not and the remember me always

I’ve always been the stranger flower in the garden,

but you loved that

I hope you love yourself

like I loved you

Fully, compassionately, with a loss of all fear—

soaring on the wings 
of child-like faith

I loved you like I loved Santa, 

the tooth fairy and 

the Easter bunny—

I loved you like
I knew 
you weren’t real

I loved you like
I knew 
you couldn’t stay—


But love yourself in a new way
Love yourself within the steely
strength of a thousand straight backbones

A thousand concrete cubes

A thousand “I love you”s
You were my first kiss 

of the old year 

and my last poem 

of the new

please tell me 
I
didn’t waste my new words

on you.

I’ve been burning candles at my bedside
and watching the wax drip

I’ve been twisting my ankles in circles while sitting
and laughing every time I trip

I’ve been waiting for a sign tucked deep in my covers
yet my dreams are nothing but the sighs of my past

I’ve been striving to break from these threads in my head
and tonight I found the scissors to snip them at last

You know you’ll never finish a marathon
just by running your mouth

Today we have ambitions like birthday candles
once a year, a glimmer of hope,
a spark of life when we shout to the stars
our resolutions that will save us from this pollution
of lies until—
the wax melts and morphs into the frosting
we eat it all the same,
we are none the wiser,
but I’m tired of eating cake that tastes like ****

*******
is becoming our best man
and maid of honor
the only thing
tying the rings
around the fingers of our college lovers
and praying that this promise, for once,
won’t be broken
like our hearts in high school
like our bones in middle school
like our crayons in pre-school

Sticks and stones may break my bones
but words taught me a new kind of pain
words were the threads that I weaved into my childhood quilts—
every “goodnight,” every “sleep tight,” every “I love you”

so when those threads were unraveled
by the claws of divorce
and I was tangled in a tattered quilt of promises
I forgot how to sleep at night

I tried stealing words from sweet boys with gold eyes
just to patch up my quilt
yet every thread of their tongue
disintegrated to dust

But real strength cannot be found words
"goodnight" means nothing until I begin to dream
"sleep tight" is empty until I am enveloped in silky seams
"I love you" is a check that has not been cashed until your lips
meet my forehead
and you close the door gently behind you
because you don’t want to wake me

We’ll never win marathons just by running our mouths
we have to pick up our feet
stretch out our toes
and move.

scraping salsa off a festive snowman infested paper plate
I asked myself about the meaning of life

my last tortilla chip cracked under the pressure of my thoughts
and I was left with salty finger tips and a half empty stomach

I guess when you’re living in personalized, small-sized pizza
of a school the food is never filling and questions are never answered

No matter how many times I tell myself I know what I’m doing,
I wake up every morning just as lost at the day before

cracking my dreams like chips, bitter as the salt on my finger tips,
I’ve become a half empty stomach impossible to fill

one of these days I’ll be a home-cooked meal—
mashed potatoes salted just right,

sweet biscuits that crumble, never crack—
iced tea with the taste of sugar, just enough to savor,

I swear I could go on forever about my idealized platter
that one day I will feast on in my confident contentment.