See, when I talk to you, I want to look you right in the eyes.
But I can’t.
The weirdest compliment I ever got from a mutual friend:
“Listen, I really wanna hang but I just smoked a ****-ton and your eyes are really tripping me out. So I’m gonna go”
Ex-boyfriend, first date:
“Every time you look at me I feel like I’m saying something inadequate. You always have this intense look on your face. I feel like I’m not meeting your standard”
The first boy who really broke my heart told me the only reason he stayed at that party was because of my eyes. We were on the roof and he leaned over and made a gesture with his ******* pointed to my face, “Those right there” I reached out and grabbed his hand  “reason why I stayed”
So forgive me, if I don’t look you in the face when we speak. I love too hard and feel too much and, Heaven help, you feel inadequate.
I want to hold your hand and lean forward when you talk. I want to comprehend and not just listen. I want to take your words and translate them into my language so when you say that you want to be a teacher when you grow older, I understand that it means someone helped you when you needed it most as a child. But empathy is frowned upon now. Tuck your hands into your pockets, scowl at the sky and ignore the openness of the strangers on the street.
I’ve learned to pocket my trust because wearing it splayed on my chest is akin to a scarlet letter.  It’s a modern-day sin to care too much.
“You put so much of yourself into people who don’t deserve it”
I said “I love too hard”
He said “I think you can be forgiven for that”
No, see I don’t want to be pardoned as if I have a flaw. I want to be embraced like the sand embraces the salt water every time it crashes down, and draws away.
I want to bare my wrists to someone and be able to say “I loved this world even when it didn’t love me”  
I want someone to have the audacity to know that my scars are not signs of weakness, but tally marks from when I was counting down until the day I was free again.
Maybe I’ll never learn.  
But I’ve decided that I’ll keep reaching out until someone starts reaching back.

It was our  1am rendezvous' that were my favorite secret to keep.
Sneak out, lock the door,
drive to your apartment where you were waiting for me before I raised my hand to knock.
Our greetings were stand offs but even before you turned your back to let me in
my hands were around your waist, my lips to your neck just relishing the chance to be
near you again.
You would snap at me each time I raised my arms to you like a plaintive child
but you came to me anyway
and I pulled you down tumbling into your sheets.
The finale to our sordid dance.
Sometimes we never kissed and simply talked until our lips were chapped
and we were tired of chasing each other's tails.
Other nights you had a hunger I couldn't deny and our words were our clothes
that we shrugged out of and dropped onto the floor.
By 7am I was up shimmying out of your sheets with a kiss on your cheek and nothing else.
You told me you liked how I never looked back every time I left.
I learned that from you.