they say we accept the love we think we deserve
and you need to know that i have spent three years
thinking of your smile, and your laugh, and the touch of your hand, and being held as i sleep
and living for little signs, vague promises,
wasting afternoons, mornings, evenings on you
and i couldn't ever help but feel it was building up to something
but now i know that it was nothing i can really count on
because you could never tell me how you really felt
and i have to admit that now, finally
i am ever so much closer to accepting the love i think i truly deserve
and it isn't yours.

what do you say to someone
to tell them everything you feel
when they were the reason behind
your words for years?

how do you say i love you
and happy birthday
and please don't leave me
and you mean everything to me
and you are still the reason behind my words
without it sounding trite or desperate?

it's been four years and i still don't know.
but i love you, please don't leave me.
you mean everything to me.
happy birthday.

but i wonder, did i ever return?
i love you both, and can never
not even if all of our dreams
came true five, ten, fifteenfold
repay you for all you have done.
but i need a bigger knife, now.
to cut the tension and to saw
out a hole just for me to see
that i can breathe, if i step out.
out from the inner circle, this
circle of ******* truth,
that you granted me access to
and similarly ****** me to.
the pressure is too great, your
expectations are too high for me.
i cannot hold this family up;
certainly hold it together.
i won't be running away again but
please stop making me wish i would.

someone told me once that i was an all or nothing type of girl.
and they meant it as a compliment, or rather an insult
draped and disguised to look like one.
but it's true, i know this.

and i have locked onto that phrase for years and years.
because i am so afraid to love someone wrong
that i love everyone too much, maybe.
or maybe not ever at all.

i can tell you what a crush feels like, list symptoms and
cross things off on a list one by exciting, miserable
one. but i cannot write on the excitement
of the brush of someone's fingers

or the bone-rattling nerves of an across-the-room glance.
i can't remember what rejection feels like and if
you asked me, i could not properly say
that i care about that anyway.

but i am familiar with this, the anxiety and this yearning.
to talk and laugh and say out loud what was said
to me and oh, however shall i respond?
that's what i'd say.

if i had a crush, anyway. but i am a girl who just...
does things all at once or not at all, and so
i find myself terribly frightened
to feel anything at all.

this was going to be a poem of epic proportions.
but not even poetry stands up to you and i anymore.
and every year it gets harder to explain this to you.
because i love you for everything you are, have been,
will be, cannot be, refuse to be, and try to be.

and that's really all there is to it.

we're still tragic and all wrong and we feel it, sometimes.
but i hope that no matter where you go next year,
i am with you somehow, even if you just remember me.
because whatever we are is not meant to die, fizzle, or explode.
it is meant to reassure and to be patient and to hold hands.

and that's really all there is to it.

there will always be somewhere that you can call collect.
i solemnly swear to accept any and all charges billed to me.
i would follow you until the ends of the earth, but only for us.
not for me or for you or poetry's sake, only if we needed it.
this is my "i'll see you soon," when you go away from me.

i will never be farther than you would like me to be.

play them like a game
and very quickly you will find
that there's really nothing
to worry about.

so take a hand and lead
them into the dark.
where monsters hide and
the light does nothing
but make shadows dance.

then you'll be forced to remember
that you are nothing but bones
nothing but bones and dust.

so *******, honestly. because until tonight i thought i felt okay, but i think i’m lonely.

my heart sticks to the walls of my chest and i’m thankful for the cold because it means i can wear mittens and have an excuse for the spaces between my fingers to be empty.

it’s a quarter after three in the morning, and i miss you.
and i don’t even know who i’m talking to, really.

but that’s kind of the problem, too. i’m not talking to anyone.
everyone’s sleeping, and i’d be sad but i don’t want to be sad anymore.
so i sing to my dog for an hour and do some laundry, and wonder where my words went.

and soon i’ll take a shower, and soon i’ll go to bed,
and soon you’ll wake up and not think of me.
and that’s okay, because as strangers, i have no place in your life.

and as strangers, you have no place in my heart or in my head.
but you, you are everywhere else. and that’s kind of the problem, too.

but i guess i understand why they say lonely people are always up in the middle of the night, because i am. because until tonight i thought i felt okay, but i think i’m lonely.

nothing feels any different and nothing has changed
but i feel husked out and full of echoes.
nothing inside me makes any sense
and i can’t bring myself to talk about it
because i don’t understand it,
i can’t make the words make sense in my head and
even if i could i don’t think i’d want to say anything out loud.

i want to crumble collar bones in my hands while i shake from the inside out
and tell my story to a fresh pair of ears, i want to talk but i want to be prompted,
i want someone to know what questions to ask or at least fake it.
i want someone to love me, to just plain old-fashioned love me
and i want to love them in return.

i want to be able to at least entertain the notion that one day i can be somebody’s and.
me and, she came over and, we went out last weekend and,
i just want to be somebody’s and.
i want to be somebody’s distraction.

i see you.

once:
in the way the light filters through the blinds.

twice:
at sunrise, soft and gray and tired, fingertipped conversations.
at sunset, languid and creaking, bones and skin and heavy eyelids.

three times:
in cemeteries, reading between the lines of nervous laughter and laced fingers.
in passenger seats, spinning tires while we spun out the sun with conversation.
on empty pages, aching for a way to get rid of a year’s worth of words.

i don't think i love you right,
and maybe i don't even love you at all.
because there's something in you so sick
and all-consuming that there's no room for anything else.
you are an all-seasons grinch,
ready with a bitter wit and a heart three sizes too small.
and that's supposed to be funny and timely
because in three hours it will be christmas
(and all i want for christmas is never having had you)
but it falls so flatly from my fingertips onto these keys.
and i don't even know what season it was when
you kissed me but i remember it didn't matter
and if i could do it again, i'd kiss you back.
but i don't love you and you sure as hell
don't love me and i can live with that
and i will always wonder why?
i've made a terrible mistake with you,
and i will always wonder what it was.

fall has never felt more like falling
than my head on your shoulder
and your hand on my hip

but there isn't a **** thing poetic
about things you can't have and
things you don't want but
i just remember so much

and it comes in flashes, like
laughing too hard at jim carrey
being regulars wherever we went
getting caught in the cold and
just plain getting caught

you told me if i walk slower,
i won't get as wet from the rain.
so i tried it, and it didn't work.
and where's the poetry in that?

the only thing i'm good at is
keeping you around, but
always too far away.
if i can't make us sound pretty,
i suppose that means i'm over it
and if i'm sick of trying to, well
i suppose that means we're okay

and if i keep trying...
i suppose that means i love you.

i don't know which birds sing in the mornings.
i like sunrises, but only if i haven't been to bed yet.
i like to emerge from my sheets and pillows when the sun is high
and the shadows are gone.
before then, the sun is too young and exuberant
and i have such an old and heartbreakingly tired soul.
the sun was barely over the old church outside your bedroom,
painting the bare walls of your room with the colors of the last supper.
you woke me up, soft and sweet,
like i know you can be, when you put to rest your premature bitterness and apathy.
i don't know how long you lay beside me, the ***** of your feet pressed against my shins,
your pinky finger tracing the freckles on my arm in the same pattern, countless times.
but it was the softest way i've ever woken up, and it reminds me of summer.
it reminds me that bruised does not mean broken,
and even shattered pieces can be reassembled.
it reminds me that there is love everywhere,
and we once had it in the most morning-sun way.

and i'm so sorry, but not really.
because i know this is just a waste
of otherwise blank and empty space
but my god, i just want to make you know
how hard it is to organize the feelings
in my head and the thoughts in my heart
when my greatest wish, to make the world stop,
is forgotten and replaced before it can even be;
because i can't keep thoughts in my head, ever
because if i do they fester, and if they fester,
here they come, up and out and i can't stop them
and then i can't take them back
and then you'll know
and i won't.

and if i close my eyes tonight,
just to see your face,
it certainly won't be the first.
and it certainly won't be the last.

and if i slow my breathing,
if i calm my pounding heart,
i promise i will listen to you,
to all your *******, start to stop.

and you'll tell me everything,
everything i know and don't.
but i've heard it all before;
tonight is no different from the last.

i swear to god i love you more in death,
i love you more as this fictional corpse,
than i could have ever loved you alive.

and i swear to god you're beautiful.
and i swear to god you're all mine.
but you had a face your mother didn't even love.
i'd have loved you enough for the both of us.

you're an ***.
and you deserve to be lonely.
and i hate you.
and i  love you.
and i hate to love you.
and i ******* love to hate you.

but you're just a boy.
and i'm just a girl.
and we're just something that never happened.
and we're just a big, ****** up, mistake.
and we're nothing special at all, really.
and we're going to be forgotten.

but i'm just a girl.
and you're just a boy.
and i'm still in love with you.
and i'm hellbent on hating you.
and i'm looking for another you.
and i'm convinced i won't find him.

so you're still an ***.
and i'm still in love.
but i'm heading out.
and i'll find someone.

i whispered, "baby, i need you now more than ever."
i whispered, "i may be the driver, but this car is out of control."
i whispered, "there's nothing for us at the end of this road."

and you said, "crash, bang, smoke."

i really don't understand why i am this way.
why every day is a struggle, why i have to dredge up
every single ******* positive thought from the parts of my heart
that continue to beat and bleed.

i really don't understand why i can do this.
why i can sling excuses and *******, why i can talk away
every single ******* positive thing that could happen to me when
all i want is something to smile at.

i really don't understand what keeps me here.
what keeps me holding on to you, what makes me think of
every single ******* positive thing you did for me
when there was so much negative.

i really, really don't understand why everything i write
is so angry, so sad, so ******* angsty,
even when i've had a wonderful day and i could swear to you,
i could swear it doesn't hurt anymore.

nothing hurts anymore, and nothing makes me angry.
walk away from everything i felt for you
and everything i did for you
and all the tears i ******* cried for you,
and it won't hurt me, not this time.

in the darkness behind your closed eyes,
in the space behind clenched lips.
that's where they're not.

in lonely nights spent pressed into corners,
in bitter tears and trembling hands.
that's where they're not.

i'm so tired of being a joke.
and i'm so tired of.
everything.

stop hurting me.
i do my best, always.
it's tearing me apart.

you can't see me crying.
and i'm not going to tell.
but i can't seem to stop.

i love you, too much.
*******, i don't want to care.
nothing makes sense.

especially when you.
when you can't.
can't remember anything.

She asked me to tell her story for you all today.
I wanted to say no, but how do you say no to a dead girl?
I didn’t think you could, either.
So here I am.

But I've been thinking- we all know her story.
You’ve been fed her story by her caring, devoted parents.
So I’m going to tell you my story.

I was with her every step of the way.
[Except when it mattered, except for at the end.]
I was there when her caring, devoted parents called her a liar,
called her a thief, and called her a ****.
[Then lovingly announced it was a character building exercise. ]

I was there when instead of getting help for their daughter
as she repeatedly cut and destroyed her body,
they praised her, bought her new razorblades,
picked up her various painkillers.

Oh yes, her parents are real gems,
ladies and gentlemen.
They were very involved in Jamie’s life.
Always made sure she had
everything she wanted.

You know what?
They spoiled her to death.

Oh, too soon for suicide humor?
My apologies. I guess I’m bitter.
The last thing I need to say is,
Jamie wanted me to thank you all.

She wanted to thank you all for letting her go.

there's no delicate, politically correct way to say this.
as soon as i saw you leaning against the wall of the bp,
with your pants halfway down your ***,
your wifebeater thrown over your shoulder,
your big brimmed hat on crooked,
and your white skin pockmarked with needle tracks,
i wasn't scared of you, i was disgusted.

my first thought? burned out ******.
my second? just please don't say anything to me.
my third? ****, he's probably looking at my ****** white girl ***.
my fourth? he just opened the door for me.

i think what i said was, "oh! thank you. excuse me."
and i think what you said was, "ain't no thang."
and i saw on your forearm not needle tracks,
but the very same scars that have lined my hips and thighs.

i looked at the sodas, and you pointed out the cheap ones.
"my girl drank three sodas an hour before she passed.
i guess you could call me a cheapskate, but it's worth it."

i was lost for words, so i just thanked you again.
you got in line, asked for the usual. you got your cigarettes.
i bought my soda, and turned around to you holding the door.
i said, "thank you again." and walked away.

i don't know you. i don't know your life.
i don't ever feel bad about making snap judgements.
but you radically changed my view of you in two short minutes.
if there was any way for you to know, i'd like to say i'm sorry.
and thank you...you've inspired me to change.

apologies from you are unheard of.
so when you apologized, i was shocked.
i immediately forgave you. i felt so relieved.
because, brandon...when we're on point, we're on point.
you're either nothing to me, or one of my favorite people.

i know which one i prefer, but it's so hard.
you're so abrasive, and i don't roll over and take it anymore.
i've changed a lot, and i don't want to be treated badly anymore.
i've told you before i love you, and i mean it. you just hurt me, a lot.

i'm sorry you don't approve of some of my actions.
just please trust me, i know what i'm doing.
i have my reasons. i'm doing the best i can.
i don't like disappointing you, but i have no choice.
this is who i am now, and if you don't want to be friends, well.
i won't understand. i won't like it. i won't say it's okay.
but i'll accept it, like i accepted your apology. carefully, but quickly.

the apology even hurt, because of what you followed it with.
i threw the apology and the forgiveness away, until today.
but i talked to your mom, and she reminded me of who you really are.
and i miss him, so i'm throwing away the **** we've said lately.
i'm wiping our slate clean, in my head.
will you accept it?

i find it strange that i'm writing this letter to you.
but it kind of showcases our friendship.
all it was was an innocent kiss on your hand.
but i kissed you, instead of you kissing me [on the cheek].
so here we go.

it's like every word you say has an extra meaning.
every touch you steal or demand has an extra feeling.
so when you said, "kiss it, make it better," i wondered.
i wondered what exactly i was making better for you.

it could, of course, just be that you hit your hand on my pool steps.
but that was all you, anyway. i thought you were tackling me.
not hugging me.

but then again, it could, of course, be you were looking for a reaction.
if that's the case, i wish i knew why. i think i'm pretty clear on what i want.
you're the one complicating things, you know.
keep your mischievous eyes to yourself.
keep your troublesome lips closed.

god forbid we do anything we'd be ashamed of.

i'm not sure i know your name yet.
and if i do, i probably won't realize it for awhile.
but thank you, whoever you are,
for giving me my favorite memory.

i'm sure it's beautiful.
and meaningful, too.
i wonder if it's sunset or midnight,
or maybe the day has just begun.

perhaps the sky is cloudless,
or maybe there's a storm rolling in.
maybe it's november, and the leaves are falling down.
or maybe august, when the air is heavy and the heat is solid.

maybe you're someone from my past,
or maybe you're someone from my future.
hell, you could even be someone from my present.
but i kind of refuse to really, truly believe that.

just like i kind of refuse to really, truly believe
that i'll run across the type of love i see in the eyes of my friends.
just like the type of love i used to see in the eyes of another,
just like the type of love i would like to see again.

i guess what i'm trying to say is i don't have a favorite memory.
my favorite memories have been stained and tainted.
i'm terrified to make more. so what i guess i'm saying is,
stay away from me, whoever you are. i don't want your memory.

nothing golden can shine forever.

brian, sweetheart.

i'm sorry nothing ever seems to help.
i'm sorry i'm not a better friend.
i know i've promised to try harder,
but you need to stop trusting me.

you've stopped calling.
you've stopped texting.
and **** if i don't miss you.
i'll hold my tongue, however.

i won't let myself reply to your, "heya."
and i won't let myself answer your phone calls.
because i know there is nothing i can do for you.
because i know talking to me will make it worse.

so take your pills, and talk to sherry.
fix things with amy, and go back to school.
start sleeping again, hang out with nathan more.
get yourself a ******* job, okay?

you know i love you dearly.
and i do this for your own good.
don't stop calling, texting.
i won't ever answer, but.

i like to know you're still alive.
i like to know you're pushing through.
i like to know you're holding on, at least.
can you do that, for me? please?

well, i'll be honest.
i don't remember the last person i made a pinky promise to.
and that makes me feel so, so lonely.

lonely like the smallest puppy must feel when he can't play with his brothers and sisters.
lonely like the first star in the sky at night.
lonely like my hand without yours in it.

i want someone to pinky promise.
i want someone to live for.
i want someone to wake up thinking of me.

god, it's so hard to be honest with myself.
i've nothing else to say.

robbie-

i think that's your name, anyway.
i should feel bad about that, maybe.
but i don't, because you don't know mine.
you and your chocolate eyes made me smile.
those long eyelashes of yours made me blush.
that leering mouth of yours made me think.
it made me think i'd have a chance, without him.
it made me think i could have someone that wasn't him.
and i thank you for that.

our walk around the mall and to the pet store?
nothing short of miraculous.
you made me smile and laugh and say things like,
"well, i guess it's a date then, isn't it?"
you made me realize there was more to this world
than him and me and our collective issues.

and when i told you i'd meet you,
i really planned on it. i really did.
because we clicked, and i felt it.
and god, i know you did too.
but things came up, and i...
well, i was misbehaving.

i regret not meeting you.
i've never seen you again.
sometimes i wonder if you're real.
but then i remember fingertips,
exploring the small of my back,
as we hugged goodbye.

i've never hugged a stranger before.
i told you i was single, and i felt i was.
i'm sorry my heart didn't hold on to that.
i'm sorry i never found out what was hiding,
what was hiding behind your chocolate eyes.

i have nothing to offer you but the words on my lips.
i'm not funny or witty.
i don't paint or take pictures.
i can't sing you a song from center stage.

there is tragedy written across my thighs,
and much of the same can be reflected in my eyes.
there is pessimism and irrationality in much of what i say,
and most of the good things get pushed away.

i'm nothing special, but i'm far from average.
i'm difficult and take things to the extreme.
but i would love you until the ends of the earth.
my bite is so much worse than my bark,
and lately both have come into play.
i complicate everything i do;
i feel like nothing is ever as easy as it seems.

i constantly trade one addiction for another.
my vices are what keep me grounded.
you are my favorite vice, my favorite addiction.
for you there will never be a replacement.

every word you say makes something in my heart sing.
you are the only one i'd ever break my rules for.
you are the only one who would ever understand what i say,
especially when i don't say anything.

but nothing this extraordinary lasts forever.
and something this strangling has to end.
so i did what i did and when i knew what i did,
you knew. that's all that matter.

i tell myself, one day.
one day you'll see.
by then, it'll be too late for me.
but i sleep just fine,
and meet my own eyes in the mirror.

if you knew me at all, you'd see.
see that the last thing i was thinking of was me.

but i think for now, we'll call this chronically unfinished.
maybe when i'm dead, i'll know how this ends.

There is something about regret.
There is something about guilt.
There is something about honesty.

You lose the first two,
when you gain the second.

So my sleepless nights,
and my melancholy days,
have vanished.

I'd rather die than live a lie.
I've always been told honesty is the best policy,
but I guess that only applies when you want to hear it.

And it's funny,
but there hasn't been any tears this time.

it's been four years,
give or take.

i still drive down streets at night,
see one [or many] go out,
smile, and think of you.

i remember you telling me,
"when i die, i want to have control...
over something mundane, over a
small thing no one would notice."

i said you were crazy for planning
that kind of futuristic *******.
"you'll change your mind,
by the time you die."
that's what i said.

you died two years later, and ****.
**** if you didn't have control.
two years after that, i saw it.
a streetlight clicked off right as i drove beneath it.
it happened at the next one, the next one...
and at the next one? only a flicker.

you always loved ******* with me.

it's been two years since the first light,
but four years since you took control,
and didn't even say goodbye.

it's been four years, and i've lost track.
i've lost track of sips and blinks and tears.
all i can seem to keep track of now...
is how many streetlights go out in a row.

five.

I remember the look on your face
when you told me about your first time.
How it was messy and frantic and hot,
and not in the romantic way.

How all he said was, “My friend’s got something,” and left.
Left you lying there, frozen in your drying sweat,
wondering..."What's he got?

Left you bare, vulnerable against the world,
against the war raging inside your head.
“He was a Costco shopper, his friend,”
you will tell me between sips of gin.

I remember the first burn of whiskey,
as you poured it into your hand...
and let me lick it off.
Not in the romantic way.

All you said was, "It's supposed to burn.
That's how you know you're alive."
I wondered what it'd feel like to die.

You left me bare, vulnerable and bleeding,
lying there with whiskey on my breath,
while you waged a war on your body.
"This is how I know I'm alive."

i don't know who i am,
and i doubt i ever will.
i don't even know who i'm not,
because i change so often.

but i know who i wish i was.
christ, doesn't everybody?
we all do it, at least once:
"god, look at her. she's...
she's got everything. but,
i'd change a little bit.
and i would never do that,
or say something like that."

i wish i had more of a lot.
and i wish i had less of a lot, too.
i wish i smiled more, and laughed less.
i wish my window didn't scare me,
and i wish i wasn't scared of lakes.
[i'm not afraid of swimming,
or water, or even drowning.
i'm afraid of what's inside my head.]

i wish i had more self control,
but i wish i could let go and relax.
i wish i lived by my favorite quote,
"let it be."
and i wish i could take the middle ground,
and i wish i could love halfway.
but i'm an all or nothing type of girl.

i wish i was slower to trust and love,
and quicker to forgive and forget.
i wish i could stick to my promises,
and i wish i could live without regrets.

i'm not willing to change myself,
and i really wish i was.
it's too hard just hanging on to who i am;
i can't imagine ******* around with it.

i wish i could turn the page on some stories,
and start over again.
but i'll keep living and breathing,
through words and pictures, until the bitter end.

i wish i was the person everyone needs me to be.
i wish i was the person who didn't care about it.
but i'm always going to be the last one standing,
wishing on a shooting star, or a meteor, or a plane.

i wish i could tell the difference.

i always knew you didn't trust me.
i knew you had a secret agenda,
you secret agent you.

i love[d] you more than anyone.
anyone.
i trusted you the most.
ever.

when january rolled around, he was obsolete.
it's you, it's you, it's always been you.
you never let me explain; you don't want to hear.
but it's got to go somewhere, so.
here it goes.

i walked into a life i wasn't welcome in.
i didn't want you to fight for me.
i didn't belong, all my prescence did was cause chaos.
i was always ******* something up for you.

you were his, not mine, and it tore me up inside.
but i didn't want to do a **** thing that could...
take you from him. from your happiness.
take you from being content without being lonely.

to never make you smile, laugh, everything, was...
more punishment i ever thought i could take.
even worse? being the cause of your unhappiness.
i was always ******* something up for you.

you see, without me? without you fighting for me?
there wouldn't have been the fighting, that shower scene.
i never wanted you to fight for me.

you know i did what i did because i was batshit in love with you.
you know i did it because i didn't care about him, i cared about you.
unfortunately, that came at a price.
the biggest price i've had to pay, really.
i did it to keep you happy.

i didn't want to do or say anything that would...
[make you see your boy in a different light]
**** something else up for you.

i risked everything for you.
i gave up everything,
i gave up you,
for you.

one day, i'll beg.
i'll beg every god i know,
especially the ones i don't believe in.

i'll wish on every dandelion, every star,
to not have done what i did,
to have a second chance.

i've never begged for anyone,
i've never wished for anyone.
not even him.

so you see? it was never him.
it was always you. it's you, it's you.
it's always been you.

honesty may be the best policy,
but you know i'm always looking for a better way.
you know i'm always looking out for you.
i tried, anyway. there wasn't anything i could do
that he hadn't already done.

i wish i could say this was over,
and i was done,
but i can't give you up like i gave him up.

my epitaph will always read,
"she was my only."

every time i have to list one best friend, you're the one.
i've got others, yes. a couple or three.
but you're the one i always think of.

from back in gym class,
to sneaking out at night to the barn,
[you threw a toad at my face.]
to watching ****** horror movies,
to going to the outer banks,
to staying in grandy one weekend,
[just us and our vices for two and a half days]
to spitting on your barn floor just because,
to relying on luck to keep us from the cops.

from watching you get your tongue pierced,
to you coming with me to get all of mine.
from dealing with that boyfriend of yours,
to dealing with...the lack of mine.
from our future moving out plans,
to our rocky horror plans tonight.

that's us.
you're my number one, through and through.
you knew i didn't want to 'talk about it',
back in august,
you just brought me over and let me stand around.
let me listen to you talk.
that's the best thing anyone did,
that simple distraction was all i needed.

it certainly doesn't help that everyone thinks we're sisters,
our love lives parallel in the oddest ways,
and we just have too much fun together.
i can't put into words what you've done for me.
i mean it, when i tell you, "love youuuuu!"
i mean it, when i say, "best friend."

i do, shelby lynn. i do.

I like the way you feel,
when I’m *******,
shutting everyone out,
and you pull me in.

I like the way you say,
“Sarah, what’s wrong?”
or, hell, “talk to me,”
and, “it’ll be better.”

I like the way you say,
“Sarah, I love you!”
and, “want some?”
and even, “slow down!”

I like the way you feel,
when I’m driving,
crying my eyes out, and
you kiss me on the cheek.

I like you, and that.
That really *****,
because I don’t want you.
And I can’t have you.

So stick around,
you gorgeous boy.
I’ll take you as you are,
And never ask for more.

However, I can’t help but think…
your other suitors are no poets,
they're only actors who can play guitar.
Have I won your heart?

i don't want to write this.
i really, really don't.

momma, daddy.
i love you both very, very much.
but you guys make me cry.
you were supposed to be together forever.
i kind of always took pride in you guys.
completely opposite but totally in love.
except how you weren't, apparently.

i'm too old to blame myself.
too old to beg you to stay together.
i understand everything,
but it still hurts me.
i still hate it.

i blame myself.
please stay together.
i don't understand.
i hate it.

i don't know what else to say.
i don't like this kind of honesty.

good night.

it started out as a feeling,
which then grew into a hope.
which then turned into a quiet thought,
which then grew into a quiet word.

i dream of love,
of having loved,
of loving,
of being loved.

i dream about you every night,
although i may not always remember.
you're always, always, on my mind,
although i may not always know it.

i dream of you, and you, and you.
you're the one who left,
and you, you're the one in pieces.
and then you, you're the one in secret.

the one who left, i dream.
i dream about you night and day.
at night you smile and love to live,
during the day you're still bleeding.

the one in pieces, i dream.
i dream of you and your broken smile.
it isn't broken when i dream of you.
you let me fix you and your smile.

the one in secret, i dream.
i dream of you and that's all.
it's you and me and we're happy,
and that boy of yours stuck around too.

i dream in pieces and slices and shreds,
i dream in color and monotone,
i dream in quiet and i dream in chaos,
but i always, always dream.

my dearest [and only] mellieboo,

i can't tell you in words how i feel about you.
and i can't tell you in pictures, either.
i can't tell you anything,
because i never know who i'm talking to.

i fell for you, and i wrote for you.
and i cried for you, too.
sometimes i still think about you.
sometimes i still dream about you.

but mostly, i just miss you.
i miss that smile that made me feel alive again.
the laugh that told me you really weren't happy,
but you were willing to pretend for me.

i don't miss the broken smile,
or the harsh, choppy laughter,
or the see-through stare.
but i do miss you.

it still hurts.
i'm still waiting for you.
good night.

i’d give anything to trace your lips.
to paint them ruby red, tip to tip.
to be the smudge left on your glass,
to leave a mark on who you kiss last.

close me up, put me in your pocket.
i’ll go with you everywhere.
i’ll always be there, a twist away.
just don’t leave me behind.

don’t lose me on the subway,
don’t forget me in your room.
don’t go out without me,
don’t buy another shade.

i’m all you need, baby.
i think i’d look good on you.

honestly, i have no idea who to write about.
the people i don't talk to, well.
there are reasons for it.

and i'm tired of running to people all the time.
run to me, **** it.
stop making me chase you.

i could write about nicole.
about how we were friends and enemies,
and then we were nothing.

i could write about brian.
about how i wish i could help you,
but only you can help you. [i'm sorry.]

i could write about brookie.
about how i miss you so, so much,
but i'm not a good enough friend for you.

i could write about amy,
about how we really had something.
but we're too different, sweetheart. [i'm sorry.]

i could write about anyone, really.
i don't talk to anyone as much as i'd like to.
it's mostly what i don't say and can never say...
that says the most.

hey, j-girl.

it's been awhile.
i haven't seen you around lately.
i can't say i'm complaining, but.
maybe i've missed you a little, so.
you should stop me. i do miss you.

"the drugs begin to peak,
a smile of joy arrives in me."
that would be the song playing now.
i wonder who you'd be today.
where would we be, today?

i swore i'd never let you go,
but you went and walked away.
i don't love you anymore.
i can't love you anymore.
but i miss you, so much.

i went to prom,
i graduated,
i went to a music festival.
i danced all day.
i can't talk today.

you should've been there.
you'd like my friends.
there's one, in particular,
that i wish you could meet.
she's sweet like vinegar.

but i think you'd like her.
she's no stranger to blood,
and she could set you straight.
she's stronger than me, i think.
or maybe we're just different.

i don't know. she makes me think of you.
she's disappears, like you.
but she's always come back, so far.
anyway, i just wanted to say hi.
come back to me, all cleaned up.

you'd like it here.

you taught me ABC order.
you taught me to rollerblade.
you taught me about limp bizkit.
you taught me the words to "danger zone".

you gave me my first taste of anger,
gave me my first feelings of terror.
how anyone could feel so much, all at once,
and let it out at something so mundane,
[your punching bag]
and still scare me so much is beyond me.

you gave me my first taste of alcohol.
miller lite, and i hated it.
you made me drink more, because well,
"it's an acquired taste, you know, like wine."
in later years you'd say the same of ***.

i still don't know how i let it happen, really.
one minute we were friends,
and no one really knew how close.
the next minute your hand was in my pants,
and that's the last place i wanted it.

in the next minute we're on the phone,
you somehow got my number.
you're apologizing, and crying.
i've never heard you cry before,
"what the hell is going on, a?"

give you a second chance? to do what?
to apologize? you never had a first chance.
meet you where? when? tonight?
"you know i can't do that."
then again, if you're leaving in the morning.
just this once, for you. i need the closure.

i still feel like i asked for it,
i don't know if that will ever change.
in the middle of the night, still,
i wake up, convinced i'm bleeding.

soaking through my sheets just like that night.
it stains my skin in a way that will never wash off.
the glint on your knife from the moon that night?
leaves a scar that will never fade away.
unlike the one on my thigh. it's gone now.

you took so much from me.
you took my innocence,
and i'm not just talking virginity.
every single person i look in the eye,
i can see potential.
the potential for destruction.

we are none of us born good or evil.
some of us are just good, with evil tendencies.
you, though. you're something else.
evil, with sadistic tendencies.
you're a ******* monster.

but i have nothing to say to you anymore.
i wish you nothing but the worst.
[i hope your **** hurts where i bit it.]
and i hope you hear my screams when you sleep,
every
single
night.

i remember the first time we really clicked, you know.
back in seventh grade, a lifetime ago.
part of me says i was sitting on a bed, and you on the floor.
but it might've been the other way around.
i feel like we talked about the sky. but maybe it was the moon?
it doesn't matter, we thought it was deep, something special.
something only the two of us understood.
[i think we were just suffering from exhaustion.
it was awfully early by then.
or awfully late.]

that year was my worst.
yours, too.
seventh grade never treats anyone well.
we stayed friends, carried 'our' notebook to and from class.
took it home on alternating weekends, to stay caught up.
this was back when no one had texting.
we made it through, in one piece.
[our hearts may have been in pieces, however.]

eighth grade rolled around. we shared one class, french 1.
i paid too much attention to you and our lives,
not nearly enough on the class. i scraped by with a b.
[i knew french was only to be admired.
you told me french was mine if i wanted it.]

we were inseperable or distant in high school, due to so many things.
your boyfriend[s]. my catastrophes.
i lived my days defending you,
and my nights crying because of you.
i never felt good enough in your eyes.

eventually, i changed.
you changed too, but you just got older.
i matured. i grew stronger.
i stopped taking **** from people.
yes, even you.

but we're at a point where we can be friends.
or friendly, if you prefer.
but also not acknowledge each other in the hall.

your tattoo, it reads, "stay gold, ponyboy."
and when i saw it, i cried.
i cried for every time we watched that together.
every time we won't see it together.
you were a good friend to me, even with your faults.
you forced me to grow and change or die trying.
and i can't thank you enough.

[your sarakan loves you, loved you.]
i do miss you, but i can't handle having you back.
stay gold, beautiful meadow.
you better stay ******* gold.

Hey, Cass.

I’m doing this letter challenge. A letter a day for thirty days.
That’s a third of our whirlwind summer.
Today’s topic is, “someone you miss the most”.
And at first, I didn’t think of anyone.
You weren’t even in the list of possible people.
But something triggered something, and you sashayed your way into my head.
And you’ve been stuck there for awhile.
So, this will be about you. Because now that I’m thinking of you, I miss you.
I miss you so much there’s a hole in my chest where my heart belongs.
I spent all of sixth grade on the other side of Professor’s classroom.
I watched you and the boys simultaneously befriend and annoy everyone.
Except me. I don’t know how, but I couldn’t feel anything either way.
Except when we started writing in English class. I don’t know.
I don’t remember much of what you wrote, except it was dark and scary and…
I loved it.
You had the best way of taking the nastiest words and making them beautiful.
I don’t remember the details, though. Isn’t that strange?
You did always tell me to look at the big picture. I’m still working on that.
And, anyway, nothing much happened until the birthday party.
The surprise one, where Amy picked up all the guests one by one from their houses for breakfast.
Sort of a reverse surprise party, and I told you, “this is the only surprise party I’ve ever had.”
And you tactfully reminded me it wasn’t for me, and I told you, “it’s close enough.”
We went to breakfast, and talked about how creepy the indoor balcony was, you know which one.
The one with the chain hanging over the edge. We shared a glance, and I knew we had to talk.
So we did. The entire day, we talked and talked and talked. Antisocial as they come, the both of us.
You almost convinced your mom to let you stay the night, but no. You left for Tennessee the next day.
That night, I pieced together and guessed the letters of your screen name.
[It had melted mostly off my arm by then.]
I found you, right as you found me. We both said, “found you,” at the same time.
We always connected in the most creepy ways.
And anyway,  we talked all that night. And the next. And the next.
I skipped sleepovers and birthdays and we talked our way through the summer.
I learned so much about you, from you. Too much.
And then you started cutting. And cutting. And cutting.
And then you went away for two weeks. I missed you so much it hurt to breathe.
You came back, and actually called me. I hadn’t heard your voice in two months.
Except for in my head, anyway. You told me how the asylum was.
“It’s the most beautiful place in the world, Sarah. I’ve never been so happy.”
We both agreed it was probably the drugs, and we laughed in our somber way.
You started writing more, and talking less.
You started cutting more, and smiling.
I just stopped altogether. School had started again.
I was talking to your ex-boyfriend’s best friend, and it seemed like he took your place.
Then one night, you weren’t there at all. Two weeks, I waited.
I called your house. Your number was disconnected.
I spent hours and hours and hours rereading our conversations.
I was scared of you, the absence of you.
But I was scared of us, too. You ****** me in, like quicksand.
But I never even knew. I’ve never seen you again.
Never spoken to you again.
I can’t explain our relationship to anyone.
The only one who understood what I couldn’t explain was your ex.
And well, I don’t like him anyway. So I pushed you away.
Very successfully, I hadn’t thought of you in years.
Until this letter, until these two girls who remind me of you.
They **** me in like quicksand, too. One of them’s gone already.
One of them is going to leave. And I’m so, so scared of all of you.
But god, Cassie, our entire summer was based on our fears.
So I guess you’d be proud.
Wherever you are, darkest angel, I do miss you.
I think, maybe I might have loved you. But we’ll never know.
Dance with your demons, and make sure you lead.
Don’t be afraid to step on their toes.

-Your favorite demon.

uncle harley-

i don't even know where you are right now.
you don't even know the person i am right now.
but i miss you, because you lit up my childhood.
i remember your jeep, and getting stuck in the mud.
all those hills are covered in condominiums now.
i remember my sister sitting on your shoulders,
patting your head over and over.

but that was a long time ago.
hell, you might not even be bald now.
you might not even have a motorcycle anymore.
but, you know, you'll always be uncle harley.
you should stop by and visit.
i think you'd be proud of who i've become.

having lived in california until i was seven,
and then moving to virginia beach for one year,
and then living in chesapeake for the rest of my life,
my childhood feels scattered.

i don't remember california all that well.
i remember palm trees lining the streets,
and listening to shania twain with my mom.
i remember the ben & jerry's on a corner,
and i remember the two boxers next door.

i remember two people, too. mostly, anyway.
there's you, jacob. and you, kayla.

jacob, you were my first real friend.
our families were inseparable,
we lived right next door to each other.
we were inseparable too.

i remember digging around in the garden,
that we quickly turned into a mud bog.
i remember you having chicken pox,
and our moms letting us play together.
[funny, i didn't get it until i was nine.]

i remember watching you crash,
all the blood on your dirtbike and face.
i remember visiting your school...first grade.
god, two years seemed like such a huge difference.

i remember throwing you a softball,
and you missed it, and got a ****** nose.
i think that was the first time i felt guilt.

but most of all, i remember that game.
with the dinosaurs, and a big field,
and an even bigger maze inside.
and, of course, your room.
your twin sized bed, and the huge bean bag.
even then we couldn't close the door.

we received your pictures for a long time.
so i feel like i might recognize you on the street.
but not for who you are, really. more of a...
deja vu type of thing, if you will.
i miss you, distantly. but deeply.

and kayla, well.
what i remember most of us...
is the purple jewelry box full of notes.
because you were always grounded.
then i think about making mud pies,
as we sat on the fence between us.
and...unfortunately, that one night.
the raid, and not seeing you again.
hiding the notes, until they stopped.
i think you gave me my first broken heart.
but it's okay, i forgive you. it stopped hurting...
oh, about ten years ago. i think of you, though.
i hope your parents cleaned up,
and i like to think you're happy.

you two represent my innocence.
my childhood. thank you.
i miss it so very much.

i swore to myself i'd never write to you.
because that would make all of it too real.
and if this ever gets to you, well.
i guess i can just hope for the best,
because if i were to lose you before our time was up,
i simply wouldn't be okay.

i've thought about you every day since i met you.
the attitude behind the thoughts changes.
sometimes by the hour, sometimes by the day.
but one thing always stays the same:
i love you. with all of me.
i shouldn't, but i do. and it runs so deep.
i can't cut it out, i can't bleed it out.
i can't smoke it out, i can't drink it out.
but god, i wish i could.
and god knows i've tried.

because i spend every night wondering if you'll be alive in the morning.
and i spend every day wondering if you're disappearing again.
and i spend every moment we're together missing you.
you might stand next to me, or lay with me, or tickle me,
and i miss you so much it almost kills me with every breath.
i've told you all of this, and you said something along the lines of,
"i know. you know **** well i care about you. i've always come back."
and, of course, you're right. about all of it. you're always right.

"sarah, you tell me everything. always."
of course, you're right. since the beginning, i've told you everything.
every thought i have, every crazy theory, every ridiculous dream.
you know it all. and you know you know it all, and that's even worse.
you know me better than i know myself, and you keep me in line.
i like to say that's why i keep you around, but it's more than that.
you keep me as sane as i'm going to be, and all i want is to please you.

i ask you too many questions, most of them stupid, but i can't help it.
i just want to hear your voice, all the time, as much as possible.
because i know one day i'll never, ever hear it again. and that, well.
that's not something i like to think about.

i waste too much gas and create ******* reasons and eat too much,
just to keep you in the passenger seat of my car. your seat.
because i know one day you won't sit in it again.
and it's your seat, now. it doesn't look right with someone else in it.
i play your music too loud and let you kick my radio when it skips,
because i can't say no to you, and you know it.

i can't lie to you, either. not successfully.
i can ******* my way around my reasons for texting you,
but you've got me figured out. you know when i'm avoiding.
you let me do it anyway.

i've told you before, but i'll say it here too.
i love listening to you sing. you don't it that often, but.
i like to pretend that maybe, you only sing with me.
i also like to pretend that maybe, i know you a little.
i don't hold a candle to dylan, of course. i know that much.
but...i like to pretend i'm special, to you.

you used to call me babe, and baby, and tell me good night.
"good night, love you, sleep well," i'd say. and you'd say,
"good night, i love you too. get some sleep tonight."
and well, i guess if i said it to you know you'd say it back.
and you'd mean it, because i now you'd always tell the truth.
but i can't bring myself to, because you're so empty now.

you've always been the apathetic one of the bunch,
but it's different now, and everyone's noticed it.
and i hate it, because i can't let you go. they have, but i can't.
so i see the difference in your eyes, and live for when they light up again.
but a part of me dies every second they aren't.
it's so infrequent, these days. i wish i was the one who could wake you up.

the funniest part about all of this is i don’t want you.
i don’t dare want you as mine.
everyone asks me if we’re dating. if you’re my boyfriend.
i end up telling them three, four times, “no. i don’t want him.”
and they end up believing me, but they still see it.
and i want to break everyone into little pieces for that.
because they can see it, i can feel it, and i want nothing to do with it.
i’d give you anything you’d ever ask me for.
and that scares me, so much, but i haven’t left you yet.
because you’re leaving me, anyway.
manhattan, california, europe.
death.

it doesn’t matter how, when, or why. i love you now, i loved you then, i will always love you.
i’ll never know if i’m in love with you, because life will never give us a chance.
life is kind of a really smart *******, but i hate it all the same.
it gave you to me and constantly threatens to take you away on a cloud of ecstasy.
or shrooms, or acid, or ***, or alcohol.

and what i just realized, this very second, is that whenever we hug and i say goodbye?
you say, “see you later.”
please tell me that’s a promise.

please.

my dearest will,

you've always brought out the worst in me.
and i kind of have to love you for that.
you know my deepest secrets,
the dark ones and the embarassing ones.

you know i'm a sucker for anything romantic,
but keep the shakespeare to a minimum.
you know i'd give anything to share your bed,
with you, your cat, and a bottle of ***.

you've taken me back three times now,
and i kind of think you shouldn't have.
you know i love you in my own way,
the way no one else will, hopefully.

you know i'm not in love with you,
but i love the way you bite your lip.
you know i'd keep you up all night,
with just me on my hands and knees.

you know i can only talk this way with you,
the words just fall before i can stop them.
you've forever been my ***** little secret,
and i kind of think you like it that way.

you've told me so many times you love me,
but i've laughed them all away.
you know i'd like to say it back,
'with wisdom and conviction beyond my years'.

but this is all you can have of me,
the pieces nobody else wants.
i'm sorry, let's meet up one day.
we can tour nova scotia.

i'll let you kiss my tears away,
and i'll erase your scars.
"how do i say goodbye to you, christmas?"
"you don't, william. we never said hello."

i pulled over to the side of the road,
and watched your funeral procession pass by.
i don't know who you were or how you died,
but those sleek black cars just didn't stop.

there was a lull in the traffic.
i considered driving again.
but then i could hear something.
music, with 808s and screams.

following the sophisticated,
respectful, hoity-toity procession,
was at least twenty used cars,
each filled with teenage boys.

every single one, drivers included,
had an arm out the window,
clutching onto the same style beanie.
black, with white checkered stitching.

i could hear them yell for you.
i could see them cry for you.
i don't know who you were,
or what you did.

but you made a difference in some lives.
you can count on that.
i hope you were able to see it.
i'm glad i was.