got drunk and a broken heart
funny how it happens so fast so often
i fell hard:
hand-on-thigh and chin-on-shoulder-from-behind hard
infectious-laugh and tender-eyes-across-the-room hard
he made me feel funny and desirable and soft
like it didn't matter that i was clumsy and frazzled at heart
i trusted him, a stranger
a stranger with a magnetic pull
and i handed him my glass femininity
he let it fall
and i fell with it
somehow every time i try to put the sadness in my gut into words it comes out sounding cliched and tired
i sound tired too
can't sleep now that i know he gives no ***** for me
he ****** and he left and he broke
i can't ******* take it
today i cleaned my room obsessively
as if scrubbing my desk could dry my eyes
i don't want to speak to my friends
because i'm afraid only pain will fall out of my mouth
mouth he kissed
mouth to mouth resuscitation in the truest form
he put life in my lungs and a fire under my toes
and it's still there
just a little less of it
i can't pull myself to tend to it
but for now that will have to be okay

if i had known
that the clock was ticking
that our time was running out
that we only had a few more breaths to take together
oh...
the list of things i would've done
(differently)
is miles long
your heart is above me now
dancing on the air and the stars and touching the moon
talking with god like long lost friends
i think he loved you, so he let you go,
let you come to me,
but he missed you so much he brought you home
and i get it
sixteen years is a long time to miss your best friend
i've barely survived these two years without you
i miss your spirit and your eyes and your brain
i still can't say goodbye
visit me
because i have so much left to say

i had words on my tongue and they were pretty enough to be let off their leash
but **** it, i have no energy for beauty and delicacy and heartbreak wrapped in gilded paper
i have hurt, though, and she's scratching at the roof of my mouth
hoping that her claws can be her deliverance
deliver us from evil...
...and forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those who trespass against us
the lord's prayer is on repeat, a broken record in my head
what goes around comes around,
except i keep getting ******* on
but i put my heart out and give love and hope it'll come back for me
i forgive
but don't get me wrong: i do not forget
every wrong done against me has burrowed down in my mind
hibernating and waiting for winter to end
so they can come out with a fury
i forgive-but-don't-forget every time i was kissed and made to feel special,
then left aside waiting like laundry that's clean but not yet folded
but all the hurt
the dried up sadness caked and cracked like an old mud puddle
the wiped away tears only my shower walls have seen
the thudding breaking
sticks on my desk, a reminder,
that even if things are bad
i am not.
i give kisses and receive receding backs, because
...deliver us from evil...
the tables will turn soon
they always do
and i'm willing to wait for it

how do you solve a problem like
grieving?
i sat in a dark room for two and a half years
listening to old tapes of conversations with a dead person.
it was cold and unkind and thick with melancholy
and i couldn't find the door in the blackness
and i didn't call for help
and i didn't try to fight my way out.
it was horrible but it was comforting, somehow,
because i could tell there were other people trapped in other dark rooms with other unshakeable sorrows,
even if i was alone in mine.
and it was getting worse.
i should've been getting better,
adjusting to the lightlessness,
feeling around for the doorknob.
but i was sitting still
(and maybe going blind, too)
and here's the part of the story where everything gets better
...almost.
a ouija board grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards her
and it was the last thing i expected.
and a ghost
my ghost
spelled out his name and said hello
and i have never felt so at peace.
he said he missed me and that he was happy now
and my heart was floating in my body
and i was crying, as always,
but they were the happiest tears i've ever cried.
oh my GOD does it feel good to have your soul quieted
after two and a half years of unrest
and things you never got to say
and times you flaked on plans that you wish you'd kept
and laughs and hugs and
it wasn't all fun and games, when he was alive.
it was talking him down from panic attacks
and praying he wasn't hurting himself anymore
and faith that he would thrive
if he gave himself the chance.
it was the loss of innocence and the search for innocence
all wrapped up in the same two shared bodies.
we both tried our best.
and my heart cracked in a hundred places when he left
how do you solve a problem like a dead best friend?
i still don't know.
but a ghost by his name sent me love through a ouija board and told me to get my **** together,
just like i had told him when we were in the same world.
and it's almost three years
and i miss him just as much as i always have
but i think i can handle it now
at least a little better.
maybe next time i see him we'll be scarless and innocent again,
or maybe we'll be just as ****** up
but there's peace in knowing the reunion is coming,
no matter what form it takes.
.
.
.
for lucas, my heart. see you soon enough.

but he's not just a friend!
we crossed that line in a hazy, sweaty, drunken accident.
and my heart cannot possibly forget it,
even if, it seems, his can.
when he tells me how he touched another
in the same way he touched me,
and it meant nothing to them,
but everything to me.
and the times, they are a-changing.
because when it began it was just late night passion,
just twice before we got weird and scared
and suddenly our friendship was forced.
and then it began again,
and it was my whole world:
biting and kissing and laughing against his chest,
warm and kind.
love is blind.
but the gods are not, and they have made me love him
as a cruel turn of mindless entertainment.
this is my life with which they play,
and i feel like the girl in the music box,
stuck twisting to a pretty tune.
timeless and melancholy.
he makes me dizzy
in the best ways.
and i want to be his friend if that's all i can get,
so i keep my mouth shut and wait to see if he will love me.
and the cynic in my mind tells me he never will,
but the romantic in my heart tells me he soon will.
his mother loves me,
so why can't he?
"is it better to speak or to die"
apparently, to speak.
but no, my lips will not part for words
only to kiss him again and again.

i'm writing a letter to my mama that i'm never gonna send.
because she'd worry, and because i can't find my stamps.
hey mama, i'll start,
i'm really ******* sad today.
my heart is broken and i don't know how to focus on school.
i fell for this boy because he was my best friend and we had *** this one time and then i was a goner.
and he hurt me so much, mama, in little ways that i ignored
because i refused to see the bad in him.
but he was bad from the beginning. he was a bad friend all along.
because a real friend wouldn't just touch you when he's drunk and pretend nothing happened when he's sober
and not just once, either.
i really loved him, i think.
i think i still do.
oh my god, mama, what am i supposed to do?
i still have to see him everywhere but even thinking about him makes my eyes water and i have a paper due tomorrow that i can't finish because somehow it reminds me of him.
this is really tough.
i kinda wish i was still little and you could cook me dinner and do my homework for me.
but now we live in different states and i won't see you until the semester is over and i just feel ******* lost.
growing up is so ******.
did you have to have me?
i made a mistake in kissing him in the first place,
but it seemed right at the time, and now i've spent an entire year of college crying over the same boy that doesn't care and never did and ******* this is awful and i can't even cry myself to sleep most nights because i have a roommate and--
but don't worry about me, ma.
i'll be home soon and we can watch tv and go for walks and spend four hours in target and maybe one night i'll tell you everything and how much it hurt even though you'll cry too because you couldn't protect me from a boy with long eyelashes and a great sense of humor.
love you! bye.
she's my best friend. so why can't i tell her when my heart is breaking? i'll lick the envelope but never send it and i think keeping this from her is the worst part of it all

i'm trying to be happier.
it's really hard.
i got so used to being so sad
(for a reason, for no reason, all of the above)
i had to teach myself happiness again.
i forgot the things that brought me little joy.
i have so much love in my heart
and it hurts because i love like a little kid:
cautionless, full of emotion,
unwaveringly innocent.
and sometimes it crushes me
when people can't love like i do.
i'm depressed. i'm an artist.
everyone knows how this goes.
it doesn't matter,
because i'm going to be happier.
i light candles that smell good
and i play the piano until my fingers hurt
(because i have arthritis, probably)
and i laugh at twitter.
and i'm still sad sometimes
(for no reason, for a reason, all of the above)
it doesn't matter.
maybe nothing matters,
at least in the long run.
for now, i matter.
and i'm still going to love like a little kid
and fall and scrape my knee and cry for a minute
and keep going, keep going.
that's all there is to do.

i am in awe
of myself.
i am the most resilient person i know
and it really ******* ***** sometimes.
god made me incredibly strong,
empathetic,
the friend that supports their friends
and doesn't expect support in return.
but god also made me depressed
i forgive him,
but most times it's waves of sadness
and sometimes it's hurricane season
and i wish i knew how to ask for help.
i don't know how to swim
(this is true)
so normally i just stay out of the water
and sometimes i dip my toes in
and that's when the waves pull me
and they drown me.
there's no lifeguards
because there wasn't any but me to begin with,
and if there had been,
they would've gone home already,
because no one knows what to do when the lifeguard drowns.
i think sometimes i get into these depressions
where i can't breathe or do anything
except feel sorry for myself
because nobody feels sorry for me, a,
(which is my fault because i don't let them know
there's anything to feel sorry for at all)
and because i spend so much time
feeling sorry and saying sorry and being sorry
for everyone else
that sometimes it just hits me like a brick ******* wall.
i think, right now, i just need
a **** good cry.

i just cried
and dear god
has a weight been lifted
i really needed this
purging of pain
cleansing
i am new again
my grandfather always said
"oh quit your blubbering"
but i'm an emotional girl
so i let myself blubber
and then i quit it
and i feel like i did
before hormones
controlled my life
i just cried
and *******
has this heart been freed

four years and three months today
without you
the spirit in my attic
the white feather on my nose.
one time i picked up a ouija board
giggling with new friends and no expectations.
and you... you were sitting right next to me
and jumped at the chance to use your voice
(you were never good at keeping quiet).
you spelled hello into my hands
and when i asked you for your name
and the planchette moved to "L" then "U" then "C"
and one of the girls whispers "oh my god we summoned lucifer"
i smiled and a tear fell in my mouth
because my heart was weightless all of a sudden
and you were next to me all of a sudden
and i'm sorry it took me that long to realize
that you were still so close.
so we talked
and it was almost like the old days
and for the first time since you died i could hear your voice saying the words our hands spelled on the board
and--my god-- was it good to hear your voice
(sounds don't sound the same without you
and i can't sing on key without you).
as we talked i sobbed and laughed
and probably scared the girls around me
but it was me and you, you and i, like it always used to be
so i didn't care.
the best part was the white feather, dancing hazily above my hands while i spelled your words.
i hung on to every word
because i knew they might be the last for a long time
at least until you're ready to talk again.
when you said "goodbye" i felt my heart float back down into my body and my soul felt less sore
and then someone looked up "what do white feathers mean"
and google said "lifting of bereavement"
which i think was your way of telling me to man up.
and you're right! why should i grieve and bereave when you're still right next to me
in the white feathers that have fallen on me and followed me
every day since the ouija board chat?
i miss you still. of course i do.
but you're still here in every little white feather

i passed your house on my way home from his
and i felt my eyes fill with tears
thinking bout every time i came over
and every time i wish i did over the years

i'm too stubborn to ever admit it
but god do i miss you
it takes up my dreams at all times of the day
but my pride won't let me tell you the truth

and even if i did,
if i pulled out my heart and wore it on my sleeve
would it even make a difference?
or would you still just turn and leave?

mom always said "you don't know til you try"
but either way, in the end, i'll be crying
so i keep my love to myself
i'm just so tired

bury my head in the sand
but leave my soul for the breeze
i'll die with these secrets
they'll stay between me and the trees
and i won't mind
never knowing if there was hope for you and i
because i sat on my hands and wondered,
"is it better to speak or to die?"

pride goes before the fall
but it comes after it, too
it's all that keeps me together at night
when i think about falling for you

i always think of you
and i always think of this
in the moments when i pass your house
on my way to his

how i wish i could see you grow
outlive the confines of cruel adolescence
become a man taller and more beautiful than me
outside, yes, but inside where the flowers bloom
and your heart blossoms proudly
you had to leave us
captivating smile carried away with the wind
in autumn, always autumn
and leaves crunch under foot as i chase the last of you
hand outstretched and begging for just one ash
you had to leave us, and i will never not wish for more:
more time with you and your glowing golden heart,
more laughter in a quiet room
i want to hold your hand again with everything in me
but if it's alright with you,
i'll stay here for a little while longer
say my goodbyes slowly and savor the sunlight
try not to miss me as much as i miss you
we will hold hands again soon, i promise

i fell in love with an idiot who didn't.
and it wasn't the first time,
and it probably won't be the last time,
no matter how hard i try.
he broke my heart
and i couldn't talk about it
because he was our friend.
and you don't fall in love with your friends.
it hurt so much
to feel so strongly and stay so silent.
drunk kisses are all fun and games until you never address them in the morning, and you sit across from him at lunch and in the library, and you stand next to each other at basketball games and museum exhibits, and you pretend you don't spend the night in each other's rooms in a different way than you do with all your other friends.
and i fell in love
and we still went home from parties together
and i knew i should stop
because he didn't care about me like that
and then i realized he didn't really care about me at all
and our friendship wasn't really real anymore
and everything hurt
because i was still in love
and my hopes were so high
and i couldn't bring them down or cut the cord.
over and over again
i read into things that he didn't think about
and i guess i broke my own heart,
if you think about it,
but it feels better to blame him.
right now i'm in the part of the cycle
where i don't think about him,
or if i do,
it's only like 12% sadness and 88% hatred.
right now, i'm good. i'm healing.
and it's only a matter of time,
no matter how hard i try,
only a matter of time.

last night i gave God an ultimatum.
i told Him that He had 24 hours to deliver me a heart
and if the 24 hours came and went,
without the heart in my hands,
i would accept His sign and move on.
there are three hours left,
and my hands are empty
but my faith is unbreakable.
every time i pray i tell God i'm ready to love,
to hold a heart and hold it close,
and most importantly,
to be held in return.
He knows it's taken me years to say that,
to take a deep breath and want to blow it into the world,
not keep it locked in my chest.
and He knows that when He made me,
He didn't put a whole lot of patience in me.
so i gripped my rosary and gave God an ultimatum.
at the end of the day,
when the 24 hours is up
(no matter the outcome)
my faith will glow even stronger
because whether my hands are empty or full,
whether my heart will be sent abroad or staying home,
i will have God, as He has always had me.

bare bones stained with blood
linking together with all the power they have
(and though they look weak,
they had no choice but to become incredibly strong)
holding up a gentle, bruised soul.
tired fingers sigh as they put down their pen and form their net,
preparing to catch the falling heart.
this is routine, like praying the rosary but colder.
the fingers strain under the weight but do not falter
then softly, slowly, transfer the iridescence to a feather bed.
she sleeps, and they watch.
they wish she would learn.
they shake their head and pick up the pen again.
golden light casts a moving shadow across the paper
as the barely holy spirit's chest rises and falls in her sleep.
soon, the fingers know, she will wake up in a sweat
unable to shake the nightmare,
and will be filled with an insatiable desire to dive
into the deep end of her limitless mind.
and when she jumps, they sigh, put down the pen,
and link to catch her once again.

EAT AND BE EATEN
and eat again, and probably be eaten again, too.
AND. and! finally. not a choice, not a decision to be made incorrectly or regretfully.
i can eat. AND. i can be eaten.
no!
I WILL EAT AND I WILL BE EATEN.
there is something very satisfying about the prospect of "both"
i am not afraid of being eaten. i am afraid to eat.
but if the worst consequence of conquering my fear is not a fear at all, then who am i to not be a conqueror?
i can dismantle and overthrow, and build my new empire up from the very first stones.
first i must create. first i must write something that, like a flask full of sweet liquor, i can bathe in for courage when my feet start to tremble. i need to write like i drink: urgently, passionately, as if my happiness depends on it.
if i have a drinking problem, so be it!
as long as i also have a writing problem.
i will send my liver down the river in a basket if it means i can welcome creativity into its place.
i will. i will!
i dare someone to stop me.