i’m typing this
as i’m waiting for you to get back
from the bathroom.
in the starbucks
cozy acoustic music is playing
and your mocha frappucino
half empty
is on the table in front of me.
your lips have touched the lid
and i don’t want to be
that person
but i wonder.
i wonder how it feels
does it know that it’s lucky.
can it tell me its secrets
how does it do that?
get you to open up
and let inside the warmth?
i’m not jealous.
just curious.

you should be back any second now.
you might walk out
back to our cliche little table
and ask me
what i’m doing
what i’m typing so furiously
what i’m so passionate about.
i will want to say you.
i love you
right here right now right time right place
i won’t though

maybe i’ll say
“i forgot to finish this paper
that’s due at 11:59 tonight”
or maybe i’ll say
“i just got an urgent email
about my political science class tomorrow”
or maybe i’ll say
“an old elementary school friend
just sent me a Facebook message
and i need to reply”

or.
or maybe i’ll say
“nothing.
nothing more important than our coffee.”
maybe i’ll just close my laptop
mid-sentence
because it’s true.

nothing is more importa

Entry ~
You were the first man that ever broke my heart. It was the day I was born. You held me in your arms and made me a promise that would rip us both apart. You promised to love me unconditionally from the start. But time passed and over the years those words faded from your heart. In the presence of a war when you had one foot out the door. There are vacancies in my memories where a father should have played a part. Like teaching me to drive a car, or telling me don't believe boys that say I love you from the start. Instead, I looked at every boy with tears in my eyes and willingly accepted every single lie, thinking maybe if I part my thighs they'll learn to love how broken I am inside, but they never do. Just like you they leave without a single clue and I'm left alone, used, wishing my daddy would have loved me too. And I'm not writing this to blame you, or break you, or tell you I hate you. I've made mistakes too. Ones deeply rooted in my relationship with you. And I get that maybe you didn't have a clue that your daughter was struggling in the world without you. But I relied on you to set the standard for boys I would let into my heart. By the time I was sixteen, I felt like a tortured piece of art. I learned to love myself of course. Over the years of ripping myself apart I learned to chart the darkness in my own heart. I don't blame you anymore for my broken parts. I'm healed from being angry at you. I'm writing this to tell you I'm sorry for failing you, and I'm sorry you failed me too.

Dear Daddy,
Do you know what these men say to me?

With their
eyes and their mouths
when I walk on the street.

With a grin and a nod
and a look up and down.
A wink and a kiss
and a cat call heard from downtown.

With my skirt short
and my top
low,
It’s a cold world daddy
and no
doesn’t mean no.

Daddy do you know
how these men look at me?

Like I’m a piece of meat
strutting down the street?
With my head buds in
and my favorite song on.

I’m asking for it Daddy,
I’m in the wrong.

Do you know how it feels
not to wear what I like?

To walk a little faster
when I’m alone at night?

Daddy the world is my predator
and I am it's doe,
Daddy what happens
when I can’t say no?

She’s more fun when she is drunk
At least…until she’s not
Because she’s puking in the toilet
And regretting her last shot

She’s more confident when she’s drunk
Gorgeous and ready to score
Until she looks in a mirror
And feels even uglier than before

She likes herself more when she is drunk
Until that feeling goes away
When she is so far beyond gone
That her self-hatred comes out to play

She’s happier when she’s drunk
All her issues leave her brain
But they all come crashing back at once
And cause her so much pain

She likes the world more when drunk
It’s filled with so much good
Until one little thing sets her off
And she hates it all more than she should

She likes life more when she’s drunk
Her mind for once feels still
Terrified of losing that feeling
She soon wants to end things with a pill

But she can stop any time she wants
Or so she’d have you believe
Because alcohol makes her seem so happy
That is, until all her friends leave

"Why do you love her?”
I don’t know, mom. Why don’t you ask yourself the same thing about dad every once in awhile?
Why do you love him?

Does the way he wraps his barbaric hands around your womanhood and rinses it of all pride turn you on?
Or maybe it’s the way his fists move with your tears… the choreography perfectly in sync with the ballad of your captivity… comfort… conformity - same thing, right?

Why do you love him?
Do you not see the chains on your ankles?
These are the same rusty chains that held onto your self-doubt; you’re drowning in a glass of water, mother.
The hinges are loose but you’re so stupid… so in love… your vision is blurry now. Let go of the tears you held back for sixteen years.

“Why do you love her?”
I don’t know, mother. Somewhere between the passion and commotion; the *** and the rage, I forgot.
I think I understand why you’re holding on.. It’s all in the comfort of knowing they will always be there. It’s all in the lack of trying and just being.

I don’t know why I love her.

Our relationship is always a give and take,
except I always give,
and you always take.