I am the bobby pins and hair clips you find in corners of your room, on your dresser, or behind your bed.

I am the pictures on your wall that I made when I was once manic.

I am the crumbs you find in your bed that was once my “three or four nights a week bed” which I used as a table.

I am the cafe where we met, and kept meeting.

I am day drives to no where.

I am the Middletown train station before the movies.

I am the mint lotion that keeps the bugs away.

I am the notes I would leave you, that found their way on your wall.

I am the bandaids.

I am that strand of medium length brown hair you will find in your shower

I am that guy, from trivia at that other cafe, that I wanted us to be friends with.

I am the hands that would unlock your locked pointer finger.

I am that key on your key chain.

I am the leftover tea that is always too hot for me to drink, and is left near your bed.

I am ice cream with CHERRIES, and edamame.

I am the sheets on your bed.

I am the downing film theater when you needed to feel better.

I am New Jersey.

I am the reason Netflix recommends Independent dramas with strong female lead. I am the netflix.

I am the stain on your mattress.

I am the drool on your pillow.

I am the sugar in your cabinet above your roomates whiskey.

I am all of the groceries and dates I paid for.

I am all those pictures of me on your phone which made their way to your computer.

I am the light wash boyfriend jeans.

I am that bottle of wine that sits with all other bottles, that you see when you walk out of your room and into the kitchen, and out the door.

I am the reason you once felt content.

I am the reason the corkscrew sits on that stool.

I am the reason why your toothbrush is wet, before you use it.

I am the two red sharpie marks left on those sheets that I got us.

I am mexico. The trip to mexico that could have almost seemed doable.

I am the sent of oils which remind you of hippies.

I am the shoes left at your door, or the teavana jug of tea in the kitchen right now.

I am the fourth of July. I am that pool we never swim in. I am the projected films on the fence.

I am the talker, the thought keeper, the fighter, the writer.

I am Sensual Amber

I am UBE

I am my legs on the wall when I dry them.

I am the tiny pills on your dresser.

I am just someone your next girlfriend will be better than.

I am the bobby pins.

Poison runs through my veins
infecting my blood turning it rotten.
Rotten as the corpse that was once your living, breathing body.

This poison is contagious. Once in your blood,
there is no cure except recluse.
Or a plague

A plague of words without meaning,
a smile without a feeling, and a human without a being.
Is this who i've become?

Myself a woman going into the black cave to save the masses.
I am no longer a woman, but a wretch.
With a heart that pumps the poison.

And the men see beauty and zeal
until they have a taste of poison,
which burns the tip of their tongue.

You are a *******.
*******; back for more?
And once the plague is spread...

I leave
and move to the next victim.

I have big brown beautiful eyes.
These eyes see the world differently than other people.
These are my eyes.
My eyes turn blue when looking at the vast ocean
which I know carries life to thousands of creatures.
These eyes turn purple when I am feeling most confident.
I am the royal queen who holds her body to the upmost respect.
My eyes turn red with anger and lust,
when the blood is pumping and rushing through my veins.
My eyes will tun orange with hunger.
Hunger for a new beginning or something to feed my soul.
And my eyes will become yellow when the bright sunshine
wraps its arms around me, and whispers to me "it's alright."

But that green eye lays deep inside me.
That green eye is filled with jealousy, control, greed.
This green eye comes with the fear.
The fear of the large blue ocean.
Those large bodies of water that cover more of this planet than the land I walk upon.
And the green eye becomes worried about the  love of the sunshine that only wraps its arms when clouds are no longer in the way, or when the night sky doesn't take over, or when it is the right season.
This green eye comes from fear that the sun will set and I will be alone,
and the large ocean will take you far away from me with all the other creatures.
This green eye is
Poison.

They say that the manic people
are most passionate

I am most passionate about
our love, your hands, thoughts, and words.

Our love, your hands, thoughts, and words make me
m a n i c.

and then...

PANIC.
The breath is stolen away by the demons
who stick their pitchforks into my brain
repeatedly, allowing my past to ooze out
and spread like wild fire.

PANIC.
The tears that try to put out the fire but in return
send shivers up my spine. The body turns cold as if it is
d e a d.

PANIC.
Is the worry of the ashes left behind by the fire.
Who is going to clean this up so I can breath again...

or will the flame begin again before we can clean up this mess.

But slowly the individual cells begin to heal
and when combined with chemicals that are released
clean up the left over ashes even faster.

We need one day to talk
and one day to rest
and one day to clean up the mess

and after it all
we'll move along and i'll forget those chemicals are in my brain
and when you look into my eyes....

I hope you'll see me.
and not the panic in me.

a. She uncomfortably collects her most intimate belongings.

b. You bring the plague while coughing up the ghosts of my past.

c. Torn, split, cut in front of your very eyes, i'm asked what is torturing my skin. Each blister for every doubt.

d. A jazz musician asks me "Have you heard the new Justin Timberlake album?"

Every creative person I know has a phone from two- thousand-four, and is proud to show it.  Suddenly I am the outcast.

Mallory Whitman sits across from me as I eat my soup I move to the counter with a mirror, peek up, see myself writing, and tell myself "I am Mallory Whitman"