• it's not that i don't love you
it's that when i was six, my mothers eyes were verdant fields illuminated by her laughter.
it's that my father came home that night, whiskey absorbed into his tongue, lavender lingering on his skin, the last two buttons of his shirt still undone.
it's that i always thought it was a tree branch caressing the windowpane at 2am.
when she was crying to the walls for help.
it's just that when he left, she started sleeping with the light on,
and her eyes died with winter's approach.
when they were together, her skin was a canvas for violet hues that burned like gin against your throat so she could never hug me.
it's that, last november when they healed, she painted them again - but this time in red.
it's that my mother didn't wear lavender.

• it's not that i don't love you
it's that my older sister doesn't leave her bedroom. i wonder if she misses the sunlight, or maybe if that's the problem.
it's that she told me that if people were colours he'd be red.
because she sees him in the sky when it sets.
and in the leaves that have been kissed by autumn.
it's that it's been a year, since she wrote that letter with scribbled letters and scattered thoughts,
talking about the way he said her smile reminded him of old movies,
and cotton candy.
and that she still loved him.
it's that last summer she went outside to feel his presence,
in the graveyard by the river - accompanied with lost lovers and broken hearts.
and it's that she came home and took a blade to her left wrist - heartbreak oceans leaving the sink painted scarlet.
it's that when the doctor asked her why she did it, she replied with:
"i forgot what red looked like."

• it's not that i don't love you
it's that once, my therapist told me about his wife.
and that she left him because her heart didn't beat for him anymore.
it's that when i told him my cat ran away last week
he smiled gently but with his eyes,
and replied, "don't worry, she's coming back."
like he had recited that phrase to himself a thousand times this week,
it's that i saw hope peck him on the cheek,
and ignite his eyes,
it's that i know they did that when she laughed like honey was melting into her tongue, or when she told him she loved the way his right eye was more green than the left.
it's just that, during my last visit,
he asked about my cat again,
and i had to tell him, "it's been months, i don't think she's coming home."
it's that he cried sapphire pools of misery,
because his eyes told me
he knew she wasn't.

it's not that i don't love you
*it's that i do

She's a soft cool rain on a hot summer's day.
She makes me laugh with the funny things she has to say.

She's the beat of my heart, and the air that I breathe.
She's the sun and the wind, and (Autumn's) golden leaves.

She's the pride that I feel when I know she's done what's right.
She's that warm feeling I get, when I remember tucking her in at night.

She is homework and a busy social life.
She has this beautiful smile that could light the darkest night.

She is the scared feeling I have when she stays out late.
Or the feeling that I am losing her, when she wants to date.

She's the mixed emotions I have, as I watch her mature and grow.
I tell myself she will never leave, but, I know in my heart that someday she will go.

I hope the man that steals her heart, will treat her like a queen.
Because she deserves so much more, than a man that treats her mean.

I will always cherish the heart wonderful times we have had.
The best part of my life was being her dad.

So now you know who she is, she's my little girl.
I love her with all my heart and always will

The last train to lost dreams,
is at the station, leaving soon,
if you ever wished upon a star
you ought to try the Moon,
it worked for me.

Anyone can see,

if you miss the train you'll lose out,
there's no stopping on the way
it travels blindly through the sleeping night
and wakes you up next day.
I've got to go,
just got to know,
what is hidden in the corners where
my eyes fear to look
like the pages full of autographs
I've got to have a look
and see who's there.
in my dreams I dare.

The last train to lost dreams
is a million miles away, through
the silence of internal night
into the light of day
and we don't pay
the ticket's free.

I miss the ink flowing
Freely from my pores
The harmonies which bellow
Transcending chords

I miss the meadows
Of pure emotions
The calling of my name
Over vibrant oceans

I miss the galleries
Of crystal reflections
The soul piercing
Tides of torn inception

i'm born out of a habit of self-destructive patterns

i'm born out of a foreigner's vacation
i am the product of anxiety, of wealth ill-gotten,
of american 90's dreams and excuses

i'm shaken like a passenger on a wooden roller coaster
i'm mixed like "mutt" like "i don't know what you are"
like exotic
like *****

i was told i could be anything,
so i chose to be a feminist
because
when i suggested my father help with the laundry,
my mother told me i was crazy.
because
meghan tranior's "all about that bass"
is telling bigger girls to be comfortable in their own skin
because skinny girls already do, right?
because
i'd like to make as much as my male coworkers.
because
i was laughed at for wanting to be a doctor instead of a housewife.
because
people look at me strange when i say i don't want kids.
because
when i gave a speech about feminism in my english class,
i was called a man-hater.
because
"my shoulders distract the boy's education".
because
my mom shouldn't have to worry
about what goes in my drink at concerts.

i will be a feminist until
i can tell my boyfriend
"no babe, i'd rather watch the movie"
and i am not told
"you're depriving him of his needs".
until
my body is my body.
until
i no longer have to carry pepper spray on a keychain.
until
women in foreign countries can vote and drive.
until
woman means human.
until
we understand **** culture
and feminism isn't just about women,
it's about humans.

You belong to her, not me
When she's gone you can hardly breathe
She's all you could ever need
Each word crushes my lung
Makes my stomach hurt
You long for her smell, her touch, her every detail
So when you're gone, missing her across sea
I'll be missing you, hoping to wake up from this dream
He handed her a locket to cherish all they could be
On one side she had a picture of herself
On the other read "good luck"
If you were the moon then she was the ocean
Like spring tides, when the moon is full
The high tides are very high
And the low tides are very low