About a week or so ago,
I fell in love with a man
when I went to sleep
in a boy's bed.

His chest
read "weird"
in black-block ink
his self acceptance
made me smile.

His eyes,
puppy dawg brown,
breathed in every edge
of my body
knowing exactly
where they
were going,
but never fully
meeting mine.

Up my hips
on our dance floor.

Down my tummy
on his bed.

His distant
self assurance
consumingly
relaxing.

His
freckled face
and dimpled smile
only implied
deep sincerity
matching
his overgrown
words.

In adolescence
I'd forced myself
to give up the idea
of being with a boy
whose fingers read "bad."

But
When he came
to me
his hands
over
my body
his silence
over
my mind.

He
enjoyed me

The whole night

The way I did him

He took in
my stories  
grabbed my shoulders
with shaking
enthusiasm
with reaction
to my action
with interest
in the questions
of my own life
I'd barely explored.

He took in
my toes
my ankles
my hips.

He acknowledged
the marks
on the skin
of my backside
i became
self conscious
and uncomfortable

But he noticed.

He tinkered
with the ring
of my belly button
grazed
the edges
of my breast.

He breathed
in my ears
He wanted
badly
for me
to feel good.

He didn't play games
in either his loving
or his company.

They were both
giving
gentle
and distantly
warm.

So much
sincerity
from a man
I accidentally
fell in love
with the briefness
of a boy.

After class, I will stay at the library and study until close at midnight.
Heading home hangs on my shoulders behind the music, the music that tries but can't quite keep my company, and stays well past falling asleep kissing the skin of my morning.
"Home."
White sheets with whiter walls that echo the whispy sound of the AC.
A dark green lace cloth standing as a curtain between me and my only friend--Sun.
I feel that I could reach out for her hug.
Gently pulling her through lace edges, and from behind embroidered corners.
My heart feels a light sqeeze at the thought of raveling into her warmth until I've rolled all the way up her arms, up her rays of sunshine, and into her warm familiar womb.

It's like a thin-strung rope
Came and pulled out the lungs in my chest
But only for just a second
Before I'm let to rest.

It's like a plan gone broken
Corrup, Erupt, and destroyed.
It's the squeeze of a heart unspoken
A plot without a ploy.

Excused by my drinking, and his gentle manning
Loving is something I mean not to waste
But I found myself hoping
When you gave only a taste.

A friend said god did us ***** at the same time he did us good
But after the other night
I only saw empty from where I stood.

Three times yet
And the one who makes me feel
Makes me regret

I was looking to escape lonely and you were looking to only get laid
Oh how unfortunate that the butterflies always fade.

In the midst of my carefree, self-indulgent weekend, pushing down smoke with every breath, and searching concrete floors for something to lift me gently from ground, I met a guy at Emo's yearly "stoners holiday" concert hosting a number of Dj's and a half performance from Devin tha Dude.
Standing at the bar, and pushing back elbows to try and get a chaser for the half bottle of whiskey I had left, two young men appeared in front of me. One with curly, sweaty, brown hair, an angled face at every edge, and dark begging eyes- like a child's eyes as they ask to have ten more minutes before bed. The next guy came up behind his friend's right shoulder. His presences was lighter, but I noticed his sun-blonde military haircut looking as soft as it probably felt. His eyes were a shy green, matching his tattered skater v neck, and his small smile.
Before the sweating, curly headed man standing in front of me could get any words out the blonde boy, with the light presence said that he wanted to show me something. With no time to respond, he pulled his hands from behind his back.

His left hand was missing his index finger, and the four remaining seemed disproportionally long. Like the legs of a tarantula became his boney fingers.
His right looked swollen. In my daze I don't remember if he had three, four, or five fingers on his right hand.
His thumb and pointer were swollen huge; his palm was convex it lifted upward and took to the sole of my hand when I shook it--like a hug.

I, regrettably, had let out a small yelp when I first saw them.

His right reminded me of the large Mickey Mouse gloves that kids purchase from small stands at Disney World, and I didn't at first think it was real.
It was the softest hand I've ever felt.

He said it didn't hurt, he was born that way with 1% of his DNA amiss, and he could write and do everything else.

He put his hands away--folded them back up underneath his arms against his chest.

We kept catching each other's eyes briefly before I let mine flutter to lose his gaze.
And I didn't know what to say as his friend spoke in the background of my thoughts to my best friend.

I had so much trouble looking at him the rest of the time. After seeing his dimly lit eyes looking like they were seeping with some need for reassurance.
It wasn't that I thought his hands were ugly, and I didn't have the normal flight feeling; wanting to get away from a random guy I met at 1 am.
I even thought he was cute; his surfer necklace, soft smile and his seemingly huggable personality.
I was scared that if I looked at him he would see the, most likely unwanted, pity seeping from my eyes too.

I wanted to apologize for my initial reaction, but didn't know how. I was so stuck in my thought process. I can't, for the life of me, remember his name.

When summer made its final touches
On our far-from-senior-souls
We packed bags and stuffed away memories

We folded away track t-shirts
And cheer leading skirts
We tucked away trumpets
And color guard uniforms
Pressed against the back walls of our closets
Underneath a teal box
Of all-but-blue memories

We reopened our backpacks
Our boxes
And our trunks
To fill a room with newfound youth
With untouched purpose

We created laughs
Where there had not even been empty echoes
Bound by immaturity
Searching for our selves
On a journey we had yet to even recognize

And it was about to be summer again
When sunshine would spin our spirits

So we made some tears
Over lost grades
And missing friends
Over newfound hope
And uncertain tomorrow.

Brown, wrinkled
and bound to fall off
I didn't yet realize
that I was more saddened
by the loss of time
than the loss
of my leather belt bracelet.

So worn
your edges crackled,
my skin tanned
around your braided
familiarity.

Senior year was over,
a bittersweet ending,
and yet
all I could think about
was that emptied
tan line
that I never wanted to
fill in.

Two years
passed
I kept
you wrapped
into
my skin.

My wrists were thin
with the bones
making corners
in my body
more slender
in your embrace,
I felt elegance
weightless
adorned
by your character
matching mine.

Built into my skin
I wore you
through sweat drips
and steamed showers.


I saw your layers
begin to lift
you hadn't left me,
not
yet.

Snapped in half
I held your carcass
in my left hand.

The metal notches
shone through
their scratches.

I stared down
your years
in my hand.

The cold classrooms
locked their doors
switched their lights,
and it was summer.

A picture image
engrained in my mind;
Your bracelet body
blurring my red spandex
sitting just beneath.


My locker lotion
under the sun
sparkled on my skin.

My body
whole
and young.

Change
gradually
came.

Home still sat
five minutes away,
and my friends
responded to nick names.

Memories sat
pressed in the palm
of my hand
pieces of the past
setting a precedent
for the future.

The distant sounds of silent screams
Echo through my soul
A nightmare filled with broken dreams
That time cannot console

My helpless mind will not yield
To these voices that I hear
My captive thoughts have not revealed
The purpose of my fear

Loneliness mocks my very being
As time comes screeching to a halt
Blame still hides my eyes from seeing
Insisting it's not my fault

They say I'm mad, mad indeed
They know nothing of my pain
There's no one here to intercede
So this madness must remain

My soul cries out in sad remorse
But I fear it's already too late
I cannot alter this dreadful course
That somehow holds my fate

They call me a poet, poet indeed
How is it they do not know?
Can't they see the words I bleed?
I'm Edgar Allan Poe