Let Them Linger->
no don't **** them.
Oh dear, HERE is the conflict,
frozen solid...

don't regret anything; learn from it.
Learn from WHAT?!

- don't talk
- say it all
- stay home
- chase them
- give them space
- let them go
- they come back
- they leave again

Then there's you.
- breaking hearts
- ******* boys
- hating yourself
- so you mistreat them

You realize the cycle
So what? Just stop?
okay.
now what?

I am ready for summer to dance back into my life.
I will always love that season above all others.
I am ready for the heat and the long nights,
the bugs and fireworks.
I want nothing more than to care about only making sure that I am out of the house every single day more hours than I am inside.
I want scorching cement under my feet.
Chalk and bubble solution soaked into all of my clothes.
Every negative inch of my soul is brightened up just a bit under the summer sun.
Water balloons and the sun roof down.
I want it all back.
I know we all love Summer, most of us do anyways,
I guess I know a few people that can’t stand the heat.
But summer has always held this idea to me that I could become infinite.
I can change my entire life around with one fantastic summer,
if I just went headfirst into it.
I would come out with golden threads plaited into my hair,
pretty thighs and green flecks in my eyes.
I will come out with a sense of fearless courage I lost too long ago.
I can be sure to find my five year old self longer than a moment when Summer comes back.
She will sit with me, happy that I can find a natural smile in the muggy humidity.
I will hear her confidence in the back of my mind before I go bungee jumping.
She will tell me that we have never been scared of anything.
Her twang will pull at my heart strings,
and I will never resist such encouragement.
At night when shadows creep up my spine,
she’ll squeeze my hand and I’ll laugh at the monsters in my head.

My five year old self would kick my *** for the ways I act today.
My head floods with the best of old memories when July creeps upon me,
I will see skipping rocks, and trails,
and all the smiles I put on people’s faces.
I will hear the pride in my dad’s voice,
and it will sound like it is in my reach to get it back.
Wild innocence will grow back inside my heart,
if only for a few months…
The backbone that bends without breaking will straighten itself with threads of spider’s silk
and I will look people in the eye,
and I won’t care what they see inside of mine.
Then August will make it’s appearance,
and I will balk, like a horse at flowing water.
I’ll dig my feet into the hard earth and my head will fly back and shake the mirrors in my face.
I will only see the awful darkness that awaits me the rest of the three seasons.
Then I will hear that voice, asking me to promise, to be honest…
to try all year long, because there is nothing to be scared of.
I cry at the end of every summer, just because I can’t stand for my happiness to leave me.
She will tell me if I cry, she won’t stick around;
and I know that I should swear,
pinky promise and try my damnedest.
But by the time September is here, I am a mess.
The shadows and monsters have taken up residence
and Fear has his hands crawling up my back,
undoing all the threads that were holding up my spine;
smiling all the while, bringing up goosebumps on my paling skin.
Fear takes me while I wait for Summer to save me.

I left my heart on the corner of Haight and Ashbury
Where my shoulders were bruised by you
and blood rushed from my lips and fingertips
You were wearing blue
and the unemployed cheered you on
I left my heart there
the day I decided to deny all you wanted

If
You have cold feet
You shamelessly dance when cleaning the kitchen
You drink too much too often, before noon and all week long
I want closure

We put ourselves on the shelves,
shoved with our spines into the shadows,
opposites the hard and paper backs.
Our works unfinished and scattered,
we hide ourselves in the pages of others’ books because we are too afraid to write our own.
Between the holy book and Mary Shelley,
you lie and profess,
you condemn and encourage me.
You shout down then retreat,
but I hear you,
even when you don’t speak.
I am flitting back and forth,
between Proust and Kierkegaard,
to Ginsberg and Kerouac,
scanning over the ink,
looking for scraps and hints as to where you pour your pints.
Eyes ferociously hunting for your form and style,
for your words in someone else’s…
I am searching for the key,
to your trap doors I fall through.
But you won’t give it to me,
because you are hiding it from yourself.
Are you waiting on something,
are you waiting on you?

Where your kisses go, stardust follows.
It will not leave my skin, it will never leave me.
These pieces of outer space were yours, and you fed them to me-
I took it all in so willingly, but now I wonder,
did you know that it meant your scent would always
be with me?

little pieces of concrete, tucked in between my toes
as I march towards my transportation
my little car that carries an inconceivable amount
memories tucked into the doors and cushions
evidence stashed in the glove box or under the seats
cigarettes and spiced ***, this decision will release the kraken
to try and remove those little pieces that attach so eagerly
the small tears and snips of paper flurries
oh it awakens me
finger drawings in the dirt, hand prints smashed against windows long ago
yearning doubles up and i want want want,
to need to let this go
sweet, bitter
yet i keep picking apart the past times spent
drive ins, concerts, back roads, gas stations, circles and triangles
all the curves and swerves, the lines that brought me right beside you
but i hoard, because i am so scared of forgetting
if i do that, i may lose sight of why it was worth it
fingernails scrape against plastic when it finds
it
USB cemented to the bottom of the cup holder
had been hiding under mix CDs and poetic receipts
no amount of pulling and prying would loose the thing
i grew more and more sick with every try
a flat head screwdriver finally did the trick
I took a moment to look fondly but I grew ill
to know this is how you must see me clinging
pathetic and sticky
so I responded in the same ways as you did then
it now lies somewhere
buried in a trash bin

living without you is painful, at first
the amount of time crying over bath drains
oh then there's the drunken conversation with strangers
its embarassing, how i will tear my life apart when you're gone
then after about six months, someone with a hero complex comes along
and i will allow them to invest time and affection into me that i have no intentions of returning
it'll be a cheap distraction, not even thrilling - but i will project my attachment onto the unsuspecting soul
they won't know any better, and i will recover quickly after the break with them
in an attempt to rid my hair of your scent, to rub your prints off my bones
i will cover it up with strangers' lips and other boys' habits, a quick fix
then after a year or so i will allow myself to drink too much
and spend the night talking about who i am really
thinking of and if they're smart then they run
if not, they hang around and keep putting
****** adhesive on a wound that i
need therapy for and i grow
to resent them for trying to be
better than you, even though that's
what i trained them for, my body rolls
with waves of heat because there is no way
i turn into a cruel monster, breaking as many
minds as i can reach because if not, i would have to
admit to what i am feeling, and what i feel is the idea of
settling, the spine choking ***** inducing settling of your life being
mundane, accepting a life without you in it is exactly that to me