i have spent the last three days humbled
on hands and knees, relinquishing all of myself
into the welcoming mouth of the toilet seat.
i don't know what is wrong with me.
i havent seen you for a while but i am certain that you hate me.
i can't help but think that this is my fault,
wonder if i should be giving more of myself-
something other than mucus and bile.

i look back on the day that i cut my hair,
embarrassed that all i had to give you was
a lock of it, a small insignificant piece of me, knowing that
you wouldn't have accepted all of me if i had offered.
i don't know how to show you that i've tied myself to you,
that you now possess a piece of the last nineteen years of my life.
i bet you threw me in a drawer or underneath the bed,
let me drop unnoticed behind the bookcase:
out of sight, out of mind.

i now know what lovesick looks like
although it is not the kind of love (or sickness)
that you would accuse me of being capable of. it is more like a mother
ripped away from her suckling child
by the guilt instilled in her through a man's laughing eyes.

i wish i could leave this body,
fly away to worlds untouched and forget you, but
i am still learning that we are rooted to this earth by hatred and hips,
destined to be left behind,
no lumps of flesh to save us,
flapping behind our backs or between our legs.

and when hagar looked down upon his beautiful face and froze,
i'm sure she contemplated driving that knife
in the centered nook right below her own ribcage,
confused as to which she should aim for:
the heart or the womb,
both equal conspirators in her shame.

Doctor don't
bother
diagnosing me
because I already
know
that I've caught
an acute case
of lovesickness
for a girl
who can't
be mine,
and the only
medicine
that'll cure me
is heartbreak.

it is about you.
no lovesickness to rock your empty body.
no guilt to beat like a drum in your chest.
no anger, no hurt,
it is about your skin.
about the light that you drink with morning coffee.
how it reflects off of your curves.
about the corners of your mouth.
about your cold feet,
your gentle hands.
it is about the grass in your toes.
the air around you, above you, below you.
the water that you drink from.
the earth will take care of your wild roots,
your wild hair,
your wild smile. the earth will take
care of your lovesickness,
all of your pain.
all of your guilt.
you touch the world with your gentle hands and
it always touches you back.
you are composed of what touches you back,
what you can sit still and listen to.
what buzzes inside of you,
what you contain and
what you allow to escape.
it is about you,
it has always been about you. not
your hurt, not what callouses your palms or
haunts your clasped prayers.
it is just about your body,
every part of your body,
from the bottoms of your feet
to your fingertips, your
nose, the ends of your hair,
it is about listening when the
earth tells you, this body is
okay. this body is enough. it is
about how everything you touch
always touches back.

Drug; he controls my brain.
He stirs an irresistible blend of chemicals in my body and convinces me to fall for him; he increases blood flow to the primitive areas of my brain and activates the circuits responsible for love and desire.

Adrenaline; he balances my stress.
He keeps my heart strong and healthy as thoughts of him and us dominate me and excite me, prompting me to get tachycardia (fast heart rate above 100 bpm) and my blood pressure to rise.

Dopamine; he regulates my focus.
He stimulates desire and triggers pleasure in me; I remember everything about us, then forget about my surroundings; I am motivated to please him, then I daydream and become unable to stay on task.

Serotonin; he stabilizes my mood.
He charms and induces me to perspire and relax, crave and distance him, lose and gain sleep, feel pain and relief, get happy and upset, and decrease and increase my immune system functions.

Medication; he forces my loveswept cells to go haywire.
He has cured my lovesickness, shooed away my regrets, helped me move on from my past, boosted my (self-)confidence, made me look forward to tomorrow, and offered me a ticket to bliss.

Oxytocin; he enables me to produce lovestruck hormones.
He affects my moral molecules as he attracts my undivided attention, pushes me to trust him, raises attachment and empathy, brings psychological stability, and encourages me to want to be closer to him.

Vasopressin; he causes me to secrete lovetastic chemicals.
He renders me monogamous and continues to have me hooked onto him; he makes me thirst for him, display amorous behavior, defend him and us, and maintain a strong partnership.

**** me, heal me, with your love,
until my heart's confused
and my head is beating,
my lips won't speak,
but our eyes are meeting.
break me, hold me, in your arms,
if that will make you well,
then take me like a pill.
until we stop this lovesickness,
but to stop-- we never will.

In a house
Near the loch
Awaits a bride
For her wedding day.
Soon her groom
Will take her hand.

Extending his hand,
At his father’s house,
Out reaches the groom
Toward the loch
Saying, “in a handful days
I will have my bride.”

Meanwhile the bride,
With her gentle hand,
Writes the day
On invitations in her house;
Sending thoughts across the loch
Toward her groom.

Simultaneously the groom
Thinks of his bride,
Receiving her thoughts from the loch.
His promise on her hand,
Hers is in his father’s house,
But he won't see it until the day.

In just a few short days
With his friends the groom
Will leave his father’s house
And await the bride
To take her hand
At the ceremony near the loch.

And in the city of the loch
Their lives most historic day
Will be when they take each other’s hands
And the groom
Will have his bride
And will make a home of their house.

But until then… Toward the loch the groom,
Awaiting the appointed day of his bride,
With lovesickness stretches his hand toward her house.

I want to throw a tantrum.
Scream and shout
And kick things that don't need to be kicked.
The bones of my knuckles and hips poke out
A little     m  o  r  e
Than they did before.
My finger rings and hip-hugging jeans slip,
Not quite fitting the same way they had.
My skeleton creeping its way ever so slightly
Closer to the surface
Like it wants to get out
And   r u n    to    h e r.

Self-diagnosis: Lovesick.
Before, we were a storybook fairytale
But now our make-believe has something to latch onto.
Like a parasite.
More real
And more torturous
Than the existence of my past self.
I can't crave food the same way I can crave her touch.
My stomach shipwreck still feels the memories
Like they were yesterday's meal.
Has it really been a month?
My emotions ebb and flow
Along the shoreline of my consciousness.
Lovesickness courses through my veins
And through the vessel in my chest
Until I fall into a slumber
And in my dreams I have her once again
*If only for a moment.

THE TITLE OF THIS POEM IS AT THE END.

I feel a fever coming on
Intense heat from my forehead
I'm sweating even though
it's 20 degrees outside
My hands are clammy
My skin is pricked
by a million needles
I want to throw up
I can barely stand
My stomach hurts,
and I feel cold and hot
I'm shaking, trembling
all over.
I can barely move
my lips to speak.
I'm dizzy.
Every bone in my body
aches with the pain
of a million paper cuts.
My heart beats irregularly
slow, fast, slow, fast
I think I might faint.


I went to the doctor.

Turns out,
there's no medicine
for lovesickness.

Love magazines, Love reference guides,
Since I can't get,
Anywhere with you...
Might as well read them.

The sky is flushed  with the scent of winter,
I'm pretty sure my desire to be with you,
Is the fault of the season.

I didn't even ask for this...
Gah! Life can be so unkind!
Suddenly remembering the night,
Where stars filled the sky...

I won't be fooled by this!
Love you? No!
There's no reason to say it right?
None at all!

Share the load already! This love's freaking heavy!
Too heavy to keep bearing it all alone!
Let's also take half and half of these feelings that make my heart race...
Just anybody else won't do!

I want to become more than just friends!
Whether you push or pull, I won't be swayed!
Supposing, you were to fall in love with me...
Even if it's an exception, the answer should be easy! Right?

This "Love" really is a sickness!

My love schemes don't go well,
Having started to make these kind of efforts...
It's really startling for me, right?

Under the fall sky,
When a girl's heart comes to change,
If I don't look back to the seat over my shoulder,
I'll end up regretting it...

When I hear you getting praised by someone,
I selfishly feel happy about it but,
As for that "someone"...
If it's a girl then there'll be some mixed feelings!

Share the load already! This love's bitter on my own!
It's all so bitter, I can't drink it down!
Let's take half and half of the pain in my heart as well...
There's no effective drug against this ache!

Love and like, I want to make off with those two words!
Not really hoping for anything special beyond that...
Suppose you fell head over heels for me starting today...
Come one! Sometimes you need your imagination run wild! Ok?

This "Love" really is a sickness!

I've heard one-sided crushes are "fun" but,
That's just a lie! It's just full of ache and tears!
But when I realized, that this was love,
I felt overjoyed...

Share the load already.. This love's freaking heavy...
Too heavy to keep bearing it all alone...
Let's also take half and half of these feelings that make my heart race...
If it's not something special then... It's won't do!

I want to become more than just friends!
Whether you push or pull, I won't be swayed!
Suppose you start to love me more than anyone else in the world?
I'll show you that I can be your dream girl!

This "Love" really is a sickness!

1.
Princely I am, as Michigan loam,
as carefully turned mud,
as old, old dust––

my breaths are still and unresolved
and don’t dissolve in alcohol
like snakes or dead, bloated fish––

I am nothing monumental.

2.
Stuttered breaths lie in limp open circles around our feet,
hanging by threads of unmade promises––

symmetry was never my forte.
The bent nose,
the crooked lips,
the slow-ballooning wen where nitrogen bubbles––
my flesh is like untilled soil,
all raw and swollen with possibility.

3.
You asked me if it was probable
to find life on Mars
where the iron-leeched sand
crumbles like dried hemoglobin.

I don’t know about amino acids or genesis
or the first man of Dust,

much less mysteries of lovesickness, respiration,
really good ***––
We’re barren in different ways;

your dust comes from dreams, from heaven,
crimson and majestic
and dead as Olympus Mons

while I am like moon dust,
just as cold as your bone-dry lakes of carbon dioxide,
but paler, heavier,

and more remote.