When I first met you, we were sitting in a room full of smiles. I asked, "is this the smile room, is this where smiles happen?" You have so many options, and so many opportunities, and all I can do is think I'd be stupid not to spend my life trying to get you to smile. When we, people, say we "ought" to do something, it implies that I can, and I cannot. And, I can or I cannot make myself everything you want &/or need. When you hurt, I have a reflex like it's ok let me kiss it let me make it better. You're the best person for me, in my eyes, along with my Father's. You shake his hand, and I swear you bring about the biggest smile hiding underneath his beard, he looks as if he's shaking hands with happiness. When I'm not able to see you, my sign of missing you is in my bones, I can feel them all sigh at once --- as if in unison. My heart was once broken, but you put some butter on it --- and, don't we put butter on warm things? Before you, I was a wolf in girl's clothing. I never listened to the general rule of thumb, and I'd say things to myself that I wouldn't say to someone else. I was trying to pull myself out of depths I thought I'd never reach. And, oh, God, I'm calling you my grace of God, because nothing like this has ever happened to me by chance, I think we happened by fate. You show me how to be determined, because being determined is something I forgot. And, oh, God, it's just so nice to hear the silk of your laugh, wrapping around me, like it hugs my skin perfectly --- the fabric of my life. We, both, were once broken, and we can't cure each other, but we can help with the symptoms, and be each other's antibiotic for life. Your happiness is the single most important thing to me. It's been raining for hours, and I can't stop feeling. It's raining hard, and I want to close my eyes and open my hands, and I want to watercolor my palms with the sunset rose glow pavement. My words are juicy, swollen, and filled with passion towards you. I ask you to be gentle with, me, what has been healed. I have a knee **** reaction to trust and love total strangers, but none of those strangers have the smell of earth after it rains clinging to their clothing and none of those strangers taste like hope --- that's all you. I love you. Your love leaves me lying awake and wondering how I became this lucky. I love hearing people talk about someone they love, and I hope people love hearing the honey pouring over rough wood in my voice when I talk about you. You keep me moving forward. I want to wake up to you every morning, and I don't like to think of someone else touching you, and I hope that'll never be, because that causes a raging sea inside of me. When my hands don't have yours to hold, their homesick for yours. And, I know what I feel for you is the purest, richest, creamiest love. When I'm in your arms, I feel like the moonlight turns into water and bathes us until our skin prunes and we're forced to let go before we turn into raisins.
(k.m.m)

I'll try not to forget the first time I felt you looking at my white shoes and gold shirt and the way i tried to hide my rosy cheeks each time my eyes scanned the gym to find yours meeting my gaze from across the court. I'll try not to forget the way you got nervous when I showed interest and how you wanted to hold my hand but couldn't. I'll try not to forget how desperately you wanted to kiss me in attendance recovery but couldn't. I'll try not to forget how many times you watched 500 Days of Summer in my absence and all 500 similarities you contrived between that pretty girl with the heart shaped tattoo on the bike in the elevator on the rooftop and the one standing in front of you with a hidden scar down her chest flowers in her hair a crooked smile.
Ill try not to forget how many times you tried to be my friend because I told you that was what I wanted and how many times you couldn't bear that. I'll try not to forget the time you walked to my house in the dark just to read words in the dictionary on a mattress with me.

I'll try to forget the days when those words transformed into the absence of them.

I'll try not to forget the books we found at the flea market and the plant soil you spilled in my car and the talks we had late at night in your driveway and the fear of your mother finding out you were with a girl. I'll try not to forget the difference between sesame and teriyaki chicken because I always thought both looked disgusting but they made you happy so I appreciated them. Ill try not to forget the first night I slept in your bed and the innocently hesitant neck kisses. I'll try not to forget the night you desperately wanted to kiss me- and then desperately kissing you.
And how bad it was,
but how it made the sun shine brighter in that dark room than it ever has outside at noon.
I'll remember intimate conversations and the first time I told you I loved you and the way you didn't believe me and the months we spent not sure of what we wanted and how that uncertainty faded as the warm weather did and how the cold no longer comes from the winter but from the absence of your smile when I wake
I'll remember what you said about absence and this time I'll agree with you; absence makes the heart full and fond and full of longing, not hollow.

I'll remember the start in hopes of never having to try to forget an ending.

dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.

I fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.
My body vulnerable and curled up against his.
Relaxation and peace flooded my body.

I haven't been this happy in a long time

Being beside someone who's intentions are pure for you,
Sleeping alongside someone who's feelings are mutual,
That is happiness.

*That is love

Be inspired by blinding lights,
Followed by empty roads,
Let dotted images linger behind your eyelids,
As roaring traffic competes with stale music and smoke.
The lost crickets find solace in illuminated screens,
And my youthful insomniacs wonder where the poetry went?
Some remain, holding onto their pillows,
Others are gone,
But there sobs were lost among our silence.

I spent forever searching
for a girl whose lips tasted like Cherry Coke with wisdom
seeping out of her throat as she spoke

i didn't mind getting
paper cuts
for he was
my favorite book

Why is it I always find myself laying in the wet grass staring up at constellations with a set of chromosomes lighting up a cigarette that don’t belong to you?
This time the LSD flowed through the veins of a boy with blonde flowing hair. I laid next to him and tried to keep up with and envision what he saw and felt that night, and I think he could tell that I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant when he tried to describe it and he sighed with the faintest hint of frustration, but I reassured him with a simple
“talk about it.”
And he began to.
to use his hands, silhouettes against the dark violet sky, twirling and dancing, the stars twinkling and shining light between the shadowed fingers like the sun through trees. he described looking up at a circle of white light of life, and from it stemmed four hallways or paths, and then how there was a giant hand in the sky plucking at the stars, and then how the stars “danced, almost seductively, (no, seductively isn’t the right word, but it’s the easiest way to explain it)” for his eyes only. And how he was melting into the grass on our backs and the way Something by the Beatles made him feel something, and he asked about my writing and understood my anxiety and traced his tattoos in the dark, painting pictures of the ones I’d never noticed, the sparrow, the compass, the hamsa, with his words.
I felt as if I were tripping too, like the tiny tab dissolved into my own tongue for forty five minutes until it made it’s way down the back of my throat with a sip of water. Like I could feel myself melting into psychedelia with each syllable that rolled smoothly off of his tongue. Like the giant hand in the sky was mine, and I plucked the little lights like the strings of a guitar, like they burned my fingertips the way the flames from lighters did when I tested how slowly I could wave them over my fingers before I felt the heat when I was a child. Like the earth grew into me, like vines slithered their way up my spine and my vertebrae blossomed into lotus flowers, like Something by the Beatles made me feel something.
The earth was raw; it was so real.
Yet reality had never felt farther in a sober state.
I felt touched and untouchable, invincible and invisible, desired and deserted.
We finally stood and walked away from our little bed of leaves but they didn’t want me to leave- they tangled themselves in my hair and he told me to leave them in because it looked lovely.
So I did.
And I found you, where I always do.
You were laughing your acid off in the fluorescent lights of your bedroom.
And your eyes were green and your cheeks pink and your palms open and your mind
untouched by the untouched beauty we experienced and the enlightening clarity and the knowledge we sought under the all-knowing night sky.