she says that you work too much.
this coming from a girl whose car
hasn't moved since January.
she's just waiting for you to come back
like she deserves every second of your time.
it's not like it matters,
but I would never ask that of you.

on that cold and rainy night
amidst delayed flights and the six strings on your guitar,
you told me that you got a concussion from playing soccer
a little too rough in my hometown
and how you couldn't wait to get drunk with your grandmother
on Thanksgiving.
you enjoyed going through the security line at the airport
because you "loved looking at your **** in boxes."
how did you and I end up coming from and going to the same place
without finding each other in between?

my sister has fire in her fingertips;
she might burn you, but she swears
she’ll keep you warm at night.
there’s a long list of boys
that she will kiss by the end of October,
**** on her tongue before you even learn their names.
she scars them with her lips licked with flames,
and they catch the heat in their throats
so their hearts won’t burn.
it’s just like grandmother always said
while the water boiled in the kitchen;
hold your own, hold your own, hold your own.

sometimes, girls with monogrammed
backpacks will hold the boy with
the tattooed arms a little closer
than you want them to.
remember that there has to be a girl
who gets movie nights with her mother
instead of a date with the boy
with the candescent eyes. and sometimes,
that girl is going to be you. but not always.
oh darling, not always.

driving home isn't nearly as exciting
if there's no one waiting for you
on the other side of the door.

I spent my teenage years as an umbrella.
you wouldn’t open me up inside,
you only needed me for protection.
when it wasn’t raining, you set me aside:
at the bottom of messy school lockers
and the back seat of your car
with the promises you would never keep.

the next state over,
halfway across the country,
or even all the way on the other side,
I still look to see if the car that just passed is yours.
you're my worst bad habit and no matter what I do,
I just can't seem to shake you.

“fear thou not,” I whispered as she put on her makeup. she was just as beautiful without it, but she didn’t believe it.

“fear thou not,” I whispered as she slipped on the red dress. she decides that the red of the fabric will soak up the red of her blood and all will be well.

“fear thou not,” I said as her mother told her that she’d see her later. little did she know, this was the last time that she’d see her daughter’s bright fleeting eyes: wide open and sparkling against the summer sun.

“fear thou not, I bellowed as she climbed to the top of her apartment complex. as she admired the pretty Portland sunset, I thought, just for a moment, that she might change her mind.

“fear thou not,” I bellowed as she breathed in for the very last time. she must hear me. she has to hear me. why isn’t she listening?

“fear thou not,” I whispered into the wind as she fell into the infinite nothingness that would soon become her. I tried my best. heaven knows you can’t save them all. my right hand can’t hold her anymore.

the only way I’m moving forward
is if you’re in my passenger seat.
but I don’t know you anymore
and you don’t owe me anything.

“come to me,” he said. in this hospital ward, we are all plagued by the same fate. there he sits, writing us off one by one; a cancer in his own right.

“come to me,” he said. the doctors remind me that the bright lights are harsh on any skin tone, and mine is no exception.

“come to me,” he said. will it hurt? will it be like dreaming?

“come to me,” he said. you’ve already taken so many. why do I have to be one of them? why now?

“come to me,” he said. I don’t want to leave; I never want to leave. regardless, he will be the second cancer to take me.

“come to me,” he said. it was time.

I give in to the silence because it will be my home longer than the twelve year’s I’ve spent chasing the sun.

I spent my last night in Tennessee at your house.
We ate dinner in your front yard
so that the cars could watch us
as they drove by.

You said,
you're rarely as burned out
as you think you are.

Last night I counted the states between here and Montana,
thinking back to that night
I wished away everything in the April sky
so that you could shine the brightest.

I had leaps and bounds picked for me you see.
plums with their crow’s foot skin
those tiny sour grapes and their toddler arms
hugging the waist of their own mother
because they weren’t yet big enough
to make it on their own.
all for the love of parents
who refused to pledge me to the catholic church
in preparation for their wedding in ’89.
and what’s the point of children
if not to make them soldiers?

I never believed in any sort of higher power,
but when I saw the color of your eyes, I thought
that, just maybe, I was wrong all along.

at age six, I told the god that I didn't believe existed
that I wasn't going to wish him happy birthday anymore.

these days we come full circle:
I spent my eleventh birthday
with death behind my eyes and a best friend that wouldn't call.

on my thirteen and a quarter birthday
I spent my day dreaming with the sun.
at 11:33 PM, I hand-wrote a will
and hid it in my drawer so that
my parents would know who should get my
babysitting money and the naked American Girl Doll
with the dislocated leg.

these days we come full circle:
I spent my twentieth year
having nightmares that my dad killed my brother.
my mom was flying the helicopter --
we were watching them from above and
she wouldn't let me save him.
all I could do was pray that he wouldn't get
****** into the nothingness
that I was destined for.

I'm almost certain that it isn't love.
I just really like the words you use
and the way you talk. I can't help it.
your laugh leaves me wanting more.

you and I weren’t made for hotel room suites,
for red carpet walks or night clubs so loud
that we can’t hear our heartbeats.
you and I were made for ****** apartments
and even crappier coffee, for slow walks
hand in hand through fast paced New York City.
we’ll see things from the ground up,
perhaps it’s better that way.
no matter what happens, I hope that you’ll stay.

that shade of lipstick made you bolder my dear.
the eyeliner put you in the direction you're supposed to go.
there's still time to veer off the right path
for the one that makes you feel more whole.
your mother's eyes might scream "I told you so,"
but that's all just talk. you're golden. I swear, you're golden.

On Sunday mornings they’d grab us by the shoulders
and stare into our eyes until
we repeated those universal truths —
what goes up much come down,
He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit,
even Satan knows
that he’s out there.

a very wise professor once told me
not to tell somebody that you love them
if you don't care how they're doing.
so don't set someone on fire
just to watch them burn.

I am the planets we can’t get to
and you are the entire earth;
vast, beautiful, and a little bit neglected.
I am the alien spaceships that fly over
our country to observe, but never make contact.
I am hidden in the far corners of the universe
and I don’t know how to reach you in a way
that you’d want me to stay.

my pain will always cause thunderstorms.
sometimes death represents suspense.
its ruthless, depressing thoughts
will let me sleep when I'm dead.

she puts on a little more makeup before class,
even though she knows that he won’t notice
anyway. she’s sure to put on that shade
of lipstick that her thirteen year old cousin
Sarah says is a work of art, even though it’s not
going to make him want to kiss her any more than
he did the day before.  she’s not too sure if she’s
doing it for him or if she’s doing it for her.

I don't know if I care if anyone ever loves me again.
I think he might love me enough for the entire world.

they say that you shouldn't
make homes out of human beings,
but material things don't complete me
the way you do.

gas stations and vintage t shirts
and never saying “die,” I think
you stole the sun’s shine with
the sparkle in your eyes.

sometimes, I think about the day I lost you.
it didn't come in waves, like I was accustomed to.
a single tsunami washed over me,
knocked me out, and I forgot how to breathe.
I was petrified because it was like you took me with you
and my body wasn't my home anymore.
a large part of me died with you that day.
they told me that that part would get smaller over time,
but I'm not so sure that's true. I had no say in the matter.
all I could do was lay on my cousin's couch
until the water drained from my lungs.

I change my nail polish every day
because I get bored of the color.
how am I supposed to handle
a long term relationship?

you went out of your way to "bump into me"
and say hello on a Thursday afternoon.
when I excitedly told my friends,
they brushed it off like it was no big deal.
I guess this sort of thing
doesn't happen to me very often.

I have been in love
with thoughts and ideas,
but I have never been in love
with a whole person.
longing and loving
are entirely different,
even though I feel like
they're the same.

you acted like you didn't care if I left,
and then you got mad when I did.
you are a hypocrite.

take yourself out to dinner
if no one else will.
if you don't treat yourself right,
why would you expect
anyone else to?

she has planets in her eyes
and dreams of unseen lands.
the tattoos across her body
a map of the places she’s been.
she could go anywhere,
but she longs to go to space.
she’ll do it with rainbow hair,
laughter in her heart,
and a smile on her face.

This is the part where life cracks open.
The final lap around the Sorry board,
the moment where a German man
chokes you on the Subway.
Your throat closes but your heart opens up
and there are bees in there.
General Mills was wondering where they went.

Skin kisses skin
crossing cheeks, pecking noses.
The breadth between ‘be my shadow’ and ‘enough for now.’

Blow out the candles if you’re listening God,
we need a little flicker here.

you deserve someone who will
wake up earlier than you do
to make your morning coffee.
well, I was never a morning person,
and you wouldn’t have to ask her twice.

your eyes are my favorite kind of blue.
baby, I just want to get to know you.

help me, I have become addicted
to leaving behind those who have hurt me
over and over again,
like some become addicted to
cigarettes or tattoos or alcohol.
maybe my expectations are too high,
or being kind is my one true weakness,
but I don't expect to receive
any more than I am handing out.
if you keep taking, I won't have any more to give.

I wish that I was someone who mattered.
maybe it’s because I don’t look up when I walk
or because I can’t think of anything witty or
insightful until it’s long past due,
but if I died tomorrow, I might get into heaven
because I was “a joy to have in class,”
but not for anything substantial.
I didn’t change the world.  
I didn’t even change one person.

I am yelling "I'm different."
please paint my contents.
look behind my shipwrecked mind.
find such violent tidal waves I know that I can fight.
I stay alive.

it's funny how you think you're moving
in the right direction,
but then one day, you're driving down I-195.
windows down, blasting the song that goes
"oh dear, you look so lost."
not sure if you're running towards something,
or running away.

I dream of many impossible things.
like winning the lottery or
getting married to a famous boy
that I slow danced with at a concert.
but every time I see a car that
looks a little bit like yours,
I do a double take.
I start to think that maybe you've rolled
back into town to take me away,
like "Thunder Road" by Springsteen.
I think that's my most
impractical daydream of all.

I really should stop making mixed CDs
for boys who will never listen to them.

no matter what happened,
you loved wildly with
your whole heart, and
that’s a commendable thing.

I have fire in my fingertips;
I might burn you, but I swear
I'll keep you warm at night.

there’s a long list of boys that she will kiss
by the end of October, **** on her tongue
before you even learn their names.

This could be your final lap around the Sorry board.
The moment when the German man chokes you on the Acela Express.
Skin kisses skin
crossing cheeks, pecking noses.
Before your vision blackens,
you see the blurring of blues and greens:
Live action bruising for the eggshell queen.

stars don't let me shine
as much as you do.

I hope you find great things
wherever you're going.
perhaps one day, I'll have
the courage to start looking.

anybody who says "pay attention to me,
I am the most important"
when you feel like the ocean
has swallowed you whole,
is not worth loving.
hear these words, learn them, live them.
because you are your greatest downfall
and you don't need anyone pushing you.

it’s a **** good thing that I’ll never kiss you,
because I think that my heart
would jump out of my chest.

most days, I walk around with my head on completely straight;
remembering all of the mundane things that I have to do before bed:
study for your history test, do your laundry, call your mother.
but then I see a boy who looks a little too much
like you did when you were seventeen
or a car that looks like the one that you drove
home from soccer practice junior year.
and all of the sudden, I don't have any clean socks
and my mother is worried because she hasn't
heard from me in a few days.
I think that's the worst part of being in love only sometimes.