I peeled back the skin on the clementine,
your silhouette stood in front of the counter as you urged me to aim slices at your mouth,
The echo of my laugh stained the walls.
This time, when I peeled its poignant skin back,
your silhouette was not there.

I found the molded tickets
to the music festival we only brought three dollars to,
It was enough to buy us a greased bag of bacon slices.
Thank God water is free.

I mistakenly wore your Superman boxers to bed for three weeks
until I realized they were yours.
I went to bed every time in them feeling
oh so super,
oh so nostalgic,
oh so happy.
I threw them away the moment I remembered that they touched your skin.
I  decontaminated my room.

I peeled back the emotional blanket today,
My emotions were naked; exposed
as I found the condoms we planned to use for Valentine's Day.
The long distance between us morphed us into planners instead of go-getters.

The go-getters were the ones that fell in love.
The planners were the ones that lost each other among the open fields separating us.

Don't date geek boys
They will compare you to movie characters
You can never live up to
Try to kiss you
With a tongue made of dust
And pick apart your poetry
Pointing out every spelling mistake

Don't date sad boys
They will call you up
Drunk at 3am on school nights
They'll tell you about other girls
And blame it on you

Don't date rich boys
They'll crawl inside your bones
Make you heavy with regret
You won't be able to forget about them
Until it is a year later
And you see him drive past you
While you walk home from school
And you realize
He hadn't made an appearance
Since the night
They buried you

Don't date boys who smoke cigarettes
Every time your father
Bites down on the filter and
Strikes a match
You will see him
And run for the hills

Don't date boys who can sing
They'll whisper your favorite songs
To you in a voice
As smooth as ice
As warm as summer
A voice made for seraphs
When you try to listen to those songs without him
There will be a snow storm
In your heart

Don't date boys with razor blades for teeth
Boys who breathe fire
Who feed on flesh
And gorge themselves on girls' bleeding hearts

Or better yet
Don't date anyone at all

He told me I was convenient
That what we had between us was convenient
That the space in which we gave value to was convenient.

Magic has never been convenient
and maybe that's why I fly a little further every day
try to grasp those ******* stars behind some clouded city lights
trying to grab the ******* magic in between his palms because even atoms bouncing off each other were never convenient.

He practices science.
it's his religion
he preaches to the hydrogen bonds that stabilize our DNA.
He's praying to the mother of chemistry,
worshiping the biological systems in our body
trying to save lives that will one day be in need of saving.

I told him convenient was not my style of living,
that I preach to others day by day the gift of happiness.
That the rotten glares make me question this gift,
but I hold onto the magic.

I'm giving her reason to live. I can't find it myself anymore these days. I cannot fathom-ly place the pieces of my broken self into a piece of art that would make beings gawk.

I told her that if I could, I would take all the pieces I've placed together, and give them to her. To know how conflicted happiness and sadness are the greatest paradox to live inside your soul.

To know the sensation of a smile kissing your lips, instead of kissing a boy.

To know the tingling in your fingertips, when you nerve endings are no longer dead at the place where you are supposed to feel life's every painstaking, throbbing moment.

This life is worth the pity that crawls up into the weaves of your skull late at night as the luminescence from the computer screen is screaming for you to keep your eyes glued on it because if you close your eyes you are not sure whether or not they will open again.

To wake up every morning with either a hangover, a smile, or sadness over your shoulder.

The pitiful moments through the blizzard are worth it to see the sunshine windy days that spring brings.

Spring isn't here yet-
the groundhog said it might not come this year.

I'll keep treading through this powder white with her heart in my hand until I reach the sun.

They pulled me out of the wreckage
My tattered frame
Indistinguishable amongst the
Broken car parts
My mangled body bruised
Bones bent in half
The scent of blood mixed with
The scent of fire mixed with
The scent of rubber
I wore it like perfume
They pulled me out of the wreckage
Like they pulled me out of the womb

One.
We passed a notable check mark.
The swirly twirly pieces of manipulated metal would put a smile on Buddy the Elf's face.
Their fabrication mirrored ours.
We swirly and twirly.

Two.
We thought smoking green at the **** recreation would be the least originated pun to occur. Notable check mark unflagged.

Three.
This temporary home has me craving for permanence.
I desire for your voluptuous voice to kiss my ears for a sense of familiarity.
Your printed face will be engulfed in flames.
I am a lady and we behave best under cliches.

Four.
It's the first night we won't video chat here.
The first day I will introduce myself as single to strangers and old acquaintances.
Your voice box will not be directed towards me tonight.
The first night I will not have to leave the room in order to be enchanted by your melody.
The air is stale with living mates and stories of home.
My story of home was our ending.
The room drew to a pinhead silence.
The voice of light cracking came from everyone's chests.

Five.
Socrates is impossible to pay attention to when the argument being presented is the dispute you and I. Who in the end is more wise?
Who has won this butterfly bullet shoot me in the face one more time so I remember what sensation against one's heart is like.

Six.
I saw two of them struggling, holding onto dear life.
She ran to him and gave him a passionate kiss.
They mirrored us, trying to sew up the stitching while it was being unraveled at the other end.
They needed to keep the needle and thread poking up and over up and over.
It was love's final desperation.
Final desperation of holding on.

Seven.
Mother was right, at my age my hormones just race just like my emotions.
It's been over a month since we've heard each other's voices.
The word "poljubac" came in as he went in for a kiss along with that your voice.
You loved kissing me.
At the end, they stopped meaning anything.
Your kisses, their electricity was diminished.

Eight.
I ran into Brian.
His sunglasses gave the same luminescence they did on nightly drives getting high and high and higher and higher until we were floating above Lake Shore Drive.
The green line brim on his hat matched the color.of the lights that showed during Christmas time.
It was a time for cheer. Oh ** ** ** the cheer.

Nine.
Looking through these pictures makes me sick.
I miss you.
Can we fall in love for one more night?
Have you call me duso and lay on the lawn chairs and only speak with our eyes?
Can you show me the hidden parts of the city one last time?
One last time.
Your fingertips need to be removed from my body although their prints have already formed scars.
I cut my hip because that was your favorite part of my body to touch.
I sliced it.

Ten.
I suggested that we get matching tattoos, so when you did leave that there would be a physical print of my being.
My physical touch of an idea to stay together forever would be inked in your skin.

Ten.
I'm about to embark on a spiritual journey.
My first lecture will consist on preaching of the Christian god.
Today is day one of this spiritual journey.

Nine.
I'm lying ****.
I lay on the floor and I'm **** as I sit on the floor and lie.
It was the first consistent kiss without you.
I'm lying ****.
I have time to find myself and instead I am shaking hands with my deviling unconscious greeting it with open arms.

Eight.
I have paved a path in the snow.
The bus ran over and rerouted my path.
I'm still lying.
I'm still ****.
I have lost the art of loving thyself and discovering my fullest potential.
I am a hypocrite.
I preach about the belief of discovering thyself as I bury myself in the snow and underneath these lies. The snow angels I made had horns on them.

Seven.
I lost sense of my personality when my phone was not glued to my hands and when I boy was not hanging from my lips, I lost sense of myself.

Six.
They called me into the room.
I was hoping you would be in the doorway as I strutted down the hall way.
Oh please, your grace to surprise me would fill every gaping hole in this heart of mine.
The ones that you left behind, learn to clean up after yourself.
Learn to clean up your ******* mess.

Five.
I cleaned up my ******* mess.

Four.
I'm learning day by day by day.
Today is our first month without the other.
It takes 21 days to break a habit.
I'm starting to stop thinking about you every day.

Three.
This heart of mine is torched, the pieces have melted together.
For once, I feel whole.
I asked of you last night, as bruises were forming from tackle football.
Our mutual friend said you've been better, and I asked him to make that happen.
He promised he would do his best.
The bruises were forming, they felt wonderful as the blood rushed to my skin, the blood rushed to my brain and heart it felt good to be alive.
It felt good to feel the flow of the blood against my skin as I gracefully stroke my hands across.
I discovered why you loved being in my arms because I fell in love with the feeling of being in my own ******* arms.

Two.
I fell in love, Emmett.
I fell in love with my skin the way it chaps when harsh winds beat it.
I'm in love with the way my nose wrinkles when unpleasant stories are told.
I'm in love with my spontaneity, for once I see it as a blessing.
I'm in love with my tongue rolling verbatim every time I have an opinion that needs to be preached.
I am finally my own preacher.

One.
The swirly twirly pieces of divergent thoughts in my head would put a smile on Buddy the Elf's face.
The notable check marks have been unflagged.
The pieces of shattered heart have melted together.
My skin is now my permanent home.
The tears that are now shed are for reasons I consider joyful.
You are no longer on my mind.
You are a check mark.
One that I shall pass when nostalgic.
You are the one that I wish best upon. I am the one that is best left,
now untouched.

I say “tomato”
You say “toe-mah-toe”
I say “I want to pierce my nose”
You say “don’t you dare scare that ivory skin”
I say “ I want to be a poet”
You say “but that doesn’t make much income”
I say “I am never having a baby”
You say “you’ll meet a nice man, settle down, and change your mind”
I wear this silver pentacle
Around my throat like a noose
String me up and hang me
Like my sisters from Salem
Condemn me because I don’t fit
In the box labeled “Christian” on your questionnaire
Call me a ****** for finding the beauty in another woman’s curve
Brand me a ***** just for existing
Pull at my heartstrings
Like a puppeteer
Guide my every movement
Cut out my vocal cords and replace them with yours
After all, you know best right
If I dye my hair a color that isn’t
Blonde, black, or brunette
I’ll never land a job
If I don’t quit with this feminist ****
No man will ever want me
You’re only looking out for me right
If you know so much about me
Tell me who I am
Tell me how I felt when I was thirteen
And stealing my brother’s straightedge
To carve Jack-O-Lantern faces into my upper thighs
Tell me how I felt when my mother
Grabbed my cheeks and told me
To pop my pimples
When she asked me if I ever wanted to be beautiful
As if I wasn’t already
Tell me how I felt when I sat across my sister
In a mental hospital
After she gorged herself on unknown pills
And she said
“Don’t ever die. Dying isn’t fun”
Tell me how I felt when my parents
Showered me in gifts
After I finally told them I was depressed
Like they were trying to buy back my happiness
Tell me how I felt when the boy
With the beautiful smile and cigarette stained breath
Stuck his hand into my *******
And whispered
“You know you want it”
Tell me how I felt when my body froze with fear
When early onset rigor mortis snaked through my muscles
When I clamped my knees together
And denied him access to my body
Tell me how I felt when
He pushed his blushing appendage into my mouth
After I said no
And how I felt when I kept my lips sealed
How I let him get away with it
If you are such an expert on my landscape
Pinpoint all my scars and beauty marks and moles
Locate all the intimate areas my fingertips explored
Tell me how often I shave my legs
Tell me how much pride I feel when I remember to put on deodorant in the morning
Draw a map of all my
Forests, canyons, and lakes
Prove to me you really know me
Prove that you’re really looking out for me
Prove your advice
And remember
No good deed goes unpunished
And if you still maintain that you know what's best
Look me in the eyes
And tell me who I am