Hope held her pinky like a child
She wrapped herself in a blanket of dreams and denial
Falling deeper in her eternal slumber
Towards the land of make-believe

Mom,
If I ever decide to tell you
That tomorrow I’ll be gone…
What will your response be?
Would you support me?
Would you tell me it’s okay?
Would you tell me my decision isn’t wrong?

Tell me that…
Someday you will understand
That you will try
At least

I assure you
If you ever hear those words,
It wasn’t easy for me
So don’t try to change my mind
Don’t try to stop me
Don’t make me pity you

Tell me you will miss me
Tell me you’ll be sad
Tell me you’ll remember my last words
Tell me you won’t forget my birthday
Tell me you will cry

It’s not that I want to hurt you
I just
I want to know I’ve meant something
At least
Something

words are just rushing out of me
right now
all I can think to do is
share them with you

I'm still slightly confused on how
I'm able to form sentences with subjects
and pronouns and nouns
and all I write is wow
and even spaces too

you're driving me crazy
in case you didn't know
and right now it's just you
and me
and we're together
someway, somehow
loving happily

but this fairytale is absolute nonsense
this make-believe relationship too
because you will only ever see me
your best friend, but not how I see you

but oh, your brother
your sweet, cute brother
that hottie of a guy who you call brother
has been dropping hints lately

and surprisingly,
it's all about him
and, finally, for once,
not about you and me

there's a ****, **** guy
with a heart, so true
he could solve all of my
problems- they revolve around you

and I could learn to love him
or maybe even sin
he could always be my first time
I've saved it long enough,
and Heaven knows he deserving of
my unequivocal love

so now's the time to make up your mind
if you consider it, I think you'll find
that we were always the match made to be
and I am more attracted to you than even Paul Wesley

but, bud, the time has come
either way, you've won
but will it be me who stands next to you?
or will it be her?
she's worthy enough of your love, sure
but not the one intended:

to make you happy every day
to grow old with you
to give you a new meaning of life
to be the one who you call wife
to share with you happiness and strife,
to fix your tie before work
and let you know when you're being a ****
to tell you how to live your life
with no regrets and memories
filled with laughter and love

no. she's not.

she may be  the one who gets to greet you in school
in the hallways and I keep my cool
because only I know the truth:

someday, if you are not too much of an idiot to realize
that we could wake up at sunrise
together, that way it's supposed to be
and when you're stressed
walking through the door, too tired to undress
the one who will soothe and kiss you will be
                                                              ­                                                      me.

I asked the love inside me
to sleep but not to die.
To fly like swallows at sea,
give me peace,
but please,
be homesick.

I asked the love inside me
to relent it’s doping up
like an Indian Luna
discarding the moon
for daylight.

I asked would it be stoic,
Drown the sun for just a day
and hang dark over street-signs
that have anagrams of her name
or point to wherever she sleeps.

I asked the love inside me
to keep the love-bites
in my capillaries
lest they phosphoresce
like the backs of cuttlefish.

I asked would it be patient
to shine them later,
as inkblots, reminding me
of what the softness
of her lips can do.

I asked the love inside me
to remember and not to hope.
Keep our room everlasting
alight with music,
and like my love,
my own.

there’s lipstick kissed filter tips
and roaches made from textbooks
littering the ash-hardened carpet.
The lift of bra strings over collarbone
tracing a mole
meeting like the Saone and Rhone there.
Hungover afternoons
where the heat stays asleep in the air
circulating with our radiance
as if our hearts fill the whole space.
The time moves glacially
like we’re children
having nothing to compare it with
but the length of hair
and the states of cliff faces.
Two stillborns
meeting in the afterlife.

The first time
and the last time
and all the love in between
is alive.