i don't understand how
my pen always lands
on her
i want to cut the strings
that tie my hand
and my heart to her
but i can't
and so i tell my new crush
i am not ready
it is not because i am still
in love with her
i am not
it is not because i am
waiting for her to try again
i am not
it is because when i think
about moving on
i think about hurting her
and i am terrified
to hurt her the way
she hurt me

Hands
Holding on to my fragile heart
And I do not know
If they're trying to tear it out
Or stop it from escaping.

Lips
Calling out; "Come to me"
Calling my name
Giving promises upon promises
Of all the kisses that they offer
Yet they are laced with poison.

Eyes
Staring deep into my soul
Pulling me in with their warmth
And I want to dive
But I have to stop myself
From drowning.

You
Standing there, silent
Behind the glass wall
And you can see me crystal clear
And I am standing, silent, too.

And I am left here, pondering
If to break it
Or to wait.
And I am left here, wondering
If you'll break it
Or you'll break me.

i never thought
i would be willing
to change myself
to be with another person
but i would have
changed anything
to stay with you
and maybe
that is the problem
when i loved you
i forgot how to love myself
and i can preach self love
without feeling it
but now
i am going to take the time
and yes, i know
it will take time
to love myself
because everyone
deserves a place in this world
and that place
does not belong
inside of another person

a list of things to do "when it feels like the hands on your clock have arthritis"

1.  put on your diffuser, put in lavender essential oil, remember that this is what waiting for her smells like
2. go for a walk, but not where the two of you used to walk together, try not to think of how you two used to match your pace with every step
3. do not call her, call your best friend, do not think of how you would rather be calling her and ignoring the very people who are trying to support you
4. play music, but do not put it on shuffle, and do not think about how you would so much rather be listening to the playlist she made and then updated the day you started dating
5. write a poem, but ignore how every poem you write in the collection that has become your every day life still leads back to her
6. do not cry, you have already shed enough tears over someone who can ignore you
7. if you do start to cry, say it is because of your dad, or your work load, or because it is raining and you just have never really been able to enjoy the rain, do not admit that she has the strings to your heart and somehow you are still a puppet
8. make yourself a cup of tea, sit down, and let yourself feel, remember that even if it feels like the hands on the clock have arthritis, slow progress is still progress, you are whole and time will pass

today when i sat down
with a pen in my hand
the only thing i didn't
want to write about
was you
how freeing it is
to write about
a new kiss
and a new crush
to write about
my yellow shoes
my best friend
the rainstorm i made it through
how freeing it is
to not write about you

THIS is what love is.

banana bubblegum and magnetic poetry
the crickets on my front porch at three in the morning
making origami cranes out of butcher paper
even when I forget whether it's mountain fold or
valley fold and my crane turns out looking like a
seamonkey in a blender
wildflowers!
striped button-down shirts and plastic dinosaurs
singing Juanes at the top of our lungs
(Gah, you know
I can't speak Spanish.)
laughing at the serious parts in movies
having the patience for when
the words don't come out
and I have to stop

and think

(for a very long time)
and half the time it doesn't make sense anyway.
impromptu dance sessions on the side of the road
doors flung open, radio up
chocolate chip pancakes
out-of-town adventures
mailboxes. LOTS.
balcony raves with lots of glowsticks
and let me borrow that top!

just letting me sleeeeeeep

the smell of new pointe shoes
of New Orleans
of bluebonnets
telling me when I look awful (please)
making me eat things that I don't like
SNUGGLEBUNNY TIME
drive-thru people who hate our guts
That's What She Said's.
praising Buddha naked
dysfunctional kites
paying in change at Chicken Express
late night phone conversations
when I sound drunk
(but I'm not,
I'm tired. I just would rather
talk to you
than sleep.)

silence.

cupcakes, uniform closets
not shaving our legs in the winter
shadow puppets, rap songs,
Slumdog Millionaire
making once-in-a-lifetime faces
looks that speak oceans
pecan pralines and symphony orchestras you'll
never play with again but for that night
you're family
and you'll never forget it.

matches (aren't always for candles)
thousands upon thousands of candids
and the not-so-candids
saving kisses in your pocket for later
Neverland, Disneyland, cats
yellow dresses and stage make-up
watermelon Jolly Ranchers
saying my name like it's wrapped in blankets
and knowing that
even though I don't say it
as much as I should:
I do.