The first time I saw you it was in math class.
I didn't notice anything about you at first I just memorized the back of how your head was.
After all, I had an hour to ****.
The second time I saw you were in English class.
You sat next to me but not by choice.
But I was happy about it.
It took me about four to five weeks to talk to you,
and I wasn't even the one to speak first.
You introduced yourself and then we worked together on an assignment.
It's been two weeks and I haven't said another word and I probably won't out of random.
My anxiety swallows me whole
and I'm sorry I can't even say hello.
But I have had time to notice you.
And let me just say
I'm in love with your taste in music
I'm in love with the way you hold your books
thinking that if you change the sound of your voice when the diagonal changes,
or if you struggle reading words you've never seen before and sit there for a few seconds trying to piece together what they mean.
I love how you can play the mandolin, you should show me sometime.
As I think about these things I also pick up how you would never even think of me.
I mean really,
you probably want some girl that's outgoing and can strum a guitar solo at midnight with you.
You probably want someone with long hair you can intertwine your fingers in,
or someone you can spend an afternoon together after church with.
I can't move mountains
and I can't even speak without looking like a fool,
but even if nothing will ever happen
It would be just as quite exciting being friends with you.
We could trade books and make each other mixtapes.
It hasn't even been a month yet and I'm already writing mediocre poetry about you.
I'm sorry about that by the way.
I'm not asking for a relationship but a friendship with someone like you would feel just the same.

I wanted to write about walking away
the two of us, fading away from each others view
I'd decorate it in poetry as if it were anything more than another premature ending
but all I'm left with is shrines in the form of mixtapes
and days spent wondering what it would feel like if I was still in the backseat of your car
instead of sitting upright in the passenger side of his
he says he likes the song I'm playing
but I think he'd hate it if he knew it's just another epitaph for the nights I spent with you

"The best memories are like overplayed mixtapes: they lose clarity and detail over time, yet they seem to sound better the older they get."*

We listen to the fourth round of Trois Gymnopedies
on our break from the second round of *******

Our limbs entwined, in part because we like it
partly because we're stuck together by sweat and--

The air is thick with scents foul and fragrant
as furniture music fills the gaps in between

Every breath stalls to anticipate the notes
fingers twitch slightly on the downbeat

Ten minutes ago, we made our own music
Ten minutes ago, we were in perfect harmony

She stares at the ceiling as I stare on her lips
I watch her mumble the lyrics Satie never wrote:

A pack of cigarettes,
a pack of cigarettes
Could you please buy from the store?*

We're taken over by uncontrollable laughter
as uncontrollable as the trembling when we came

She shifts to her side, and my arms are freed
I stand and pick my jeans from the floor

I take my time buttoning up my shirt,
soaking in the view before I run the errand

She lies naked still, as I put a jacket on
I leave on the fifth round of the Gymnopedie

If I had a mix tape
It would be thirty one hours long
Get the cassettes ready
Poetry was something I chose and we're going steady
Sometimes I draw details out tediously but sometimes I like to get with the program already
They say Rap is Poetry
But I didn't compare my work to the McDonalds bathroom floors
The disrespect towards women, money and drugs
It's a dog but it's not as cute as a Pug
Someone end this concert, pull the plug
We used to have a standard and kept it snug
But even the Snails are laughing
We're too slow to realize
That were accepting bile with our eyes
And we're encouraging it
Why?
I have a mixtape
But I'm no legend
But neither are they
I just hope my influence is here to stay
Because as the clock arm sways
I get older another day
And I want to be sincere in a way
That will dramatically improve your day
I hope you feel the warmth of my heart hotter than May
Because it burns for you
And we don't need to pull out the other thirty mixtapes because I only need one
Let the repugnant trends come undone
I'm a song that's been left unsung
But that's okay
Because I want you to sing it
It will be more resplendent than the harmony of the Mockingbirds
And it tunes out the geese
That make me act the opposite of PeeWee Reese
And pull out a shotgun
Ernset Hemingway was relatable in that way

It was nice meeting you.

I bet you didn’t know you’re the first guy I ever tried to hit on. I bet you didn’t know I prepped for this conversation for a week. I bet you didn’t know how deep my heart sunk when I saw you go upstairs with another girl.

Thank you for being the first guy who’s ever flirted with me. Thank you for the pink gin. Thank you for the hand you placed on my back when you hugged me goodbye.

It was nice talking to you.

I know you falling on me was a move, even though you said it wasn’t. I know sitting and listening to the story of how I met J was a move. I know you like L. I know deep down she probably likes you too, I did.

It was nice that you didn’t message me after the party.

But I bet you didn’t know that I would of loved you with my whole heart. That I would of wrote you love letters and made you mixtapes of songs that reminded me of you. Thank you for making me realise that the right guy will come along, but that guy isn’t you. I know I’ll always be that girl at the party who’s name you can’t remember, or face you can’t place but I don’t lie.

It was nice meeting you.

I hope one day we’ll meet again.

— p.d.e

she told me that this is what it was like to be a firestorm,and i believed her.youre not golden sweetheart,
none of us are.we're not meant to look nice.
this is for our eyes only.dont look me in the eyes
and pretend that you dont know what i mean
take me to the cathedral pour holy water over my shivering shaking bones
build a baby grand out of my corpse,honey,its the only one ive got.
dont pretend you dont feel it too
and even if ill never be as romantic as you,at least ill try
at least i wont leave you here
gasoline on pavement,dying the only way you know how
they told me i could be anything i wanted so i turned myself into a gun,
hollow like your stomach when all youve had to eat the past three days is stale ******* bread.
dont look at me like that.
i know all of your secrets and youre the one still forgetting about my jaw,the one you broke.
i see it in your eyes.we both know how this ends
but I wont pull the trigger on heartbreak hills
not until theres more whiskey than broomsticks beating us ******
cigarette **** wrists against a concrete wall,you always were one for a metaphor werent you?
jesus,babe you look so beautiful in this light.would you let me take your picture with the old kodak we pretend doesnt exist?
im sorry if this is forward of me,but i think id like it if you dug bruises
into my throat
loving the only way you know how,and this isnt the kind of love you see in movies
cause its not really love when neither of you can stop chainsmoking for a ******* second
to look at the way the sun glints off hair at just the right time.
maybe if i had sinners hips youd kiss me,just the way i like
too much,all at once.this,you say,
this is what its like to be a firestorm.
we tell people we're just close friends,like in the way real people are close friends,
we tell people that the bruises on both our mouths are just from the red wine,silly,isnt it obvious?
the train station is too crowded.im fidgety
and the woman in the dress sitting next to me is reading a newspaper article about string theory
i wonder if it tells her about the way i sewed my mouth shut one winter
(or maybe that was you.whatever.its the same ******* thing anyway,isnt it,you say.stop ******* smiling at me like that.you know its not funny)
i wonder if she knows that the needle does not have to be very sharp to pierce the skin.
lesson one:stop pretending that youre the dragon.
lesson two:god.god.god youre ******* annoying.cant you keep your ******* mouth shut?i told you not to tell anyone,you ******* *******.if you show up outside my house again ill **** you.
dont leave someone voicemails after they leave you for the subway station. they will not reply.
this is normal.
you called me a narcissistic ***** and i think you were right but at least i think im worth something,right?at least i havent given up on my collarbones,thrown
them away like they're ******* trash.but what i mean to say is,
at least im not like you.at least i dont have a scar on my upper lip.
stop telling me that the ******* is a ******* metaphor,
this isnt a novel and im not a vampire
and last time i checked your eyes were brown,not black.youre not a monster so stop trying to be one.
the woman sitting next to me on the airplane wont stop reciting bible verses but i dont feel any more holy than i did three hours ago.
this isnt a ******* contest.you cant compete with someone to be the most ****** up,god whats wrong with you
havent you read about cain and abel
this will end the only way it possibly can
stop hanging grave markers on walls,cant you see the marks on your fingers
this isnt a ballad for a dead man and i dont mean to be condescending
but i like the way you kiss people,ten days after the time of death
and maybe ive left you too many voicemails at three in the morning
and maybe i stained your pillowcase with whiskey and secrets
but listen up,honey,you need me more than i need you
dont lie to me,you know its true
youre lying down at the bottom of the gymnasium swimming pool
and somehow youve managed to find comfort in it
dear reader:im sorry.im sorry about the mixtapes,okay,you were never supposed to find them and-and ****,ive messed everything up.bye.see you soon,
i guess.

somehow all neighborhood tribes & tribe lords love you.
somehow you beat my score on the nickelcade spaced invaders.

we leap fences
in escape of party befouled
cops. crusaders
of mustache & veiny hate.

you rip your jeans
& lose your artifacts in the creek. into
convenience store warm lights
& makeout mixtapes.

my heart goes boom,
    along with the,
    beat of the stereo,
    loud and alive.
the sound of my heart,
    boom, clap-- it goes.
    it makes me smile,
    for this time.
then it goes on--
    subconsciously humming
    to the tune,
    of your heartbeart.

I've been in my own hometown
for a couple of weeks now,
and slowly, you've started to
creep out of my mind.
I had a dream about you last night,
and now I'm right back where I started.
it's a cruel and unusual fate,
not being loved in return.

i'll make mixtapes we can lay down rubber in parking lots call out our joy and anger which are almost the same thing anyway i will cry at night but you will lick the salt like a wild deer pepper me with small bruises drive in our underwear just to feel skin sticking to something make contact with your hair as it billows in and out of the car in and out of sight make contact with the only part of your body that is not warm stop only in small towns that keep their stories close in those towns press silky moonlight to the warm parts of your body like poems like slits of light to let the light in through smoke and eat hanging out of the windows pretend we are leaving crumbs to find our way home with but never come back anyways anyways