because of you I sleep with the tv on these days
not because I think of you & can’t sleep
but because I’m scared of the dark
now that I know monsters exist.

njr

I'm scared of the morning because of it's honesty,
the way it can strip the night of it's pointe shoes
and reveal the wounds of a bare foundation.

bones shiver as the sun rises,
the ******* of the night revealed;
skin under covers in the early hours more adorned
than the bare flesh of the evening waltzing to anothers movement.

I'm scared of the morning because of it's urgency
the way the sun is already racing down towards the horizon,
just to stare the skyline in the face with it's eventual blushing.

the worst part of falling asleep next to you
is knowing that morning will come
and it will promise to come over and over again
but you will not.

nr 2023.

I thought if I let my heart bleed into my hands I would be able to mold it like clay into a form that wouldn’t be too heavy for you to carry

I thought that someday all these tears would wash away the pain I was feeling and leave me floating in your arms.

when I felt scared and alone I’d leave the television on, hoping the lights and sounds would keep away the monster that kept trying to lurk in my head.

I wish I knew that monster was only trying to save me - he wanted to whisper the things in my ears that I refused to believe you never said to me, to drag me kicking and screaming off the bed that comforted me with the scent of you from last night. he wanted to touch me and send shivers down my spine in the same way you did - he wanted to show me that sometimes evil is a boy with dark eyes and brown hair. that the monster isn’t hiding under your bed, but laying next to you in the sheets.

njr

I’m not crazy, I’m scared.

how can I apologize for the marks I’m leaving on your skin?
the way my fingertips are digging trenches into the same arms
that wrap around and comfort me?

how can I explain that though I’m planted on solid ground
I feel as if my ankles are being grabbed by unforgiving hands
and trying to pull me far far away.

as I’m dragged away I’m desperately trying to hold on,
but the tighter I grab your hand
the harder my nails dig into your palms
and pieces of you become pixelations
that disappear into the nothingness
leaving me with less and less to hold.

why do I push away all that I wish to hold close
why do I hurt everything that I want to keep safe
and why does love scare me so much that it makes me crazy
and turn me into everything I never wanted to be.

how can I explain that I’m trying not to be this way,
how can I apologize to myself when I feel defenseless.

I’m not crazy, I’m scared,
of getting everything I’ve ever wanted,
just to watch it slip right through my fingers.

{Nicole Joanne - 2022}

how will I know it's the right time
when even the moon and the sun change the hour they rise?
day switches to night,
and still the answer is cloudy in my mind.

sometimes the rain drowns,
other times it nourishes -
where lies the accuracy between too much and too little?
what if I wilt? but what if I flourish?

the roots of evil and good are alike,
sprouting from the same place of wanting change
though, change is only a quarter of the process
leaving a great deal into the arms of gamble.

even if the clock inevitably strikes nine,
and clouds are grey with storm-like signs,
and my thoughts are repeating the same **** line,

how will I know when it's the right time?
and is there even such a thing?

{Nicole Joanne - 2022}

taking shots of whiskey instead of bullets,
i’ll wake up in the morning with a hole in my heart, but not through my chest.

bleeding out in the form of words I’ll soon forget, words I’ll come to regret. my dress stained only with spilled liquor and the hands of people I’ve never met.

my world is spinning so I’ll make my head match. I’ll dance until the lights go on, and my vision goes black. what kind of life is that? what kind of life is that.

ill make the first move, *** and coke - actually, make that two.  lead me to the dance floor, sway back and forth - no longer in my hands, my fate is in the glass.

one day I’ll find the life I’ve been chasing. kitchen dancing and movie nights, children laughing, alone time. the bottom of this bottle won’t bring me home, but I keep chasing. I keep chasing.

nicole joanne 2021

I wish I had known that the ring on your finger disappeared when you were with her, that I was just a placeholder
in case you never got the chance to hold her again.

I wish I had known the last time we kissed. I would’ve paid more attention to how your closed eyes were painting me into her image. Your hands interweaved through black strands, moving slowly unto pale skin. How you morphed the mountains of my bones into the soft hills of her baby face.  How your tongue danced around the fact that I was not her.

I wish I had known the dull in your rainbow eyes were because brown looking glass could never take you to the valleys of her green irises. That I was lightning, a quick spark, something that reminded you of a brighter day when all felt cloudy.

Had I known you never loved me,
I wish I could’ve said I’d have walked away,
but even the moon shows it’s face sometimes
in the light of day: and I’m sure I would’ve loved you that way.


N.R

love is more than just a language between two people.
it's several phrases, actions, and words
foreign endeavors and behaviors,
thoughts,
all together as one.

as those speaking acts of love,
we expect those we speak to
to understand.

but we all speak different forms of love;
compatibility of such revelations are misunderstood.

love is an adventure
a search for whose language of love,
though different from one's own,
can be interpreted and understood;
and wished to be learned.

though to learn a love is easy,
to comprehend anothers love cannot be forced.

love is tragic
an algebraic expression with several substitutions
and a million different answers;
but only one is correct in the mind of the beholder.

love can be the worst or the greatest thing;
unrequited can ****,
but when it works out;
it can live forever.

N.R 2017

this heart of mine
has been thrown into the fires of hell
way too many ******* times

i'm getting ******* tired
of all the third degree burns.

The love is gone, right? There's no chance we'll ever get back together? Because I can't be here halfway. I can't look at you and not see the boy I fell in love with -the boy who's hands shake constantly, the boy who pulled me closer in bed, the boy who whispered unrepeatable things in my ears. I can't look at you and forget that -I can't see you as just another person. How could you look at me knowing that what was once yours isn't anymore; that the body you once ran your hands all over is off limits, that the words 'i love you' will no longer spill out of my mouth for you. How can you be okay with that? Because I'm not, and I wish I was, but I'm not. Because I ******* love you more than I have ever loved anybody, and I can't flip a switch and bring back only the part of you that was my best-friend. Even though I miss that part of you too. I wish I could be satisfied with part of you, but I can't forget that I had all of you at one time. I can't be satisfied with half of you when once I had all of you. And it hurts, and it *****, because I want you in my life but it hurts. Sometimes I wish we never fell in love because I would have my best friend right now. Maybe that's all we ever should've been, and we ruined it. And I can't forgive myself. Because here I am caught between two extremes of having to let you go and not being able to, and knowing whatever choice I make is going to send me screaming to the sky, clutching my chest, and curled on the floor in a pain that will never fully heal.

I've learned to love myself for everything that I am -including, and especially, my weird little quirks.

I'm the girl who laughs a little too loud at newspaper comics, and has to take a picture everything that has ever made me happy; whether it be taking a photo of my coffee in my favorite cafe, or taking a photo of the typical average looking field that I happen to be laying in the grass of. My mouth tends to run one-hundred mph when I'm speaking about something I'm passionate about, and more often than not I will probably stutter my words, or stray off subject the minute I remember something slightly alike to the story.

I have a tendency to believe in 'gut feeling' a little too much when it comes to people and their abilities; I put a little too much faith, a little too much effort; and become a little too much overall for anyone I feel 'connected' to, but thats okay. I avoid company, but hate being alone; I'd rather be in groups of three, and more often than not, unless I've taken a great liking to you, one & one interaction makes me uncomfortable. I try to make everyone happy to a fault, and worry a little too much about how my choices influence the next event, and the next event, and the next event.... I romanticize the thought of some people, and don't give others the time of day they probably deserve -but that's okay. My greatest weakness, yet best quality is my ability to romanticize simple moments.

I view everything in my life through foggy glasses and romanticize -everything- and it's absolutely ridiculous; but the time you laughed a little too loud, or danced a little bit out of tune, to me is probably beautiful, and I've probably already written a sappy love poem about it.
I daydream a little more than I should, and I have my entire future planned out right down to the rocking chair on the porch of my house by the lake, yet I can't tell you what I plan to eat for dinner in two hours.

There's so much more to me than I'm willing to write, because to know me is a journey I wouldn't want to spoil. Call me arrogant, call me weird; but I've learned what it means to love myself.

I'm a ******* mess, but god, I wouldn't want to be anything else.

NJ2016

what's wrong with wanting to be in love?
I want to fall in love -is that such a bad thing?
we've been told that one does not fall in love ever when they are looking for it; but who decides that? who says that I can't find love?

is love suddenly not going to be love anymore because I was looking for him? what if we were looking for each-other? love can not be forged -the act of love can be, but love itself, cannot.

why can't I search for love? why do I have to wait for him to find me, or pop up out of the blue? Why can't I look down the path and scream, 'Love, I am coming for you. You're what I want and I will search everywhere until I find you.' Why does love have to be some mysterious lurker? why can't I notice love as a gust of wind before he becomes the full blown tornado?

Whats wrong with looking at someone you admire and thinking, 'hey, I think maybe I could fall in love with you' and actually, truly, believing so? You can't forge a feeling -so why not look for the spark? If it's there it's there, if it's not, it won't be.

So ***** all who tell me to stop looking for love,
because when I find him I'll be able to say,
'thank god I finally found you,
I've been searching for you my whole life.'

NJ2016

The shower is her therapist -spilling tears all over her body, the way her heart aches to, but her eyes lack to in capacity. She combs her dark hair while she hums an old My Chemical Romance song,

When you go, don't ever think I'll make you try to stay

Gusts of wind come in through the window to remind the foggy glass that it will soon dissipate -that there is a world beyond the dewy structure. She massages the shampoo in her hair with enough strength to try to cleanse away the dirt, and thoughts.

in the morning I'll be off to find another way

She steps out of the shower and wipes off the fog of the double mirror above the sink and stares for a moment and proceeds to grab her tooth brush. Simply brushing her teeth.

The hurt isn't enough anymore to think of it as a metaphor, or anything other than what it is -it's not erasing the taste of him out of her mouth, it's not cleansing away the remains of broken innocence she gave him. That's all over now -he doesn't own that part of her anymore.

a good for nothing, I don't know.

Her face she washes with "Let The Good Times Roll," a face-wash that supposedly smells like caramelized popcorn -she hates popcorn, but she loves the smell of the Lush product; of course, she refuses that it smells anywhere similar to the corn-popped snack.

She throws on a maroon lace bralette and matching skivvies, and slips into an oversized Hanes white t-shirt that she probably purchased at the supermarket as a pack of five, and basks in the feeling of purity and freedom. She looks into the old-fashioned mirror that sits upon her dresser and puts on her retail store bought diamond earrings and $7 Walmart tree necklace and tries to give herself a smile. She's always been one with nature but like an autumn leaf, she drifted wherever the wind, or rather, he would take her. But he's gone now, and the necklace reminds her that she was always rooted -she just expanded her branches a little too far.

I don't love you like I did yesterday.

She takes a seat at her laptop that she worked hard to earn every penny for, and decides she's going to write about this girl she knows, this girl she is falling in love with again. Because even if nobody else does, she see's the beauty in herself -and she deserves to be written down.

And thats the origin of this poem.
NJ2016 [All Rights Reserved]

It takes a hand to light a candle, and a gust to blow it out;

I loved a boy who would argue that his hair is brown, but I have always believed it to be an ashy blonde, a boy who's eyes changed from green to golden depending on the light, and who had skin of porcelain that he never quite liked. In the mornings he would wake up, put on some music, and dance around his room with a cigarette in his hand, grabbing his jeans off the chair and his shirt from the drawer. He would run cold water through his hair, take a glance in the mirror, and then exit down the stairs. I would always take a seat while he had one foot out the door, because he had a tendency to always forget to grab his keys.

The hand that lights a candle could also hide the flame.

Years passed and his hair was not quite as long, but still very ashy. He still danced around to music, but to a different song; Bruce Springsteen couldn't match his mood quite like The Weeknd could. He'd grab his cigarette, run his fingers through his hair, and forget his keys, still, before reaching the door. The flame may have been hidden, but the heat left my fingertips raw

I loved this boy with my whole heart. I still do. I hope he never stops dancing in the mirror before he goes to work, and I hope he still watches Jeopardy at 7 'o clock. I hope he never stops rapping the words that fill his heart; and I hope the world never tears him apart.

I loved him once, and always will. But we're not in love anymore.

& the flame burned out**
NJ2016

Im going way up, success higher than you'll ever be, tryna **** the pain, but babe, you're your biggest enemy. I tried to help you through it, tried to be your biggest fan, tried to hear the music, but the **** just wasn't there.

See, I couldn't get anywhere with your weight on top  -wait you were always on the bottom -oops, I forgot, we're talking about your pride and your selfish ways -I was a ******* angel living in your hellish daze.

Don't get me wrong, I loved you from the very start, but the best thing you've ever done for me was "break" this heart. You shot me where it hurts, left me bleeding out, and now you 'bout to feel that kickback while I resurrect.

Stronger than ever, broken but rising like the sun, everything I'm doing is leading me to number 1. I thought you was protecting me, but you were holding me back. I could've loved you for ever, thanks for saving me from that.

I want to thank you for all that you've done to me cause now I know what I need. I know what I need. I love who you used to be, and now you're no good to me. so, i'm gone.

NJ2016

Are you the one he calls in the middle of the night
while he’s walking under streetlights,
being guided by the moonlight

Does he tell you that you’re the only thing on his mind,
that he wants to hold you tight
and he can’t sleep if you’re not beside

it’s 4 in the morning
and he’s standing outside your door
says, get your *** out of bed
and come sleep in his arms.


That was me, once upon a time,
he stumbled up to my door
screaming ‘i’ll always love you more’

although it didn’t seem
like a horse-carriage ride
eating pancakes in slippers
with my drunken mister

was the greatest time of my life
i wish i’d known it then,
but fairytales end.

NJ2016

I know this may be too soon, but I want to get it off my chest. I know that I just got out of a relationship, and I have no intentions of jumping into another one, but I like you; at least what I have seen of you so far, and if you’d let me, I’d like to get to know you some more.

And I say that in the most innocent way. I want to hear more of the way you think, and see things some more from your perspective. I like being in your company; you bring me back to reality, but a bearable reality. I like the way that you don’t expect much from me and know that I make mistakes, yet still believe in me. The way you talk motivates me and I want to learn more; about what you know, the experiences that shaped you, who you are, what you like, not because I have anything to gain, but because I sincerely have an interest in knowing.

I don’t want to jump into a relationship, at least not now. I need to learn how to be comfortable with myself again and erase all the bits of me that I exhausted or changed in an effort to make someone like me. I don’t want to lose myself in that way again, and I want to be sure that all I do is because it’s me, and not simply to impress. Because who I was before was amazing, and I know that beneath all the scars and stitches, that person I was exists and is even stronger. I don’t want to be in a relationship until I know that I’ve made it back to who I am, and that I’m able to let that person have the best of me.

I know what I want now. I want a partner, and I say that because that’s exactly what I want. Not just a ‘relationship.’ I want someone who will grow and experience with me, someone who will adventure, someone who will confide in me just as much as I them, someone who I have just as much things in common with them as I don’t -the perfect balance of bonding over our similarities, and learning and experiencing based on our differences. My next relationship will be nothing short of experiencing the highs and lows with my best friend.

And I feel it in you. I’ve always had your shoulder to rest my head on when it got hard -even after all the mistakes and unintentional ways I’ve hurt you. I learn different theories and philosophies and ways of looking at life from you. Whether it’s skating in the rain, getting lost in a country club, watching a movie, playing instruments, or simply getting coffee; each experience has burned a permanent image in my mind. And I wish to never lose your presence in my life because you bring out the best of me, which is a lot to say considering we are nearly strangers.

I don’t want to jump into a relationship, I value you. I don’t want to pick a flower that is blooming so beautifully, I don’t want to have anything wilt in my hands. But I want to catch the petals, and I want to experience the seasons with you. And if by chance, after we grow, you wish to settle in this flower *** with me -I’ll welcome you with open arms.

NJ2016

i spent three years with a boy who claimed to love me, but tried changing me every chance he got.

he let it be known that his type were blondes, and foolishly enough I bleached my hair and broke my own heart trying to be his barbie doll. when I dyed my hair brown, he said it was pretty but you'd be prettier with black hair. I could have been the rainbow, and he'd say that the world is simply black and white.

I was an object to him, my virginity a flower he plucked knowing **** well that I would wilt the minute I was in his hands.

He forced me to watch him play video games on a daily -I wish I had realized that he always had the gun in his hand in these games; soon enough he would **** me.

-will be continued / my heart hurts too much to continue right now-

How do you explain that your bones are the coal used as breeding ground for a fire? How do you explain that there's a fire raging inside of you, setting every inch of your body and thoughts ablaze? Like a wildfire destroys the forest, this pain is knocking me down and smoldering me.
But how can you say you're in ashes when your body is unbruised?

No collapsed limbs, no heaving lungs, no unconscious mind -only puffy eyes and a tired tongue?

How do you explain that the tightness one gets in their throat upon hearing unexpectedly terrible news is a common feeling of yours - a side effect of the blood that runs through all of your veins? That even though you know you can do something, the words 'you physically cannot' are flooding your brain like a drug and poisoning every choice you try to make?

How do you explain that every move you make feels like walking on a tightrope that seems to never end. How each step sends a shiver down your spine; trying not to fall, trying to finish the task, trying to stop the anxiety -but you can never reach the end because your destination keeps switching from left to right despite the progress you've made.

How do you explain that you're dying when everyone see's you as perfectly alive?

NJ2016

Sorting through the negatives can get tiresome.
one after another after another after another,
but one day you'll come across a frame unlike the rest
and that photograph, that scenery, that image
makes it worth the while.

NJ (All Rights Reserved)

"Black, two sugars in his coffee
remember that the next time we see each-other."
We never saw each-other again.

"You have sparkling eyes,
you give me butterflies," another said,
and I left.

I don't know how to love.

"I love you so much,
why can't you open up," he said.
Now I'm hurting his head.

'Cause I don't know how to love without ******* up.
Friends and lovers alike,
I don't know what they'd like from me,
I don't know what to do, I feel like a fool,
I just keep breaking their hearts, and I don't know how to stop.

I don't know how to love.

NR2016

You could look through church windows and never find what you'd see through the stained glass of her eyes. she didn't believe in God, but she swears heaven was always, 'just one more step' away.

She spent her days trying to discover herself, and her nights trying to destroy all that she learned; the bible doesn't have a chapter about figuring out where you truly belong.

She could never understand the act of willingly falling to ones knees -to them it was a moment of respect and hope; for her it was nothing more than defeat. Clasped hands and bowed head; others wishing for good fortune, she, questioning her life.

Surrounded by people who don't say anything but what they have learned; her mind the child who hasn't learned church etiquette; screaming, crying, lost, but also, pure, accepted, and unrestrained.

She was never religious, but God, she was the kind of girl everyone prayed they'd never lose. And fell, unwillingly, to their knees for when she walked away.

NJ2016

My heart is heavy and all I can think about is dying.
I feel my arms shaking, my heart pounding, my head exploding,
but it's all in my mind

Nobody can tell that I'm experiencing a massacre inside.
Everyday another part of me dies. unnaturally
I can feel the gun being put to my chest,
it's threatening to tear me apart.

I'm in agonizing pain,
and people don't understand.
First-aid kits and words can't fix these wounds.

'I love you' is not a bandaid and I can't keep from bleeding out.

NR2016

Perhaps it isn't love,
they don't laugh anymore.

NJ2016

screaming to an empty crowd,
glass eyes and swollen limbs.
hands are grasping on railings
of a train leading to nowhere,
when all I wanted was a ticket
to somewhere.

nature seems to be the only beauty
in this life of pain and struggle;
but trees are trees,
and lakes and oceans are nothing but water,
and the weather will cry sometimes.

but even still,
none of that is enough to make me feel at home,
to make me feel okay alone.

NJ2016

he only makes me feel worthy
when his hands are gripped around my waist,
and his tongue is falling to their place.

he doesn't mind my messy hair
or my running makeup;
he tells me I'm pretty
while he stares at my body
dressed in lace.

he loves me as an obligation;
I'm second to the lust he wants to instill on my body;

I gave him all of me,
but all he wanted was the parts of me clothes hide.

NJ2016.

I'm in love with him,
and everything hurts.

Sometimes love isn't enough,
and I don't know why.

Make my brain stop,
it keeps wishing to die.

My light is gone.

"You're good for him.
Stay."

winter has left and it took him with it,
along with my sanity and understanding.
and you would think spring would bloom flowers,
but i only see myself wilting and shaking.

winter may be gone, but the winds inside of me are still screaming;
more often than not i'm left clutching my heart in the middle of the night
crying because the rain of spring never really did make it's appearance,
and I'm lost.

There's something about the smell after the rain;
you know, the kind where all feels as if it's been washed away
and made new again? That's what I needed.

Droplets formed on the windows of the car,
as did they on my cheeks while his arms wrapped around me;
his head resting on mine like clouds during rain or shine.

Tonight, I was a thunderstorm.

He was always my rain;
sometimes he was a drought, sometimes he was a weekly storm;
but he was always my rain.

My sorrows were puddling into my hands,
my mind the heavy fog of a late March night,
and my heart a huge pothole in the middle of the road.

It's 12:45 and my clothes smell like him;
it's the smell after the rain;
didn't think I could drown in so many ways.

I'm stuck in the rain,
but i wish it was his cloud.

NJ2015

Racing down Madison Avenue against traffic
was never how I expected to crash into him.

He draped his arms around the wreckage, holding it tightly;
everything was piled against the tree -broken pieces scattered;
eyes black as oil stained his white T-shirt,
gasping, crying, inaudible speech.

The gas ran empty and the windows fogged,
everything fell to the floor, fell apart,
broke down - and then it was fixed.

by the simple putting together of a mechanic?

I crashed into myself,
by the dictionary definition of violently colliding;
fell apart.

but, when I crashed into him,
everything fell together.

N.R

there's four kinds of love poems.

1. the one about the guy who you wish to experience. the guy who makes you wonder. the guy you're curious about. the man who has dreams not yet revealed. the guy you have made a picture of in your head. the one you want to know.

2. the guy who broke your heart. the boy you love. love him more than anything, but maybe youre just not in love anymore. the boy who never quite transitioned to a man. the 'wrong time.' the one you thought you would live your life with. the one who wasnt perfect, or even great, but you thought of him the world.

3. the comparison. who you thought you loved, but realized later on there is a love much stronger. the people who fall into this category grows bigger with experience and time.

4. the love of your life and if you're lucky, hopefully he's the same person as number one.

all the mornings he woke me up drunk
to walk to his house,
were because when he was sober,
and the day got later,
he had much better things to do,
than watch time slow down in my eyes.

NR2015

tears will fall from your eyes beyond your control,
you'll hate to tear away from his touch for the first time in a month,
his voice will sound like the song of a canary,
and his smell will bring you back home,

but when you don't have to clutch your heart
because you don't feel your lungs collapsing,
or your breath stopping short in your throat,
or your veins flood with anger and shake your body,
you're on the right road.

his eyes will be safe-havens you turn away from,
and you'll want to embrace and hug him
because you never know when it will be the last time,

but
when he's walking away,
and you don't feel your feet trying to follow,
or your hands trying to grasp and hold him back,

know, he's already lost you;
know, he doesn't have all of you anymore
and you're gonna be okay, kid.

NR(2015)

i took him to a rooftop NYC skyline dinner,
told him it was an all you can eat,
and he did.

and he took me to a fast food restaurant,
and said, "hey, you're a penny short."

NR2015

to the boy who currently holds my heart,

your past lover;
she will always love you in a way that i can't.
and for that, i envy her.

NJ2015 All Rights Reserved.

i guess it says something about me
that every-time my wii reads 'there was an error'
my heart starts racing and anxiety invades my being.

the thing with self-improvement is that they teach you when you're young to never give up; to never be satisfied. they tell you to always strive for more. but they forget to apply the, "too much of a good thing can be a bad thing" rule before it's too late.

i've lost hours, and broken strings, and bruised hands striving to be he best. i've fallen, i've cried myself to sleep, i've changed my hair color, trying to be the best. i've spent so many years of my life trying to find me only to feel more lost than i have ever been.

now he love's me for someone i'm not
and he can't understand it when i tell him he doesn't love me
'cause he swears he does.

funny how the thing that frightens me is what i have become.

NJ2016 All Rights Reserved.

after eighteen years, i still feel my life has not yet begun;
'most of objects in mirror may be closer than they appear,'
i really hope the rules of a side-view mirror
are the same rules of my future;

cause i'm driving down this quiet road,
a little lost, a little alone.

N.J

he was the boy your mother always told you to stay away from,
but ended up loving more than she ever loved you.

she would know he was at your house before you did,
because she could hear the R&B; music blasting from car;
but you never heard it because that's all he ever played;
you've become accustomed to the sound.

he always seems to call you at 4am to tell you he loves you,
when he's drunk -he was drunk the first time he told you.
sometimes you feel a little bubbly inside,
then you realize, that's just what he was drinking.
your mom rolled her eyes and smiled,
dismissed it with, oh, young love.

he was the kind of boy to take you everywhere with him,
to pick you up from work and spend the whole day with you,
but was always too busy at the exact moment you really needed him.


my mom warned me to stay away from boys like him,
said that they were only trouble,

but i don't think she ever considered the trouble to be
that he would love himself loving me too much to notice
that he doesn't really know me at all.

(NJ2015) All Rights Reserved

i hate to make a metaphor out of everything,
but we're celestial bodies orbiting out of control.

each day the sun rises with it's own strength
to clear paths and make visible the roads
that she can't even walk on.

the moon rises every night off of the sun's glow,
and not once does he return the favor;
he takes just enough so that gleaming eyes can adore;
the sun is so bright he doesn't even look at her.

when i was younger i read somewhere that
if you're going to do something, give it your all,
or don't do it at all.
and i have religiously lived up to that reading
until i met you.

you attend school just enough so you won't fail - just making it.
you work just enough so you won't get fired -just making it.

and this relationship,
is just making it.

i want a love like the movies,
or at least a love that i can feel.

pixels shouldn't make me feel more
than you do.

NJ2015 [all rights reserved]

he reminds me of thunderstorms,
the way his voice soothes me to sleep,
the way his hands run down my body
like dew drops on a car window.
his humid breath on my neck,
sending chills up my spine.

one minute it's down-pouring,
the next minute there's nothing but the scent of stale rain.
a love that's screaming one moment,
and silent the next.

when the lightning between our body seizes,
the thunder in my mind begins.
i end days drenched in the rain of us,
and i'm catching a cold.

i want a love like sunny days,
all i've ever know is love in the rain.

NJ2015 [all rights reserved]

let's drink water out of wine-glasses
and pretend that airplanes are shooting stars.
let's count each passing minute
as another lucky moment spent together.

extravagance is a state-of-mind.

let me wear my thrift store ****-dress like an elegant ball gown,
and lead me to the grass-ballroom floor.

the grass stains will be proof that the night existed.
let's make dreaming reality, if only for the night.

i'm no cinderella, and the shoe may be the wrong size,
but your hand fits perfectly in mine, and we can still dance
barefoot on the grass floor,

-and that's perfectly alright.

-NJ2015 [all rights reserved]

these four walls know me better than anyone
and have learned how to tear me down
while standing tall.

i wish i could blame my troubles on this concrete prison,
but it's my skin that has held me captive all these years.
My throat aching with screams that have failed to escape,
my lungs heaving from the sobs i've tried to quiet,
and my hands shaking, scarred.

they say life is what you make it,
but they never tell you how to make it reality.
now i'm being torn apart by forces of who i am
and who the world wants me to be.

when i'm wrapped in my seemingly comfortable blankets,
nobody seems to realize that it's devouring me;
there's a tornado raging inside me,
but all they see is fumbled sheets.

i'm in the purgatory of reality and dreams,
and lately, it all just feels like a nightmare.

[N.J.2015] All Rights Reserved.

If it wasn't raining, were we really together?
I remember sitting in the backseat of your dads car with you for hours because I was allergic to cats, and your house was the safe haven for two of them. We drew pictures on the condensed windows and watched them slowly fade, we teased your friends through text messages, you let me into your world, and I was intrigued. It was the first time you ever held me in your arms, and I never wanted to move.

The next time I saw you we walked around town and found ourselves following a little path by the water. Our rumbling stomachs spoke more than we did, and when we decided to get food, the sky decided that we were probably thirsty half-way there. It poured. We ran all the way to the Muscle Maker Grill in a storm only to find that it was closed. I remember laughing, I remember the, 'you've got to be kidding's' I remember settling for the little corner store all the way by your house. You bought me my favourite Italian Cookies, you got yourself a sandwich.. I remember you complaining about having to pick out the bread and give it to them because it was their job. I remember sitting on your front steps eating our "lunch." We talked about the squirrels, and how they do things they don't want to do. How though the squirrel wants the nut, he can't reach it, and he must leave it. We spoke about us in metaphors. You told me you wanted me back, you told me you could never do that. I told you I'd never stop trying.

I also remember the night you walked with me to my aunts house because I was too scared to walk alone. You told me that nothing would happen to me, and if anything were, we would go down together. You never made me feel wrong for being so nervous -you didn't understand, but you never made me feel bad. It rained on my way home that night.

The next time I saw you was a year later. Your house was knocked down and remodeled. Your cat had decided to make a home within your neighbors house during that period. I saw you dad outside, you saw me through the window - I was nervous. Sitting on your couch, I watched you connect the wireless music for your guardians -your aunt kept complimenting you, trying to get any sight reaction out of me to see what we actually were. I've never known what we were.

I remember the first time I went to dinner with you, your father, and your aunt at Green Dragon. I enjoyed it although they found my diet and my lack of appetite a little odd. And they asked me questions about college that I was a little nervous to answer. I remember the bought us gum, and then departed to the 99 cent store. They expected us to kiss. We didn't. I wanted to. I think. By the time they came back, the windows were drenched in raindrops.

Anyway, the day I went over your house was the day you let me leave carelessly. We spent hours together -talking at Strawberry Fields, walking down the little path, watching the ocean, making sandwiches in your kitchen, showing me around your house -visiting your bedroom. I will never forget how we hugged when saying goodbye and I said, "don't be a stranger," and you said "bye."

You told me you were indifferent about me -couldn't care whether or not we kept in touch. So I said goodbye. But I still think about you sometimes. You were the first boy I swore I loved, and maybe I have a different definition now, but by god, I loved you with my whole heart, even though through the years all you did was break it apart. It didn't rain that day.

I still miss you sometimes. Still wonder about you. And wonder if you wonder about me too. How is it that you held my heart and crushed it without even straining a muscle?

It doesn't rain much anymore in the dingy old town.
[NJ2015] All Rights Reserved.

a work in progress.

A year ago, I could’ve sworn that I loved a boy so much I would do anything for him. Today, I’m not sure I have ever loved anyone at all, and if it’s any comfort, to you at all, you’ve helped me with that.

He was the kind of guy who would listen to me speak, or at least pretend to. He would find out what made my eyes brighten. He made me feel like the Northern Star, which was kind of a big deal considering my body was the endless night that I seemed to get lost in time and time again. Today, I realize the problem is that he never knew what stars looked like, sure, he had an idea, but he had never seen one, and to be quite honest, neither had I, or have I for that matter. Living in the city has its perks, but being able to see the stars isn’t one of them. They say the city never sleeps, neither did he, and neither did the polluting lights of the 24 hours casinos and clubs. I may have felt like a star, but looking back, I was only the reflecting glass of a strobe light.

I never thought I’d be strong enough to let him go, but after five years, I did. I have you to thank for that. There’s only so many times you can look at an airplane and convince yourself that it’s a shooting star. Like the Big Apple, I can say I’ve moved on.

You’re the first boy I’ve ever touched, kissed, embraced. You’re the sun that rose after a long night of me screaming into my pillow that it was the end, and that I would never wake up from a certain reoccurring nightmare. I never thought I would see light sprinkle through my curtains, never thought I would emotionally attach myself to another airplane embodiment again.

People are inconsistent; nothing ever remains the same, nor does it ever stay in one place, and I had sworn the moment I left the city that I would never again settle. I guess I didn’t realize that boarding endless airplanes had strapped me to the sky. I was still tied down, just differently.

The moment I met you, I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time. The way your blonde hair fell over half of your forehead, how you walked into the gymnasium with a sort of ‘i can care less’ attitude. I don’t know what it was, but I knew you were an adventure I just had to attempt.

Each adventure is different; you’re far different from the amateur astrologer I had left in the next state. He spent time making maps; trying to figure out my thought process; how to understand my constellations, and how to tear them apart. You were a painter; an artist; more interested in the curves and lines of my body, the hue of my eyes, the colour of my laughter amongst the rest of the crowd. You taught me how to use my tongue as a paintbrush, and my hands as blending tools; you placed your hand in mine and make me think that you and I were a blank canvas that we would construct together.

Months have taught me that art is never really finished. Our canvas is a mess of us; my distinctive colour against yours. I was always carving straight lines, while you were painting crooked lines. You and I are following different strokes, but your edges and my surface seem to create a picture unlike any other. They say art is something that can not be defined, and I am torn between trying to decide whether we’ve built a masterpiece or something that will end up hung on a parents refrigerator. But then again, what’s wrong with that?

He was an astronomer, you’re a painter, and I’m unsure. I’m not quite sure who I am; sometimes I feel like laying in the grass and taking a ride on Camelopardalis or sitting in the hammock of the Great Dipper; other days I feel like painting pink on lover’s cheeks, and digging my nails in the bare canvas. And some days, I want to do nothing but lay in my room and dream of a future that nobody seems to understand; what am I supposed to do when I see myself sitting under a countryside sky on a wooden porch holding the stained hands of a boy who I swore could never love me.

Maybe I’m not really the Northern Star. Maybe I’m not the Mona Lisa. But more than often it’s blind leading the blind, and I’m sorry. I’m not sure where my mind is anymore. I’m not sure of anything, except that my eyes are painted with your reflection. Maybe that’s art. Maybe, it’s not.

© NJ  2015, all rights reserved

every-time we're in his room i forget to take my water-bottles along with me. if water-bottles were of any value, he would have a million dollar collection. he's the first boy i've ever made direct eye-contact with intentionally - i'm not sure if he's noticed, but it's become more of a synonym for 'kiss me please' than anything else. sometimes he catches the hint.

if i want his attention, all i have to do is pick up my phone -he seems to notice that even when his ears are deafened by the media on his laptop screen. i speak more with my eyes than my mouth - often my eyes will be closed if i'm disinterested; i'd rather create my own little world and enjoy it than destroy what he's enjoying at the moment. so i stay quiet. so i close my eyes. he thinks i fall asleep a lot.

when i want him to hold me i inch away, he always seems to pull me back in, and i never really say what i mean to, i just slow down my pronunciation. i run my fingers down his spine when i'm thinking about making out with him, and sometimes, i say 'i love you,' but like i said, i don't tend to speak much. i say it with my eyes. he never notices. i think i like it that way.


[NJ2015] [All Rights Reserved]

Don't you understand? I'm the careful girl who sets her alarm three hours early to guarantee she won't be late. I'm the girl who's scared to use boxed hair dye because there's that one percent chance of a fatal reaction. I'm the girl who gets sick every morning because anxiety tells me that I "might mess up something today." I'm the girl who reads the fine print, the terms and conditions, because one time I didn't, and I got hurt.

You're the boy who see's terms and conditions as guidelines. The boy who drinks every-night because though it's drowning your liver, it's also helping to haze your vision to the flipping pages of the calendar. The day's won't slow down, but your comprehension of it can -and you can live each-night like it's endless. It's harmful comfort has you addicted. A lazy Sunday night is a day wasted; responsibility and real life has never left you feeling as triumphant as that seventh shot of *****. You welcome chaos because it keeps your mind from straying.

Recklessness has a fault, and it's love. Your heart is a liquor bottle that was indulged and tossed to the side by girls too drunk to understand that glass breaks. And glass cuts.

I always read ingredients before I consume, but my tired eyes skimmed, and my heavy heart begged, and so I downed a glass of you. So now here I am, the careful girl, and here you are, the reckless boy, caught in one world that's both hazy and precise.

I'm trying to handle you with care. but you're screaming that there may not be a tomorrow. I've read your terms and conditions. but experience and knowledge are two separate things my naive brain hadn't yet learned at the time. There's more to words than bold letters -there's more to you than bottles and messy hair.

There's a careful girl holding a full bottle of fine wine deciding whether or not to open and down it, or place it in a cabinet to gain value. Thinking that maybe a few sips wouldn't hurt. And who knows if they did? She can't remember.

[NJ2016] All Rights Reserved.

lately i've been falling asleep with the tv on, when about a month ago even the slightest bit of light kept me awake. days spent with you have molded me into something i haven't quite figured out yet.

like sedimentary, maybe this confusion will just erode away. or maybe i've permanently metamorphasized into something new.

all i know for sure is that i'm feeling a way i have never felt before. i can't determine whether the feeling is good or not. and i can't promise that it's not dangerous or fatal. i can't promise you that the thought of 'us' is stable. but i try not to think about it. please don't think about it.

i fall asleep now to the chatter of the television. it quiets my mind. i used to find comfort in silence, but now it just screams at me. ironic isn't it? how i turn the sound up to find quiet.

i don't stay awake with my thoughts anymore. they wake me up in the form of nightmares from time to time. i could never escape anything. not even my mind. i won't escape you. tell me that's fine.

no, don't talk. please, change the channel.

[NJ2015] All Rights Reserved.

he woke me up and said, 'you're always tired,'
said that i always fall asleep when i'm with him;
and i argued and said i just rest my eyes;
but truth is his arms are more like blankets to me
than my own sheets.

his chest carries a beating heart
and it's more comforting to fall asleep to that
than to the sound of bickering between hard-headed family members.
his laughter, usually mixed with the sound of anime,
or the narrator of YouTube's 'Watch Mojo' series, is my lullaby,
and the way his hands run through my hair
help rock my nervous mind to sleep.

but i tell him i'm resting my eyes,
because i can't tell him that he's my lullaby,
i can't tell him he's my refuge from a long day;
i can't tell him that when i'm with him,
i feel satisfied to just end my day.

(NJ2015) All Rights Reserved.

he puts on slow music and leads me off the bed,
spinning me into his arms and dancing into a waltz;
we're wandering around the whole room;
my head on his shoulder, his hands on my waist;
and we're dancing the night away.

if it's not like the movies,
they say to let a love go;
but with choreography like us,
that film would surely fall apart;

but it felt like a movie;
the way he held me,
the way he looked at me,
the way he
                   cut scene.

All Rights Reserved. [NJ2015]