almond shaped eyes
     the color of fertile earth
           deep
deeper than marianna and her treacherous trench

i fall deeper into your magic with every glance

     the mere thought of your existence sends lightning bolts through my bones
you give me butterflies the size of ostriches
     and someday soon i'll take flight

astronauts and the smell of stardust

      nasa
           here we come

i can hear the static pulse of the universe in your laughter
     you leave solar flares in your wake 

you take my breath away
     a presence as heavy as the vacuum of space

not burdensome
     but welcomed
like an egyptian cotton blanket over bare flesh
     or the pressure of the lakes surface on my naked ribcage
          an embrace
with god
with darwin
with satan
and neil pert

it hurts me when you frown
     deep
          deep down

i drown in despair at the earliest glimpse of your discourse

     but when you smile
hot ****
          that smile
i shiver and shrink 
like a scalp in a glacial pool

you're strong as a sequoia
      proud as an ancient peak
yet for some reason
     you see me
in a far more flattering light than i view myself

i wanna take you
     far
          far
               far away
and make you stay forever mine
forever perfect in my eyes

poetic strengths
prose-like down falls
     and it all reads just like Rumi
classic
     timeless
          true

i can't wait until the day you admit
that you can't wait
     to be tangled up in me
          and the sheets
          and the seams of the fabric of time

i am faulty
the toy that gets thrown out
during the factory checks
the one that gets put in the back row
i am a little bruised
(i will not lie to you)
(although i do not doubt
you can already tell)
a little broken
i am overemotional
i get so upset at the world sometimes
and begin to despise
everything that i am
sometimes.
.sometimes.
but i promise i will care for
you stronger and harder
than anyone has
before.
i promise to look at each
bruise you have on your body
and ask about it
and listen if you want to talk
and be okay if you don't want to

i will not ignore your broken pieces
i will not ignore your broken pieces

The heat intensifies with my lonesome tendencies, and
I fear palpitation from innocently brushing arms with a stranger.
But when I find myself in a stranger’s bed
(or a wineshop,
a car,
a park)
the thrill is missing.
I am a stereotype, a masochistic statistic. I am becoming the 20-something-sleeping-around-to-stave-off-boredom.
I am an archetype that’s been romanticized to death.
Save the romance, it’s greed and it’s hunger and it’s pure boredom.
These men become gold. Thread after thread
of secret affairs solidify into a piece of treasure,
Like 14 karat chain necklaces that get tangled
into an unfixable knot of links and claw clasps.
I carry it in my strut and that is exciting.
My walk is confidently direct at 3 in the morning.
In the summer, when the heat is outside and not in my bed, I am unsatisfied.
Yet when the promise of romance approaches, I allow myself to make poor decisions out of fear.
So I make a different poor decision to get me through the next hour.

Contentment is admirable,
complacency is dangerous.
Lines be                                                   b
                 t                                               l
                w                  often                     u
                   ee                                              r.
              ­        n                                               .
       ­                                                                 ­   .
                                                               ­         ..
                                                     ­                  .
                                                                     .
                                                               .
                                                 .

Unimpressed by excess,
(gluttony doesn't strike a chord with me)
Contrarily, I forever seek more,
but rather than in quantity, I prefer in degree.  

I demand extremes.

If its hot,
I want it to blaze;
If its difficult,
I want it to incapacitate.
If its confusing,
I want it to dizzy me to the point of vomiting.
I want to shake and storm about,
and overwhelm and be overwhelmed.

I demand extremes.

Words need intent and meaning.
If they are meant to inspire,
they better make me ******* soar.
Biting words should drain the victim,
make them bleed,
instead of simply causing discomfort
or stunning momentarily.

I demand extremes.

Why say it,
when I can scream it?

Why just feel it,
when I can be consumed by it?

I  can't just idly sit by and watch my life
but rather I must fight and struggle and
lash out at it violently.
Days are long and meant to be conquered
and nights are meant to be devoured.

Why be content to just live life
when you can beat the **** out of it instead?

*Just don't be surprised when it returns the favor

This city makes me miss you.
And I would pretend to be surprised,
but the ceilings in cities are always too high
and my thoughts tend to wander.
(For the record, I am less than impressed
that they found their way back to you.)
Last night, I swear you were waiting for me to fall asleep
to climb into the rafters, and sneak into my dreams.
I woke up feeling haunted and exhausted.

Now you've been following me all day,
and I'm tired of looking over my shoulder.
Kissing him makes me remember the taste of your bitter coffee breath.
His kind eyes contrast the complex hurt yours used to reflect.
His simple, level-headed ways make me recall all
of the circles our troubled words used to spin,
the endless loops we were always trapped within.

My ears keep echoing with the way
you used to chatter nervously in your sleep.
And I can almost still smell your apartment
with the candles struggling to mask damp laundry,
unwashed dishes, the smell of sweat and stale ****.
The heaviness collecting inside of my chest resembles
the weight of your body wrapped around my lap
the last time we spoke and the way my fingers
still found their way to your back.
I wonder if you understood the things my fingertips traced
while our words started cornering us into our familiar place.

                                                      We were circling the drain anyway,
I was just another silly girl who thought she could save someone.

                                 I'm really sorry
                                You should be
I miss you
Good.
                                                         ­                  
                                              ­                                    You always saw through my *******,
                                                       ­                             it scared the hell out of me.
                    
I would have loved you exactly the way you are-unconditionally  
                                           ­                      You were always enough.

                                                       ­                                                                 ­   I love being miserable.
                                                    ­                                            Well, you should probably get used to it.

                                                        
                                                      We were circling the drain anyway...

Our conversations are the world's worst song on repeat
but I felt such smug closure after that night
things finally felt finished or at least mostly complete.
So why now did you feel the need to start the haunting again?
Call off your ******* ghost, B.
I am tired. Its over this time.
This needs to finally end.

i'd like to think
     that when it's raining here
'  '' ,   . ' . ; ,  :  ' ' , '    : ,   ' '  ,   ; ' ´    , ''', '
'  ,' ;  ' ,   : ' '  ; , : ';    ,'    ' ', ;   , . "  ' ´
' '   ,   '  '  , ' .' ,  ,  ' '  ', '' , ';  ,    ; '
' . , ' ' :   p    ;  '  ' , , ' . , ; : ' ,'
;  .  ' ' , ;  o , ; '', '  , ; ; ' ' ,
 ' . ; ''´d ,; " 'u . ;   ' ' ; : , '' . ;'
   ','     o ; '', ",r .' ; :' '' ' ; '' : ´,
' ;     ,   w    ,    ing
;     .  ,    n   ;  ' '   , ' ' 
   .         '    '  ;      . 
                                               ­                     the sun's out where you are