kind eyes and crooked smile,
the inner child that shows its face in the morning
how strange to have been strangers once
how strange to be strangers once again

I thought I was getting better
Months flew by that only felt like days
and I don't cry when I think of you anymore
I told myself not to waste my tears on people who aren't worth it
But my grandfather died last night
And I still haven't cried
And now I think I understand why those months went by so fast

i loved you like a hot air balloon that was never coming down
but all things run out of fuel eventually
and the higher you get,
the harder the fall.

You have never been worthy of the love I gave to you -
I will love myself til I don't miss yours anymore.

i used to think there would never be enough people like you and I,
we were singing together when i told you that you were the only friend i needed.
but now i only think of you in past tense.

what a shame,
what a misadventure it was to know you.
I've never seen a light more blinding than the one that was forced into my vision when i heard about you,
even in all those years that we spent in the sun.

i like to think that you're not as terrible as you've proved yourself to be,
but i don't know how not to confuse compassion with weakness,
or the distinction between forgiveness and forgetting.

so many of our secrets will forever remain in this small town,
memories of us live on every part of your street.
Christmas came back around all too fast this year and
i keep finding the pieces of myself that i gave away buried in the ornaments we hung together.

i don't have enough time to pretend i'm not hurting,
and i don't have enough heart to feel sorry for you.
more than the clouds want the dying grass to know that they will pour all they have to bring them life,
more than the moon wants to bring full light to our darkest nights,
i want you to know
that i am not sorry.

there's something in the quiet about this town,
the vacancy after the sun goes down,
the trucks backed in to their wide driveways,
headlights fading into distant rays.

the only movement outside is the gentle fall of the snow,
and the darkness seems to have an odd sort of glow,
no sounds of children, music, or the roaring of a crowd,
but the absence of noise has never been so loud.

there's something about the quiet in this town,
that reminds me of how peaceful it was to have you around,
during that first snowstorm of the new year,
whispering truths of our greatest hopes and fears.
the grey in this sky like the hue of your eyes,
as familiar as the nose kisses you gave me goodbye.

you'd hate this place: too cold, too far, too much of nothing to do.
but something in the quiet of this town that reminds me of you.

Love is not the way your father slams doors,
or the way your mother stays locked behind them at night.
Love is not the way your brother loses his temper,
or the alcohol disintegrating your grandfather's brain.
Despite what you have been raised to believe,
love is not waking up alone on Christmas morning,
or the hand that hit you wiping away your tears.
Love is not the screams of rage on Saturday night
and the singing of hymns on Sunday morning.
Love is not leaving a light on for someone who’s never coming home,
and love is not the empty trust fund with your name written on it.
Love is not the pain you grew up in.
Love is not the pain you grew up in.

In dreams, you reach out to me like you used to and you say my name the way you promised.
Waking up is starting to hurt.
I'm trying hard to be the right kind of patient but I don't know if what I'm waiting for is still worth waiting for.
I'll wait,  anyway.
I don't know where I am going with this.
I swore I wouldn't write about you again, and I did.

I would give everything to not sleep alone tonight,
I have tried so many drugs to make this burden feel light.
But nothing is helping to rid these beasts out of sight!
Show me something to end this nightmare,
give me something to win this fight.

because i believed you
because i never realized how brown your eyes really were until i had the courage to stare
because you told me you were happier this way
because i don't feel suicidal when i'm with you
because you wanted me to meet your mother
because you never ask me what's wrong
because you don't care about anything
because i wanted to know what would happen
because i was too scared to ask
because ******* for leaving the first time
because i love you for coming back
because you only ever touch me when you're drunk
because his lips didn't feel like yours
because he made me laugh but not the way you could
because of 3 am nights with you are all i want to remember
because 3 am nights without you sit in the middle of my chest like a boulder
because my father warned me
because i can't do it anymore
because i can't do it anymore

I spend a lot of time thinking,
so I've had some time to make up my mind.
But you spend a lot of time drinking,
leaving your morals and reasoning behind.

I spend a lot of time reading,
because I crave the escape of a fictional fantasy life.
But you spend a lot of time bleeding,
because you crave an escape only found through a knife.

I spend a lot of time worrying,
because I fear you'll never make it out of this town alive.
But you spend a lot of time hurrying;
dismissing everything that matters to stay busy,
just to survive.

I spend a lot of time laundering
your ***** clothes with stains of blood
that just won't seem wash out.
But you spend a lot of time wandering;
always searching,
but never finding what love is really about.

I spend a lot of time thinking,
so I've had some time to make up my mind.
You can carry on your drinking,
I've decided it's time to leave you behind.

"I wish you well."
                                                          ­                    



                                         ­                                     (but not too well without me)

grey eyes and gold buzzcut
psychopathic smile, tongue like candy
calloused palms, arms like a bomb shelter
wrapped in a bow of good intentions and charm
christmas came early that year,
you were all mine.

I didn't cry for two years,
Because I refused to let myself feel.
I promised that I would save my tears
for something that deemed my emotions real.

It was a method that helped me get by -
Not questioning why certain things felt so heavy to carry,
I never let myself feel the urge to cry,
Because the thought that I may never stop was an idea too scary.

And then I saw you
and I didn't know if anything would feel worse,
than the way you said my name
Or how your eyebrows raise when you curse.

You messed up my two year streak.
You interfered with my way of living.
And now I always let the water leak
from my eyes until my emotions are swimming.

So I'm sick of writing poems about you,
and I hate that you made me cry.
These are my last lines for you,
this is me saying goodbye.

I could probably write a bunch of stanza's
With black letters and white background of metaphors and similies
I could use pretty words and figures of speech
And end with something ironic.
Or use lines that we've all heard before and try to pass it off as my own,
or write something that's all too vague.
But the truth is
All I'd really be writing about
Is the same old concept that's been written about in poetry for years
And the same feeling that's felt all across the world on a Saturday night when we are alone:
A little bored
Maybe even a little lonely
And a little desperate for a miracle.

I've never really loved the look of "perfect" on a person.

But I've loved crooked teeth
and chapped lips
and the rips in his sweater
and calloused palms
and acne scars along his jawbone
and eyes that are slightly slanted upward
and pant legs that are too short
and watches worn with the time set two minutes early
and hair that always looks the same
and loud voices in libraries
and quiet whispers at crowded parties
and twisted ****** expressions
and dilated pupils
and the way too much of his gum shows when he smiles
and beauty marks in secret places
and the same white t-shirt worn over and over again
and eye colours that are indistinguishable
and cold, blank stares at 3 am
and hopeful stares at the break of dawn
and messy writing that's hard to read
and untied shoe laces
and lisps
and stutters
and jeans worn too low
and fists that make holes in walls
and breath that reeks of coffee
and lips that taste of tobacco
and eyelids that are heavy after a long day
and fading bruises
and bushy eyebrows
and clumsy feet
and hunched postures
and hands that are always too cold
and bandages stuck onto odd places
and cologne that's a little too strong...

 because I think that showing what is imperfect is what makes a person worth loving.

i still hold my breath when i hear you late at night

you're locked behind closed doors and you think no one can hear you, but i hear you
howling like a wolf in search for something in the night,
roaring with anger like a lion

i'd like to say that I'm not afraid of you anymore but I can't help but feel like a small child in the dark when you curse

maybe this is why I try so hard to please people like you
I'll swing a right hook at a woman before I'll do so much as raise my voice at a man and what the **** does that say about me?

take a shot if you were conditioned to keep men tame
pop a pill if you were raised to stay silent when your daddy yells
light one up if the lines have blurred between love and fear

i haven't been sober in years

when the goodbyes are for good,
after months of caving into yourself,
sadness spilling out of yourself,
you begin to let go of the things that only ever almost existed -
but died before they could live outside of your mind:
the weekend getaway to new york city you almost booked,
the christmas lights on the roof we almost put up,
the 'i love you' that you almost meant.

you learn to let go of the potential happy endings:
throwing our caps up at the graduation we almost made it to,
the hidden trail we almost hiked,
the new year's eve kisses we exchanged for almost 4 years in a row.
but there are things that still swell beneath the surface -
every exhale threatening to spill the words i almost said,
every memory embedded in a cinematic masterpiece so beautiful that it can only be viewed through rose-coloured glasses.

so i lay them down here:
a graveyard for every almost,
a cemetery for every possibility,
a sanctuary for every end of the line disguised as a new beginning.
and i let them rest in peace.
i bring them flowers once a year,
daisies because they remind me of your smile.

i pay my respects and mourn the love that could have been.
i thank you for almost being the best thing that ever happened to me.
i thank you for the laughter that almost lasted forever.
i thank you for almost loving me without end.

last Easter I wrote a poem for you
with rhyming words and beautifully constructed stanzas
about the way your hair looks and the way I wanted you and the way things were changing but -
April came back around all too fast this year and I don't write poems like I used to.
this isn't poetry.
this is October nights with glazed eyes,  burning throats and so much trauma, so much trauma, so much ******* trau-
this is November afternoons smoking my lungs black and tears that i drowned in for every day of that month.
this is December mornings when I spent all my money on Christmas decorations because I thought it would be my last.
this is New Years Eve, clutching her back and sobbing into her shoulders because I couldn't believe I made it - how the hell did I make it?  this is me thanking her, and her, and her too for stitching me back together. this is champagne and the grace of God.
this is February when you came back to me  and as much as i wanted to throw dirt back in your face, I held onto it in hopes of planting something new.
this is March when it wouldn't stop snowing.
this isn't poetry.
this is April,
this is me taking the dirt and burying the idea of us six feet under.
this isn't poetry,
this is Spring and this is the last time you will be mentioned with it.

it only took one week for you to re-light the candle,
and it only took me six words to set afire
(i'm so sorry i ****** up)
you were reckless with heat and i was so easily flammable and ******* for coming back when you did

there's always been a whole lot of grey between us
it wasn't black and white from the start
i was always making exceptions and you were always doing the wrong thing,
but making it seem so right

it feels like the butterflies in my stomach have turned into bees
stinging and buzzing whenever we talk and
im far past the school-girl crush, with sweaty palms and shy giggles
my hands are shaky and there's a lump in my throat because this isn't romance anymore,
this is red eyes and fractured ribs.

you keep referring to her as "a mistake"
but i keep hearing you say "i want her back"
and i wish you knew that the more you try to disguise your anger as indifference,
the more apparent it is that you wish things were different.

i will always be the altarboy,
i will always wait for you on hands and feet.
i will never be enough for you.
*i will never be enough for you

i read the poetry i used to write for boys i never think of any more
and it makes me sick to know you're next.
to know all this heartache really is temporary
to know i miss you as bad as i do right now and in a year,
it will only be a poem.
you will only be a poem.

A cell is not a home,
those bars keep you too far away.
We all try not to think about it too much,
and like this we keep ourselves sane.
We dance around the topic and I pretend not to hear Mom howling at night because if I don't acknowledge it, then it doesn't exist.
Has your vision faded to black and white?
Do you pretend that if you don't see the colour orange hanging from your body,
that you're just in another place?
Another empty room?
Another lonely night spent with  strangers at a location you're trying to make home?
You've always liked the way your hair looked long,
do you still like it now?
Have you began to hate the things you once loved yet?
Like cartoons, or colouring books, or the drugs that twisted and knotted your brain cells?
The drugs that sent you there?
The drugs that keep you there?
Have you began to resent every memory you have of us growing up?
Who do you see when you have nightmares?
Whose name do you curse when you awake in a cold sweat?
A cell is not a home
and those bars are going to ruin you.

there is a fire in my chest
that roars with every breath i take
i am suffocating,
choking on the fumes

at night, i am my own firefighter
i use the jaws of life to cut open my skin,
reach inside of myself
and extinguish whatever is burning me alive
until the flames re-ignite again in the morning.

last November, you said, "I'll always be here when you need me."
so thank you for staying gone.

...And I've seen what it's like to have good days,
really ******* good days.
Days when things go horribly wrong and surprisingly right but you see how much your mother has sacrificed for you
and how the sky looks so ordinary but it will probably never look the exact same way as it does right now
and  the sun shines on your best friend in a way that makes you feel happy to be alive.
I am happy to be alive.
I don't know what that means in terms of progress,
But I know it's October again,
and this Thanksgiving I am able to say the words that I couldn't say last year:
**I am happy to be alive.

"I wonder if guardian angels cry when they see it all play out;
and as they stand with their hands tied,
do they cry out loud?"**

I wonder if they ached,
when I fell in love with you the first time.
Did they shout, "Stop! You've chosen the wrong one!
Go back, this is your warning sign!"

Or if they begged God
to let them step in
when I was 16 and took too much
of my mother's prescription medicine.

Or if they stared down at me in resentment,
when I ignored the voice in the back of my head
that told me to walk on the main roads
instead of taking that back alley instead.

I wonder if they stand around my bed
when I lay empty and unloved,
wanting to reach out and hold me
but being held back by the realms above.

I wonder if they want to apologize
for my life that didn't go as planned.
And to tell me that their intentions were good,
but interfered with by the evil of man.

I wonder if they would apologize,
for not being loud enough when I made the wrong choice.
And I wonder how many times they've broken the rules of Heaven,
just to make sure that I could hear their voice.

Or if they'd tell me that they've always been watching,
but sometimes human desires overpower their will.
Would they tell me that these things my fault?
Do my guardian angels care, still?

Because the world keeps spinning faster,
and it seems everyone is only out for themselves...
but I wonder if our guardian angels live in regret
because of the times they couldn't save us from ourselves.

There are always people
who will want to pretend nothing ever happened
who will want to pretend that they didn't drive nails through your wrists
and that they don't see you bleeding dry through the gaping holes
There are always people
that say they want you to go far
and they tell you that if you dig deep enough, you'll dig a hole to China
but stand above ground, throwing dirt back in like a burial service
And there are people like myself,
who forget what they're writing about half way in
who have gaping holes in their wrists that were never from a cross
and bottomless holes in the pit of their stomach
that never led to China.

You find yourself so bored out of your mind,
that it becomes amusing to drive others out of theirs

Good girls will leave their heart at your doorstep
and days later, you'll have the pieces scattered around your bedroom

Your old drug of choice just doesn't seem to cut it any more,
but manipulation has never felt more addicting.

Make them say your name, make them tell you they love you
Keep that memory alive when you stop returning their calls
and when your words have cut deep enough, don't flinch when you see your mother cry for the first time
and don't think twice when you know that you're the reason why

Where did your feelings go?
You see how red your anger can be,
but do you remember what shade remorse is?
You prey on the people that love you most and run them dry
You feed off of their hope that maybe you'll change.
But you don't entertain the thought of love anymore
and you'll never see that people are not just another notch in your belt.

Stop replaying that night when you drank too much and said the wrong things and kissed the wrong person.

Stop wishing you could take back the words you said in the fight that ended things for good.

Stop wishing you had gotten better grades in high school instead of taking up a habit that you still haven't broken 5 years later.

Stop wishing you had taken more pictures last Christmas because you didn't know it would be the last Christmas you would spend with your father.

Stop wondering if your best friend took what you said that one time the wrong way.

Stop hating yourself for staying quiet that one time you saw something you knew was wrong, but turned a blind eye.

We are all ****** up people.
We are all flawed.
We have all hurt someone we love, we have all broken things that can never be repaired.
But regret gets exhausting,
and eventually,
if you let it,
it will bleed you dry.


Forgive yourself.

If you give a girl a with a big heart your broken pieces,
she will gently pick them up and carry them in her soft hands,
and pay no mind to your sharp edges.
She will try to glue you back together
and she’ll do it in a way that made you forget you were ever broken.
With scratched finger tips and ****** palms,
she’ll lift you up to the sun,
letting it's blinding rays shine through you
to show you that even the worst things have things to love in them
and that even the shattered can again be whole.

If you give a girl with a big heart your body,
she will study you like an archaic God.
She will learn your curves and surfaces like braille,
she will adjust her hearing to the pitch of your laughter
so that no matter how far apart you become,
her ears will perk up like a dog's when you giggle,
and she will smile, knowing that you smile.

If you give a girl with a big heart your time,
she will make each second feel like infinity,
and each sunset like the end of the world.
You'll forget that the universe is as vast and wondrous as it is,
because you will be so captivated by the light that she emits
right where she sits,
by your side.

And if you take from a girl with a big heart,
please,
for the love of God,
do not take it all.

If you take from a girl with a big heart,
please remember that her love is not a renewable resource.
The wind and the sun and the water will forever be there to serve you but
she will run dry, and become another fact of history that will one day be forgotten.

If you take from a girl with a big heart,
please remember how sharp your edges were before her,
how lifeless your body was before she touched it,
and how meaningless time was before she made it into something magical.

Knowing is always better than not knowing.
                                                        ­                                               Every
                                                           ­                                                      single
                                                          ­                                                                 time.

thousands of light years away
on an island off the West coast of Venus
there is a cottage built of moonstone
with a stove that runs on stardust
and a violet retriever with antennas for ears
who roams the yard and barks into the void.

there is an ocean where our love runs deep,
so we bathe in the memories of our past lives
and ride the wave of our endless future.
we smoke moon cheese when the sunrises,
we drink from the milky way as the sunsets,
we collect the shooting stars that granted us all of our wishes
and put them on display in glass cabinets.

and though a version of us exists on Earth,
in a world of pandemic and isolation,
where the stoves run on gas and the dogs foam at the mouth,
where the oceans are tainted and the stars are out of reach,
it is enough to know that thousands of light years away,
there is a cottage on the West coast of Venus,
where you and I live in perfect harmony.