We're from two different worlds,
You and I.
I desire to reach out,
To touch you -
But my hand is swallowed
In the galaxies between us.
Your eyes are cobalt planets -
Deep emerald waves
Crashing upon their shores.
The smoke curling from your lips
Is dark, dreary:
The forsaken Milky Way.
I watch you,
And I know -
I will never close that space.
There is too much in the way,
Too much noise,
Too many opinions,
Too many disapproving, shaking heads,
And furrowed brows.
Our asymmetries are miles deep,
Coursing through
Your bloodstream,
Coursing through mine.

I don’t know what it is,
But my mind is flooded:
The waves splashing
On the inside of my skull.
I’m drowning in thoughts of you,
Daydreams of what we could be.
I hear my name on your lips;
You say, “Come with me.”
And I feel how I’d feel
If only I knew you,
If only you knew me.

Heavy breath on empty air,
Words for no one to hear:
I remain delirious by my own lunacy.
How long will I continue on,
Swallowing my solitude,
Pushing it down,
As if it will keep me alive?
I am surrounded by
Too many words,
But too little company.
Alone in the car,
Alone in my room,
I feel the desire to regurgitate
My thoughts.
I speak, and the ghosts in the corner
Nod in agreement.
They understand, don’t they?
But I blink,
And my cheeks turn crimson,
For they have disappeared.
Were they even there at all?

I grieve for the lives I’ve lost-
Those within mine,
Which once encompassed my world.
Why must we lose
Friends, family, lovers?
If it were possible,
I would keep them near me,
All to stay for all my life.
I would never spend another night like this:
Wondering what they’re doing,
Wondering if they think of me,
Wondering how we lost each other,
Wondering if I should reach out
And ask them to return.
Yet I also wonder,
Is it better that they’re gone?

Quite punctual, one might say:
His loss of interest.
We would've been a scandal,
A scarlet letter;
And I imagine
He began to wake up
In a sweat,
Unable to handle
How he felt;
Unable to handle
The consequences.
So, is this it?
If I fight hard enough,
If I show up,
And make him laugh
Again,
Will he come back around?
Before now,
I was unaware of how much
I cared,
As he left,
I shrugged him off, saying:
“Suit yourself.”
But a depth opened up
In the pit of my stomach:
Something I couldn’t patch up;
Something that caused me pain
As I bragged about him
To my friends.
I know he’s gone
For good,
And I won’t bother him
Any longer,
In that comfortable peace
He refused to sacrifice.
But I can’t help
Every night
(And I doubt he’d blame me)
To check my phone
For the thoughts
He used to send me.
But they come no longer,
And that I must accept;
Just like I’ve grown accustomed
To the sore pit
He left in my life.

My soul yearns for what I do not have,
And I am most inspired by nightfall.
Father asks why my light remains on until 2am;
He says I’d feel better if I got more sleep.
But I like to speed on the freeway
Until the flashing headlights become blurs,
And I prefer to dance alone in my room in the dark
Than allow my dreams to be made on autopilot
Behind my closed and negligent eyelids.
There are endless things I’d like to do:
Like sing in front of people, and write songs
And novels to be made into Hollywood films,
And a dark-haired boy I don’t know,
But with whom I think I’m in love.
If I learned to be content with what I have,
I’d never feel resentful towards myself
For not being as perfect, polished, and spotless
As I desire every day to become.
But gratefulness is something to be learned,
And I’d rather learn to write stories so profound
That one hundred years from now,
Students in whitewashed classrooms
Will complain about reading them for homework.

I heard you were hurting.
I heard your mom and dad
Stopped loving each other,
And the distance between them
Kills you.
I want to say:
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry the pain is making you sick,
I’m sorry you feel hopeless,
I’m sorry you have to hide it.
You don’t know me,
And you may not care to;
You’d probably find it strange
That I sit here at night
Writing poems about you.
But I wish for you to be happy,
And I wish to help,
Although all I can do
Is sit here, and dream
That one day,
I’ll wrap my arms around you,
And show you the love
Your parents never have.
So until that day
(If it ever comes),
I’ll sit here every night
Writing poems about you.