you want to know how long it took? i knew before we met. there are words and then there are your words. your words made you mine long before i held your hand on the cold uphill dash to the gin bar. i was late and breathless. you broke the ice.
you broke my ice.
i couldn’t eat for making room for you inside of me. i can still see your eyes gazing over my head. i wanted so badly to be every idea you've ever thought. when you realized what had been done to you had been done to me. when the stars refuse to align, over and over, i see the patterns repeated. in your mind, i am always in a state of panic. in my mind, we are never apart.
“and yes, i do believe her mouth is heaven. her kisses falling over me like stars.” and yes, they brought us together. and yes, they keep us apart. i am still so grateful to them for everything. to you for everything. you can view me next to the art as long as you’re still in my eyeline.
you want to know how long it took? the time it took the first grain of sugar to fall.

when the tiny
plane landed
it sounded
like my camera rewinding

i thought,
this is a
perfect picture.

I’ve never been a home, only a hotel.
I have graffiti lining the walls of my own heart;
the warnings portrayed by those who have
stayed there before those ahead. Every last
piece of furniture inside has been upturned in
a desperate attempt to find where my own
pride is stationed. This room is a ****** scene,
you know. My collarbones have reached up
and sliced through the jugular of those I’ve kissed.
I’ve dug my fingernails into the stone spines of
those who never deserved to be engraved with
my false passion. I’ve injected heartbreak into the
arms of those I was fully aware would become
addicted.
And yet, I have the nerve to place flowers upon
the graves I dig for those I promised life. I have
the audacity to expect to be treated like a queen
when all I have known is the reign as a dictator.
I apologize to those I’ve given roses and left
thorns on the stems. I apologize for the promises,
and lack of following through. I’ve for too long
pressed my burdens to those who carry their
own. I never meant to become one myself.
And honestly, I apologize for what you’re about
to leap into.

Through sun baked window

I see the world in nightly splendor

Pockmarked by the evening stars

Adorned with the mournful call of a distant how
l
t is quiet

It is terrifying

Yet it is deafening and beautiful

A canvas made for open minds

i want to embody every girl.

i want to be a sunday school girl in the ‘60s, red ribbons in my hair, two neatly tied plaits the color of wheatfields, riding my bike down cobblestone streets, sunlight kissing my neck.

i want to be a tattooed punk rock worshipper, electric blue hair and ray-bans, fishnet stockings and the city a blur of entangled lights in the rear-view mirror of my motorcycle.

i want to be a venice girl who reads valentines for a living, rapunzel hair all soft sculptured ringlets, a pet blue bird and summer dresses in floral prints, long eyelashes and sowing glitter.

i want to be a french artist and revolutionist in the ‘90s, **** paintings and led lights, portraits out of beer cans and pencil shavings, a student of the fine arts falling in love again and again with the light and how it falls on the sidewalks & people’s faces & the trees.

i want to be this girl and that girl, a romanian princess in her 20’s, an old witch with a grisly past, a gypsy on the run, a victorian model, a historian with an appetite for gardening, an archaeologist who nicknames all her finds, a singer who grates her guitar on boulevards in italy and cafes in paris for the spare dime, an english man’s favorite daughter. i want to be a struggling ballet dancer with an emotional dependency on poetry, an astronaut who discovers a parallel universe, a noir film actress who smokes too much and has eyes like diamonds, a fortune teller, a vigilante, a musician. every girl’s soul whispers to me.

The buildings stand

Too close in the city

Heavy hot breaths

Breathing down your neck

Snapping pictures 

Of your periphery


The country life

Is more of a slow malaise 

Sitting back on a rocking chair

Steadily swinging at your own pace

But you must understand your tempo

To find that steady rhythm

You were a piece of me

I never knew was missing
—
a piece yesterday lost,

a piece tomorrow

was grateful for,

and I wish
 I’d known then.


I wish I’d known then


about the night I spent

shaking shaking shaking

and I said “don’t leave me alone”

and you said “Never.
 I’ll never leave you alone.”



I don’t think I made you promise;

I don’t think it would have mattered.

We were mending the roof

in the middle of a hurricane;

calm curled in clear skies

with clarity promised by

unseeing eyes,

and I wish
 I’d known then.


I wish I’d known then


silence is only uncomfortable

when we don’t want to face

the truth it holds.



I don’t think you ever loved me;

I don’t think you understood.

and me, we as good as can be.
totally hates me now.
I had a dream about last night.
never sleeps.
and I talk like every night.
I want to talk to .
doesn’t like me anymore
.
wrote back.
hasn’t replied yet.
I’m pretty sure regrets me.
I miss _. (Hint: this one's you.)*
(the end.)

I have been walking

for a very long time,

but it doesn’t matter

how far away I travel

or which path I take
-
every now and then,

I still discover bits of

you in my shoes,

like fine gravel that

I just can’t seem

to shake out.

I am a picture without a frame,

not hanging on a wall

but my image still remains.

I am matte not glossy,

postcard size for convenience.
You can have me with you,

take me wherever you wanted to.

I am a pretty picture honey,

a picture without a frame

How much
glorification,
can one

person endure

before becoming

the person
everyone

wants them to be,
instead of the person

they need to be?

U.
You.
Hue.
You.
You are the reason why I can’t write anyou
it is taking me so long thinking ofyou
styles, figyoures, metaphyours,
I can’t even finis-
any sentenc-you
Stop.
You’re the reas-you
Youarethereaso-you.
****. Even if I think faster, you can still keep pace-you.
You are a mountaintop between dawn-you.
I can’t write anyou.
How you can you I you write you any you poetry you
make you art you you you-
if there’s always you slipping between my wo-you-rds and thoughts.
I can’t you
You.
You.

Now I know why poets can’t write when they are in lov-you.
You.
You.

Sorry love but how can I make you a poem when there are no words
I can think of that can describe you except …
You.
You.
*You.

Love as a bird flying free

dying daily to un-cage 
attachment.
Snipping
 cords binding unwinding
 expectations
only hold
 a box of memories,
only
 those moments to sleep more on satin 
sheets in cotton thread.

Im not sure if he loves me

or if I read, a reflection
 in the mind of me
love
 as the bird flying free.


Come what may as 
it leaves the warmth 
of winter awakening 
spring.
Till summer 
speaks from my window 
to the bird thats flying 
free.
Detaching the cords
 uncage my soul, his soul
, our soul.
Upload to cloud 
in memories.
Moments.

Quilted in the silken sky.

Love as a bird flying free.

So I took a walk down memory lane
And opened too many doors.
Met too many demons,
I'd rather forget.
You were there
With your sad sad eyes,
And your beautiful soul,
And I fell
Down
Down
Down
To places best left behind.

Without you
I'm broken
I shattered my reflection
And isn't breaking a mirror seven years bad luck?

I haven’t been writing much lately

my muse has gone with a flutter 
and flourish of wings

a post-apocalyptic shell of a writer

left in the dust, feathers falling like 
snow like a mini avalanche

word to the wise: 
don’t get too attached to your muse.

I might be a shameless flirt
But I’m stingy
 with my heart

Twice shy and all that jazz

so when you have a chance
 too hold it
For however long I might allow
Don’t tuck it in your back pocket

Don’t slip it into your wallet

Don’t place it upon a pedestal

I’ll come slipping back

One hand on hip

Hand outstretched
Return to me what is mine
I won’t let you hold it
 long

I fear your careless glances

your slippery hands

Hello darling
Its been so long
Since you were gone
Just thought
You ought to know
I am fine
Even better than before
Learned a lesson without you
Let the little things make you happy
And you’ll never have to worry
Again
Darling its been so long
Things went down
When you were gone
But now I’m better
Than before
The little things make me happy
I don’t have time to worry
I know we’ll never talk
But I’ve been so much better
Its been so long
Been awhile since you were gone
And now I’m fine
Even though you aren’t mine
The little things make me happy
Ain’t got time to worry about anything else
I’m so much better
So I wrote this letter
To you
To show
I’m no longer blue
I am
So much better
Don't you see?

totally platonic,

inadvertently robotic,

sitting on chairs two feet apart.
i am not noticing your mouth

i am not noticing your mouth
**
i am not noticing your mouth

Redacted

how long do you think it takes someone to recognize a soulmate? two hours? three? when I was sitting in that train station, did you know I never thought once that you might not show up? did you know you’re the reason gin keeps sneaking into my poetry? and how come we both need to write poetry to feel clean? and can we go to the coast again so I can view you next to the art that is the rolling tide? and is it too much for me to book a plane ticket just because you’re sad? is it enough? should I be doing more on the bad days? what good intentions don’t get swallowed up by distance? do you remember when I wrote all those poems for a man in Colorado, while you loved a woman in California?  how I watched the girl I loved get on a plane and go, then six months later, you did the same thing? how we’re always just out of sync with each other? one move off or three steps behind? do you really think it’s true, about the stars and how I found you? did you know I’d ***** them out if I could? if it meant there’d be nothing star-crossed about this? tell me again how long you think it takes someone to recognize a soulmate? one night? two? the amount of time it takes you to buy sugar and run home to put the kettle on?

I watch the sun rise and I watch it set

beautifully at rest

I watch the dark clouds set over me

I watch the moon light upon me 

I count the stars above me 
gazing at the beauty that lays in front of me

I look over by my side and see you next to me

and I realize 

I love you more than the stars that shine through my eyes
I love you more than the moonrise 

I love you more than the sun that lights up my day 

I love you more each day

I find your mother
in every ******* person I see son.

her smell and skin and eyes and bones.

every single face is perfumed with her laughter.

"I like you"
you said, and I waited for a "but..."
instead came your arms and
"no matter what"

I want to know
about every time you've felt invincible and why.
compare and contrast who you are and who you wish
you were. tell me,
what does the voice in your head sound like
and could I meet him sometime?
I want to hear your thesis statements
when you're afraid to tell anyone else
and I want to read your body,
paragraphs. to understand your figure,
figurative language.
to borrow your hands
in writing a haiku, because my ten fingers
can only count syllables into the second line.
let me add you to the list
of times you felt invincible,
until you can't count how many times you've felt so strong
with your fingers toes or freckles.

always the best ones 
fall away

like paint peeling off 
a hot, warped wall

what’s left are the ugly
 ones,
the 
wallpaper covered up in

winter’s cool glow.

We're all Forests
We all grow into 
forests one day, 

songbirds in our branches 

and children hopping from
root to root shrieking and 
our toes will still know the earth.

This is certain:

the sun rises, magenta and 
orange at seven oh two
am on the dot and

the gala apples are 
ripe red and round in 
our fists, fingers.

The air we breathe is 
entirely composed of stories 
and it settles around our ankles like

fresh spring mulch

I painted the insides
of my mind white
so that maybe I could erase
the memory of you
but as days
turned to weeks
the idea of your fingers
laced in mine grew
and soon the paint
began to chip
and soon my stiches
began to rip
and I broke apart into pieces
once again
with fragments of my heart
scattered among the shore
and as the salt sunk into my skin
stinging the scars on my soul
you watched with open eyes
then turned around and closed the door

Tell me something 
I want to hear —

like

She 
is still here

in our world 
laughing 
with that tigress grin

an infectious echo 
of character and grace

resonating in that spaceto the left of my chest 

where something 
used to hover between 
each ribbon 
of breath

Please?