"plan a" was to be cordial:
you said, "coexist."
we toasted with our cappuccinos,
"to coexisting," before replacing our masks.
smile. wave. be polite.
I suppose some dozen missteps by me rendered this plan
useless.

"plan b" is much harder.
put your hand on the table.
the knife comes down, quick,
press the hot metal to the wound.

amputate. cauterize.
use your friends as a tourniquet,
like the one I've been twisting you into for the last year
and a half.

i prefer rainfall over
sunshine, and maybe that
explains why i'd choose
you over anyone else.
i always hope that
it's a beautiful day
wherever you are, and
all i ever want to do
is kiss your spine and
never apologize again
but my lips have yet to meet
the skin on your back
and for that
i am sorry.

The sweat drips down my red face as I focus on my heart rate
and look in a mirror that shows me how high I can kick,
but I need to 'be more intense.'
I think of her kissing your neck,
much better at it than me,
nibbling your ear,
much better at it than me,
she is much more confident
because she was plenty of first kisses,
and god, I wish I was yours.
I think of her clear face and the way that you still hang out
and the way she cheated on you
and the way she sometimes says hi to me in the hallway,
which makes me want to put my hand around her throat and say,
"I am so glad you lost the best thing that happened to me."
I think of this to make my pointed toes have a purpose
to make me dance with anger
but even after the song is over,
I can't stop
thinking.

I have these dreams that haunt me when I wake
and I'm not sure
if I believe in god but
I don't think I'm strong enough
to believe in nothing
  and survive it

I guess I should be
grateful that the pollen
doesn't make my throat itch
   like it does Naomi's
and it doesn't make my eyes itch
   like it does Naomi's
        but it does make me itch
to get out of this godforsaken place
            once-and-for-all

In my dreams I walk through
fields with needles where the grass
should be but when I wake the
crickets, birds, gossipy girls
whisper when I pass
and its so hard to stop listening
  (the streets swell yellow with the ***** of spring)

I stood in the middle of your chaos,
guitar melodies and melted candle wax,
cigarette butts from another drunken night
and that **** futon that always made
me awaken, toss and turn
but I never reached for you
and you never reached for me
I knew right away,
this should tell me something
about the way we both love
Not enough,
or too much
and neither is ever
right

[i'd
like to be inside of your mouth
and find new words hidden under your
tongue]

We gathered in the
cold, still room
people got up and told comforting lies
people she didn't even talk to
showed up with their sorrows
grim masks on their faces
but sitting in the corner
I saw what no one else would admit
it was a room full of people
who didn't want to be there
for a girl
who didn't want to be there either
so she left.
*i.c.d