I remember a time when I
didn't have to remember a time

When butter only came in sticks.
And the trash men came every morning
When a Chevy was just a Chevy...
And my dad parked it for free
and the cops would give us a warning

Memories when freedom smelled like barbecue
and my fingers tasted like Old Bay
we crunched corn on the cob
and sat with lit faces beneath fireworks,
not watching, waiting, miles away

When it wasn't who had the bigger yard,
but which yards could be conjoined to make
the biggest football field
and our parents voices,
not cell phones, called us
to gather around the supper meals

I remember when
lawyers were great
because we hardly ever needed them
When we feared dying more than being poor
When we called them jobs,
not income back then.

I remember when an endless ringing phone
or even a haunting busy tone
required no further investigation...
because at least you knew
she was ... home

...When love meant you don't have to stop looking,
"just keep looking at me."
Because romantic love didn't grow in diversions
like weeds in fertile soils of commiseration
I remember you looking at me

I remember when you could hear me
draw a tranquil breath
between each  spoken rhyme
…rather than me listening alone
to memories tapped
into liquid -
                     crystal -
                                    diode -
                                                  lines.

I cut my hair because I was done being sad.
All that weight on my head and shoulders
All that hassle of preserving an illusion
All those memories of her.
I cut it off.

But here I am,
Sad today.

So now what do I cut.

Gardenias used to grow
In the spaces between my ribs.
I read online
They symbolize joy.

Daffodils are the poster child for chivalry.
Thats what you showed
When you opened the car door for me
And offered a smile
As delicate as a flower petal.

That night when you opened your arms
To reveal plastic daisies
Growing on the inside of your biceps
Lavender clouding my mind.
I picked each blooming stalk and
Placed a bouquet on the window sill.

When you kissed me
I was an orchid.
You had mistaken me for a red rose.
You bleached me until I was white.
In the morning,
You tried to paint me yellow.

In the morning
I was a chrysanthemum.
In French class we learned
You must never give them to someone
When you enter their home
Because it is disrespectful.
Because they symbolize death.

The gardenias turned to brown and
Decaying stems were lodged in between my teeth.
All I see is lavender
When I look at a man now.
For a year
I cut up daffodils in my bedroom and
Hoped you would drive by
And look up at my window.

Did you clip the daisies off your body?
Did you offer them to someone else?
Did you brag to your friends
That your garden
Is much bigger than theirs?
Much prettier?
That all the flowers in your garden
Only bloomed because you have a magic touch?

Now I tend to hydrangeas.
Now I water irises.
Now I am a peony.
Now I own a diary full of pressed magnolias.
Now I leave forget-me-nots on your doorstep and
Hope you know who they're from.

In the dark nights, never will one find,
The memories of the insane skies.
I have no recollection, of any sorts of determination,
Of Morpheus to close my eyes curtain.
Find me in my plight, so little in comparison,
To the loss of the slumber kingdom.
The morning dawn breaks, so cruel in it's eternal fate,
On my Renaissance of my personal cave.
In a moment it shall be fine, but till I have escaped,
I shall gaze at this treacherous, mocking weight.

There's comfort in bleeding ink.
There's home in an empty page.

Every word is a heart beat
Punctuated by the steady pump of truth.
I feel the knot in my stomach
Come undone by the poem's end.
The conclusion.
The final thought.

Sometimes the words
Don't taste right in my mouth.
Words like "ethereal" and "champagne"
Sometimes taste like burnt toast.
Sometimes they shrivel up my taste buds.
Words like "juxtaposition" and "moist"
Sometimes taste like sweet, sweet strawberries.
Though I am uncertain,
I still place them on my waiting tongue.

The curve of a stanza
Always reminded me of
The curve of a lover's back.
A soft bend.
Purposeful and precise.
This is the only love I have ever known.

Sometimes I can't differentiate
Between ***** and closure.
Both sneak up on me
When I finally put the pencil down.

When things become too much
For my broken wings to handle,
I am reminded
There is an "I" in "suicide".
When things become too much
I gargle saltwater
To replenish my eyes.
I reapply the mascara.
I take an aspirin.
And I find comfort in bleeding ink.

I'm in love with someone's daughter
living in the shards of a broken home
Cutting herself on two year-old letters
These are moments she can't fake;
reasons to feel alone
So used to abuse, her tears start to shake
I hold her close as her head starts to ache
"I love you too much,
so I can't let your heart break."
She said, "I know you love me,
but you've made a mistake."

I never meant for anyone to be my pulse.
I promise not to step on your feet
if you teach me how to waltz.

the deepest of blues is always in home
it's never enough for you to remember
the other colours all stifle your thoughts
you're not 18 to go on a ******

twenty five is always an option
you thought about it sometimes
but pictures are no longer on paper
burning them can't be a crime

while i still need you to be
this impeccable version of later
you sip, forget and stare back at me
the deepest of blues is a faker