Might;
Your excuse in a word,
The title you give in order to keep your slate clean of saying "no,"
To turn your hat backwards,
Tilt our worlds,
and pretend you are still facing forward.

The word might has no integrity,
and it leaves scuff marks that don't easily polish clean

as would a yes or a no.

I swear the palms of my hands look far too thin for the
weight of my world.
My fingers too short to count the number of
times I've been unsure how much longer
my legs can go.

But where my body fails my heart will not,
and though sometimes strength dictates that
the words I can't write leave paper cuts beneath my nails,
I swallow every word for safekeeping.

I'd give them back if I had any pounds to lose,
but I don't worry anymore for the safety of
the pages I choke down,
I don't need a bookmark to remember,
thats what bruises are for.

I feel, without the findings feel of those hidden-hands, which I cannot see,
The warmth-waking-wishing potency of crawling down-
wards from a state of reverence-see
Seeing! with those eyes of heart; the beauty love of a God of eternity.
I don’t wonder of it: knowing not to know is the
Devotion, a given test of my ability to look and see past visibility
My faith: built, as bones in me, to accept unconditional Truth from thee.
Trying hoping, I love, without alterations finds, true to Your methodology,
Crosses across’d the paths, which He wind Walked,
Speaking to the storied ancients of those miracles-measured
I yet didn’t live to see, but take on faith-
and a measure of reverence-see in the wanting of inspiring a little You in Me.

My English teacher always said let's unpack the meaning,
sometimes I really wanted to tell her *******- maybe the person who wrote it wanted it to stay packaged nicely in it's box.

We write because we feel
or because we don't.

If the brook is running into the ocean, and the water is flowing fast
why does it need to be symbolic for the tears that flow through the current of our lives and empty us,
let it be a **** brook.

We write because we feel
or because we don't.

If the wallpaper is yellow, it's fading, it's flowers now appear to be dripping off the walls,
why does it need to be a metaphor for the rejection of a lover and the deterioration of a soul,
let it be a **** old house.

We write because we feel
or because we don't.

My English teacher always said let's unpack the meaning,
sometimes I really wanted to tell her *******- because when I wrote my last piece
I let the pieces of me burst because I didn't want the world to see how I was feeling.

We write because we feel
*until we don't.

You jump I jump, Jack says she,
all it takes is one leap,
and we all will be free.

September 25th 2012
I was in your bathtub and we were laughing about the fact that we were so close awkward moments didn't exist. I put bubbles on your thigh and you made that squeaky noise I wasn't supposed to tell anyone you could make, it wasn't manly.
October 1st 2012
I was driving on highway 80 and I couldn't really see because the windshield wipers didn't work on water inside of the car. You couldn't tell me what you wanted and I knew that meant it wasn't me you just didn't fully know it yet.
October 2nd 2012
You tried to do it with 180 characters but I wasn't having that and when you called your voice broke before you could say my name. The number of times you said I love you in those twenty minutes outnumbered how many times you had in the past two weeks, by tens.
November 10th 2012
I cried in your sisters arms because yours weren't there and she smelled like your fabric softener.
November 25th 2012
I packaged all your letters in a box with a few of my own and mailed them back. You called me to ask why I would do that to you. I asked you why it mattered and you told me you slept with the blanket we made love on every night. I didn't know why that mattered either.
December 27th 2012
I laid in someone else's arms and they held me while I cried about whether anyone else's arms felt like home. He didn't deserve it, neither did I. This is my apology for trying to move on and bringing him into it.
January 11th 2013
You saw me for the first time and even though you hate tattoos you told me mine was ****. You were drunk and you thought my shirt needed a few more buttons, you didn't like anyone else to see  me when you couldn't. You told me not to tell you I wasn't in love with you anymore. I told you that was what you had wanted.
February 13th 2013
He had cancer and you were the only person I knew how to tell. But you were busy and you said if I was going to pull that **** to take it somewhere else. I learned who you were that night even though you'd always told me.
March 2nd 2013
It wasn't a special day, nothing happened. But I realized I had stopped letting it be about you. I stopped thanking you for letting me go and just let go.

I try to say I loved you
but the words get stuck
behind the memories of your blue black thumb prints
on the corners of my heart.