his teeth are made of porcelain
because of a fist fight he
had in high school
& some days he's mad
at the world for no reason.
his little brother hits on me
at family dinners
& his mom thinks we
should go to church.
his ***** smells like pills
& the chemo burns holes in
his pretty skin.
i think heavy metal is ******,
but he blasts it in the car
no matter the time of day.
sometimes he hits my head
off the baseboard when we're
******* & then spends
thirty-eight minutes
apologizing.
his apartment is kinda small
& his upstairs neighbors never
shut the **** up.
his roommate is his best friend
& they like to talk to each other
through the walls of their home
even when i'm sleeping.
i smile into his lips every morning.

it's okay.
it's okay.
i love every second.

he didn't care when
i switched my birth control pill
and gained ten pounds in one week.
he didn't care when
my acrylic nail fell off
and got stuck in his shower drain.
he didn't care that i
cried black eye liner
all down my face
and his pillow case
every night
during midterms' week.
he doesn't care that
my beat up little car
is a graveyard
for receipts and water bottles
or that my hair
doesn't always smell like
strawberries...
sometimes it smells like
burnt oil and cigarette butts.
he doesn't care that i
don't always
say "i'm sorry"
when i should be
or that sometimes my legs are prickly.
he doesn't even care
about the cellulite
under my ***
or the fact
that my left ****
is bigger than my right.
he kisses my neck every morning.

*we're okay.
we're okay.
we're gonna make it
anyway

i left a few hair ties,
half a bottle of lavander shampoo,
and my favorite knit sweater
in a west coast city

i'm heart-set,
i'm hell-bent,
i'm coming home

this east coast blood
boils too quickly
in the sun

we are addicted to
seven different kinds of pills
& we are slurring our words
with sleeves pulled over our wrists
& we are counting down the days
til this ends,
but we don't know what this is
or what happens to us when it breaks

so we are skipping rocks across
the susquehanna and
speeding down 6 and 11
to the diner off college ave
& my eyes are burning from the wind
ripping through this quiet town,

and i can wear that thick hoodie
you bought me in philly,
with flannel interior
(i like that hoodie,
it smells like the warehouse
we snuck off to,
to smoke your dad's
cigarettes when we were
fourteen and first flirting
with the decline that we're
now hopelessly devoted to)
but my organs
will shiver each time
you change shifts
on the way out of town;
chilled to the bone;
an omnipresent ache

we are running to jersey again,
for a salt water sunday
and a breath of ***** air

always taking laps around the tri-state,
trying to stop the boredom from
burning holes in our shoes

so portland,
hold my hand,
drag me back,
my legs are tired
from all this running
& i need you now

*west coast whispers,
west coast whispers,
you're safe here
where the ocean
meets the land.
i'll hold your hand