We were lying there and I was asking about forever.
You told me you didn't believe in words that had an "ever."
You didn't believe in any happily ever after
not a believer
no everlasting
wheresoever
in your
whatever.

Just a lot of moments and drinking
and calling me and holding me and pulling me
towards your chest or towards your hips
while I'm trying to put things in my head
in reverse
so maybe we'll be born again into this hour
just a little younger than we are now
so we won't have to grow up and leave
so soon.

You say you don't want a relationship but I didn't ask you for one.
I didn't
ask you for one.

All I want is for you to kiss my forehead and tell me you're going to miss me,
maybe for reasons you can't clearly see yet
but you'll miss me in some way when it's midnight
and you're lonely
and you can't ask me because I can't fly
all those miles in just a minute
to get to you.

The only hope I cling to is that
you'll end up calling and I can hear your voice
tell me that everything I have is going to be okay
and that you miss me and that you'll see me
sooner than it feels.

But you'll hang up angry because you let your pretty guard down and called
the girl from home who used to love you separately
from all the things in your life that were promised equally to be evermore
like your mom's marriage
or your grandma's life
or your sister's safety.
You'll hang up and all the memories of everything that was ever
good in your life will flood to the surface and blind you
from feeling so terribly in love with me anymore.
You'll hang up and regret calling in the first place,
but when the line is dead and a tear is falling
I'll be the one whispering "forever" on the other end
of what you're still trying to sever.

It was just the five of us
sitting there by your pool at 3am.
Feet in the water, jeans rolled up to our knees
beers in our right hand and each other to our left
singing old Tom Petty at the top of our lungs.

There was your best friend
who was drunk and singing a goodbye song,
long, slurred laments about
how you were his brother, like a missing tooth
that was pulled to early and left a gap
that your tongue runs over 100 times in a day
until you realize something's missing.
Something's no longer there.
And he'll say things like that
because that's who he is and he'll go to bed real early
because he's sad and tired and you
don't know how to feel that much yet.

There was your cousin in the jacket he stole from you
two weeks ago when he was sleeping on the ground
at a party you dragged him too.
He never learned to whisper and can't keep a secret,
but he made that night feel like it would last forever
and he held your hand through a lot of the bad times
in the trailer before your mom got home.
He'll laugh something stupid with his eyes squinted and you'll hug him
because you can feel he's alive and you want to start living.

There was your weekend warrior
who looked real tough and tan and Italian and
is afraid of who he is
but always knows who you are.

And then there was me.
And then there was you.

You were leaving in a couple weeks
and none of us really knew how to handle that yet.
So we made fun of your baby pictures
that were put into your slideshow and ate all your food
at 1 and then 2 and then 3.
I helped the other boys *** off your railing,
took pictures of your glassy-eyed buddies
trying to hook and capture the memory.

We were tearing down Wyoming,
praying it rained and flooded away
so you'd have nowhere to go and you'd have to stay.

This ain't nothing.
This ain't nothing but people who love you,
washing down their sorrows with a cold glass and a good cheer
to the one we see before he leaves.

And then there was me,
kissing you when your eyes would close
I'll miss you the most.

We slept in your bed alone
no clothes, just my body against yours
clinging to the time we had before morning.
We made love and I mean the real kind of love.
Not the high the five of us had
lying in your grass pretending
we could blow out the stars with a deep "hell yeah!"
But the love where you tell me how important I am to you.
What I've waiting and dying and trying to hear.

Your hand on my hip, you pulled me aside
to let me know you loved me, but just with your eyes.
Some dumb, young kids and real good kiss goodbye.

I had to walk out of physics today,
make my way to the back of the room
shoot for the door
with my hands on my hips.
Just started pacing.
I just stated pacing and pacing and pacing.

I followed the thin grey lines between the linoleum tiles
with my toes
counting every second I was out of class
and weighing that against how many more it would take
on a chance against hell
to get me back in there again.

I wasn't smart.
I never had been.
I just filled in bubbles correctly and I wrote
all the right things on a convincing, cliché
college paper.
I don't even know why I took physic,
but it sounded like a good idea when I was eighteen
and scared
and had some woman with a long braid screaming at me,
"advising" me that it was the "right direction."

I didn't even know who I was then so how could she.

I could mouth off a good response or two and I
probably embody every great literary character
in commercial fiction that is
the guy in the grey skinny jeans reading Shakespeare
in the corner of the dining hall.
Well, I'm not.
I'm not some stereotype for your next
creative writing assignment.
I just happen to think my *** looks good in skinny jeans,
I actually hate Shakespeare,
and the corner of the dining hall has the best air conditioning.
It's that simple.
There's your answer.

But my fingertips were shaking and my mind was racing
and there I was
just pacing and pacing and pacing
because this
is *******.
This class is *******.
This college is *******.
And the whole world
might as well be *******
right along with it.

I never went back into class that day.
Which ***** actually because I lost a good backpack and calculator,
but in the long run it worked out alright
because here I am
writing this
and getting paid for it,
not that I'm greedy or anything
(I get paid a whole lot if you care to know)
but I'm writing more than just about
that day I couldn't breathe in physics class.

I'm writing to tell you
that there's quite a great deal of superficial things in this world
and if you find yourself a part of it
I'm demanding you leave.
Leave your good notebook, your steady job, your filthy marriage.
Leave it because it's actually true no matter how stupid it sounds
that life is too short
and things that are real
need to be attacked and clutched onto
if you want them to last.

I guess I can thank that institution actually
for teaching me everything I never wanted to know,
and for getting me to where I am
with multiple publications, a book signing or to, a beautiful wife,
three kids, a screenplay, oh
and a big
F U
to those that said I would never do it.

(Dr. Hefer, that means you).

I never really fall for people who have dark hair
but somehow you rock it.
There's something in the back of your brown eyes
that makes sense even knowing you for 6 seconds only,
but feeling like I could know you for a lifetime
and it would easy.

You brushed your thumb against your cheekbone,
as if you were wiping away an invisible tear
and I could tell your touch was angel gentle,
would melt my bones if my skin was under your own,
which I imagined in my dreams at night to be there.
I wanted your shadow to brush up against mine,
danced in the light's framework together
as if two half pairs found their whole,
while our bodies kept a distance only touched
by fingertips in their secret reaching.

The hardest thing to make a woman feel is beautiful
when she believes she isn't.
I've destroyed a good chunk of my own happiness,
because I chose the wrong things or I believed the wrong voices,
but sitting here on your couch with your tan hands in my blonde hair,
coiling the ends around your knuckles and tugging
just to pull me in closer-
I never felt something like that.

I was steady and so were you and we shared
in- I think it's called trust? - together.
I never lie and neither do you.
But not because we're just good people,
and not because you're god like
(actually we're both far from it we've proven)
but because we don't have to.

I've never laughed the way you make me do.
I can't breathe sometimes and it's not like
the way literature describes or the way a guitarist writes
in the perfect, sentimental, slow song.
I literally cannot breathe because you
are stunning.

I've been driven down a lot of bad roads
by people I let make me feel inferior and allowed
to push me around because I didn't put faith into my own
self-sufficient standing.
But here I am and I haven't faltered nor shaken nor cried.
I'm still.

I don't usually fall for people who are good for me,
but somehow you changed that.

Only 3 people in my life have seen me cry,
unless you count that one guy on that tailgate that one night that one time
but I don't because I was drunk and it wouldn't matter in the morning.
You are one of those three and for you I cried the heaviest.
In your arms, fog catching, trying to suspend myself
in the gravity that kept me clung to your chest with fingers in your hair
kissing your ears between tears saying how much I love you
and that I'll miss you and that
every night I Google map the distance
just praying and praying that
the blue line between your point and mine
becomes shorter and shorter in time.

But it never does.

You told me you really will miss me,
that I'm one of the only one's
who actually cares about you
which isn't true but if you want
to put me there I will be because you are
that security and you are
everything that is brilliant in my life
and to know that you will no longer be
that close to where I am is like pulling at my heart
and getting nothing back
but a 10 minute phone call and I
wish you were here.

But you never are.

So I cried.
I mean,
I cried and cried until it came down to
you holding me so I would stop shaking and telling me
that I was strong and that I'll be fine
and that
it wasn't a goodbye just a
see you then.

But I've tried to hold "then"
in my hands and I've tried to write it
on my calendar at home but I can't find it,
and I'm afraid that will turn into not finding you
when it's 2am but it's your midnight and there's no
commonplace where you and I can just relive
this moment where I cried and cried and told you that I loved you
and you smiled with your eyes.

But the comfort that holds me is you know I can do this,
you know that I'm worthy,
and you know that I'm strong.
So I tell myself that when I don't feel it and I recognize
that if you can believe in me so much than I must be able
to do this without you and to move on
without you
constantly being here.
It gets me through until I can say when,
until the next time I see you
until see you then.

How many times have I been here like this
and how many times have I said "how many times"
before.
But I just gathered some of your clothes I had
lying on my floor for a while now,
and put them in your garage because it was left open
and you said you wouldn't be home for another hour and forty-five minutes
which is too long for me to wait up for before
I decide to just keep them and wait another day.
But we're always going to be here.

I'm always just going to be putting things in your garage
because you don't want to see me,
and not that you don't want to see me
but because you're afraid if you do you'll fall for me
and that will only make it harder for you when you leave.
And I'd like to believe that but you always make it
so ******* difficult to get a word in sometimes.
Not because you talk too much but because you never speak
honestly
about how you feel or what you want
so I just put things in your garage,
you just store things away until you have to
feel them at some point.
Like you have to feel me
at certain points.

And I allow myself to follow in your footsteps
and to just do what you ask me to do because I love you
and because I don't want you
to go away and because
I just want to be with you so badly
that I put my own baggage into your garage and my own feelings
into store
because if that means I could feel you,
if ignorance of better decisions and what really should happen
is what it takes for me to be next to you
I'll do it.

So I get it.
I get why you put things into your garage
for safe keeping
because it's what it takes
to not fall apart when you think about one day
it suddenly not being there
when you think about one day
me
suddenly just not being there.

I do it too.
I do it because I know you're not always going to be there,
so I check my emotions at the door before I enter
and I leave things in wrong places until I have to.
Until I have to deal with things like miles, maps, and distance.
Until I have to give up on trying to make something work
you don't want if it means it will be hard and bruised like it could be
if we didn't try hard enough and it failed.

Your shirt is in the garage.
It's next to the fridge and underneath it you'll find how I feel
right next to how you feel.
That's where I'll be.

You fell in love with me I guess for who I was then
or so I'd like to think.
Because I breathed innocence and thought everything was holy enough
to be sacred and thought no black secrets
could be hidden under so many precious things.
You liked that I wasn't trying to grow up so fast,
that I was naive and simple.
It gave you clarity when you were dizzy
about who you were and who you wanted to be.
That's why you liked me.
Because I made you into the person you wanted to be.

But now I'm different.
I know that pretty things don't always sparkle and I understand
that just because you put guards up doesn't mean someone won't try to knock them down
and that doesn't mean you won't get hurt in the end.
I don't like Peter Pan even though we watched it 13 times because I've realized
how ****** the animation is and I don't appreciate
fairytales anymore.
I like to put my trust in other things than pixie dust.
But I didn't used to and you liked that about me,
it made you feel like you were living the childhood you never had or something
stupid and poetic that I would have said like that
when you were kissing my nose and holding my  hand
on your couch before 11 and stalling
on driving me home.

I don't like sitting in the passenger seat anymore because it reminds me
of how you'd look over at me like I was one of those
special girls in the stories or the epic loves that gods have that
can never be touched.
I used to think people could never be sick if they were happy enough,
but that's just not how things are.
Because here you are
lying in a hospital bed with pet scans and x rays that lit up like Christmas trees
and the doctors tests have told you terminal things
but you're expecting me to think it's okay.

It's not okay.
Here I am with mascara dried eyes and a cafeteria snack pack
and you're just smiling
stupidly at me because this is scary
and I've always been that fearless thing for you.
You're going to die and you're expecting me to just fill you up
with some fantasy,
seriously ignore reality,
and fly you away to a neverland that's only pretend.
You really expect me to just make believe so you can feel better?

Well I'm not that person anymore.
I don't weigh my life out in laughter and I don't bend backwards just to feel good
anymore.
I can't just sit here and tell you about what I had for breakfast
because that doesn't even amount to the fact
that maybe you won't even be here for that tomorrow.
I can't fill you with color just because you ask me that.
You're draining and you're losing and I've got nothing.
I've got nothing because I don't believe in all those childish things
you fell in love with me for
anymore.

I can't make you better just because I loved you once
and just because I'm here and it matters.
You're just in denial and yeah I'm not the same.
It's called change.

It doesn't matter what color you'd bleed if you'd cut yourself.
It doesn't matter what you did last Friday or what you've already got planned
for the weekend after that,
how much rage you're going to make with the best
of so called buddies,
or even how many times you came "this close" to almost dying.

But I fell for that **** because it was scary and because
it was everything I taught myself to never want in anything
that meant it could fill me
but I used you to feel full and not so empty and tempted
to engage myself in something that would worry my mother if she knew all the secrets.

It doesn't matter what you've done before and how good that makes you now
at what you tricked me into doing.
It doesn't matter how fast you talk or how many people
you can choose to falsely idolize because of a stereotype or a media buildup.

No one was ever crowned king because of self proclamation.
You have to earn a rule like that.

It doesn't matter, to you, who you hurt as long as you gain something when you get there.
And that was me, sadly, who you got in between some bad timing
and a little self loathing.
I just wanted to feel good and you let me do that in the most wrong,
disgusting, abusive way.
And it doesn't matter what people say to you in the morning,
how many high five's you get or how long it'll be remembered.

All that matters
is that when you're drunk at the creek on another "turnt up" night
of losing yourself in illusions your insecurities lead you to believe
you're thinking of me.
You're thinking of how good something so real like me could be
if you only gave up your blinded trust for one second so you could see
what you're turning into and what I guess I thought
you always could be.

I delivered
19
chocolate-chocolate chip cookies
to your house the other day after midnight
because it was you nineteenth birthday and you hate that day
above all other's
so I decided to celebrate
by making you junk food even though you're on a diet
and just came from a late night workout
and you'll ask me why
I care about something so much that's not even that special
and I'll tell you it's simply because
"It's your birthday!"
or
"Why wouldn't I?"
but really
truth is

You're going away and I haven't decided how I'm going to deal with that yet.
You're going away and I haven't been able to write.
You're going away and this may be the last
time
I'll see you on your birthday.

So take the **** cookies and say thank you,
because I baked them while I was crying over missing you
and tried my hardest not to let the tears fall in the batter.
No one should have to taste sadness like that.

Don't be mad at me because you're bitter about your birthday
and you can't stand it when people show that they care about you,
because you don't know how hard this is for me.

I bet you never even thought how hard
it will be for me
and that's why I baked the cookies.
That's why I'm so upset and that's why I'm begging you
to come outside and just kiss me on your birthday
because I've been counting how many kisses I have left
before you're too far away to feel me.
Just give me all you've got while we still have the chance.

This is going to be hard enough when you're gone
so don't make it so hard now.
Just kiss me and eat the cookies.

Oh,
and happy birthday.

I let your lips touch mine like church wine.
Just a taste,
my legs around your waist
you led me to the bed.
I saw our silhouettes reflect in the mirror,
you standing there
hands upon my face
running softly along my hair
you laid me down just so you could stare
at how bare my body was and how beautiful
it looked in the hold your eyes had on this moment
where you could trace your fingers along my edges
just to feel how soft it was when you pressed upon it.

It's not always like this.
Sometimes I hate you when don't respond
to something so honest,
but the way you lay your head into my neck
and just breathe
without using your eyes
our bodies
our own little infinity
that I can't even fathom beyond being there.

This was our goodbye.
This was you saying
"I don't want you to wait around for me,
because I want these next four years to be you
doing everything
you've always told me you wanted to do."
This was because of me loving you.

A year made a circumference around my brain
when I was baring myself naked to you
it lapped my skin and touched my lips until I was frightened
from speech and just kept breathing
seven heavy sighs of separation
until I convinced myself that's what it would take
for me to get back to you.

I've been here so many times but not like this.
Not like this where there's no more chances.
Just the shower running and my head on your chest,
just you pushing my hand down when I resist.
But you were slow and gentle and made it feel alright,
and I shouldn't have been crying
but it was so beautiful and this was so beautiful and you
are so beautiful

This was our final moment
one last night,
here we go,
I loved you always
goodbye.

This was our goodbye and let's face it,
a big part of me knows
that it won't just be a year until I see you.
You're never coming back, heart attack
against the realization that once you're gone "for now"
you're gone for good.
So I kissed you like our lips were magnetized and would stay together
even 1,619.9 miles away.
I kissed you to erase the picture of the map in my head,
from point A to point B
and from the start of a journey to its end.

The morning when you leave for the airport and I'm getting dressed alone,
won't be our goodbye
not even when you leave the key and drive
not even when you kiss my forehead
or promise to call
or I'm falling to my knees.

This is our goodbye.
This is our
I believe in you
I'll love you always
goodbye.

My aunt is 40 years old and she was coloring
with crayons on the bathroom floor after a bad spell.
We kept them in the cabinet under the sink
so she could pull them out to calm her down,
or pull her out,
of the dream she was having over glazed eyes that weren't sleeping.
She would talk to us about silly things
that happened to her or how she met
her husband after the war in his pretty,
neat, and navy blue military jacket.

She really met my uncle
on the train to Chicago in 1977,
but we don't tell her that because it doesn't make a difference
and it won't make her feel any better.
The truth never really does that
I've learned.

That's the thing about the rest of your life.
When you're sixteen and beautiful with
a cute brown bob and eyes to match
you think you can do anything
and when you picture
the rest of your life it doesn't include
lying in a bath robe talking to your niece
about something you never did or never had
with spit on your chin and hands that need washed
coloring a picture in a book meant for kids.

You never thought you'd be stuck
being a kid
sometimes.
Out of control,
shaky,
twisted
and a little bit beautiful
through things.
You never thought you'd be missing some parts,
or you'd be spacey
or empty
in bad, bad moments like this.

But that's how it is and that's how it was
for my aunt as she tried to formulate her thoughts
into something she was dying and dying to tell me.

I didn't know what she wanted or how to
fix
all the things I didn't quite understand were happening.
All I know is that she
is a child
and children need attention, to be played with, and to be loved.
So I picked up a crayon and starting coloring
around the edges she had missed
trying to fill her in.

Your dad hit you and you asked me not to tell anyone.
He took two business trips this week to get away from your mom,
because he doesn't know what to say to her anymore
and you're sitting on her bed next to her
at 2 in the morning after a romance movie
not knowing what the hell you're supposed to tell her,
because your dad asked you to keep secrets too
and you don't want her to know more than she has to.
Because you love her, and love means protection-
it means you'll take all the bullets for her.

But she's been shaking and you don't want to tell her
that everything is going to work out,
because you don't know that.
So you put in another movie and lie next to her,
hold her hand when she reaches for you
carry the weight of her sadness in your smile.
As she falls asleep you let a couple tears slip out
that you've been saving since last week when your dad confessed
to moving around because he couldn't deal with standing still
in a marriage he feels he's been stuck in for eighteen years now.
You let yourself break down now.

Your dad hit you and you asked me not to tell anyone.
But I'm crying over your mom as I listen to you tell me
how helpless she looks with the covers over her lips and her hand
still sitting in yours.
Your family's falling apart and you asked me not to worry about it.
I love you too much but that's not important right now.
But it's hard when he's not home and
I'm trying everything I can and I don't know what to do anymore,
because your dad hit you and you asked me
your dad tore your mom's heart out and you asked me
your brother's still healing and you asked me
you asked me
not tell anyone.

And because you asked me to, and because I love you, and because
because I am who I am and because we are where we are
I won't.
I'll just soak up your tears with my skin and hold memories of blessed things
over your head so you can look up to something other than the ceilings
you trace with your eyes in the dark.
I'll pick up your call and I'll start crying when it's disconnected.
Because some things in life are just too hard.
And I don't want to have to worry about you, but I will because
because I am who I am and because we are where we are and because
I love you too much.

We were kissing on the other side of the truck,
with trees bending over the bed as a dark shadow
in the hours after midnight.
You had your hands up my shirt and my beer can
was in the one hand I had wrapped around your neck.
We were pulling on each other from different ends.
You were telling me you had to leave between separate kisses,
whispering how you wanted me and even though
your body was walking away your hands decided to stay.
I was begging you to come back with tiny pleading and the trace of my fingers
in the spaces of yours
when a name floated from your lips and landed on mine
it tasted bad and wasn't right because it didn't fit
she wasn't me
"Jodi!"
I'm Sophie.

Your invisible fist came like a sucker punch to my chest,
all the breath gone and the steam reaching my tongue
until I was cross eyed with anger and tearing up
with my back against your body trying to apologize
for getting it wrong
when I felt hands on my face and suddenly your mouth
against mine in a deep, regretful silent message
that you were sorry for saying her name,
and I believed that kiss because it took the pressure off
of finally admitting I actually had feelings for you or actually cared
about you.
I believed you were sorry for calling me someone else,
but really you were just sorry you got caught and let it slip.

This was uncharted and I knew from the beginning that it wouldn't last,
but I haven't been telling anybody how mean you are to me
about that incident behind the truck
or how you back hand my writing and won't let me speak
about it because you give me that weird look and just start
touching me to shut me up.
I tell everyone you're busy when I show up without you,
but really you just found someone better to do.
I tell everyone it's no big deal when they hear you were somewhere
I said you weren't,
but it's just as a surprise to me and it stings just as much
as it did that night you called me her when I'm me.
I don't tell anyone how awful you are to me
because it would make me the fool
and it would justify every "I told you so"
that would come my way from the fair warnings I was given
when I said you were almost mine and we were sort of together
in a casual, "I'd still like to *******," way.

I don't tell anyone because I'm still waiting for you to fall in love with me,
and I'm dangerously surrounding myself with thoughts of you
when I can't sleep at night and I find myself
smiling when your name comes up on my phone
or blushing when I hear your voice
which isn't good, because it's not just a physical thing
where I have my fun and make my own breakfast in the morning.
It's a stupid romance that has me actually falling for you,
and I don't tell anyone how much damage I take from your
nonchalant words or your false commitment
because I want you to turn out right after all the mistaken ways.
I want to prove everyone, mostly myself, wrong
about how you don't really want me and how all you ever actually wanted
was a pretty body to pass the summer time
until you went to school.
I don't want to be the fool.
So I don't tell anyone the truth about you.
I don't tell anyone about you.

You came crashing into me that night when there was a super moon
shining through the blinds onto an unmade bed where you laid
your head against the softness of my chest and kissed between
my two moons
holding me to their atmosphere and brightening
the stars that fell from my mouth with every sigh.
I closed my eyes and let you lead me through,
and through, and through again until I was tired and slow
and you kissed me so good.
You cradled my head with light kisses to spread the pressure
from the bruise of hitting the headboard when you moved me-
how you moved me and how good that felt to be intertwined with a body
that was thick and warm and made me feel
enticed with how your fingers would run against my thighs.
My lips were sore from your tongue on their insides,
rolled over to see your glistening body come into mine
so simply with tension breathing between the space of our next kiss.
Our sleepless night turned into a rushing morning where the aqua twilight
would fade over your smile as you pulled back from my lips.
Your skin was warm and the air was cold as you pulled up the covers
to darken the sky we created with the steam from our bodies and from
being so close and so complete in a single moment
in a simple night
where our beauty was felt with only our hands.

You called me from Ocean City the other night.
Silence in the background, a good friend by your side.
Drunk voice you spoke softly and asked what I was doing.
My sleepy voice was a distraction that kept you captivated in how lovely
it sounded over the telephone when you were dizzy and couldn't find your feet.
It sounded perfect when you couldn't feel a thing.
I'm a habit you'd love to break, but I'm already broken
and this is already fate.

I asked why you called and you said "yeah" three times too quickly,
waving off the question like you didn't have an answer
when really you just didn't want to tell me that
honestly
you just wanted to hear my voice when you found the fun had ended
and the games were over and the people had left and you were trying
to fix a fan meant to cool you off, but kept you frustrated
on why it wouldn't keep spinning like your world was and why it was
I kept you in the same place when you always thought you didn't need nobody
to bring closeness and completeness to your empty space.

You tried to hang up but something wouldn't let you.
Maybe the sand in your eyes or the sweating drink in your hand,
you slipped and pressed the button before you heard me finish the goodbye.
But it was better off this time,
or so you told yourself,
because what woman wants a man who's been drunk in the sand since 9 o'clock that morning.
What beauty that she has wants to be near a man who's *****.
You questioned yourself as your covered chest hit the bed and as your head
laid itself against the comfort of a place you told yourself you'd stay long enough
to forget that you wanted to be where I was.

You tried to call again but something wouldn't let you.
Maybe the incapability to hold a grasp or the darkness in your eyes took over,
you just shut your mouth and pretended to be sleeping
pretended you weren't dreaming of holding me next to you in that moment.
But to ease your worry, just know your memory matched mine.
Just know that I dialed your number seven times and I stared
at my ceiling fan begging it to stop spinning and spinning
around how many times I would find myself wanting you again
when I shouldn't.
Just know that I wanted to be wherever you were.
Just know that it wasn't over and I didn't want it to end.
Just know that while we weren't talking
you were always in my head.

I've been trying to write all day because things are ending for me
and I've been trying to find a way to tell you about it.
But it's merely been a lot of empty conversation
between me and my mother as she unpacks grocery bags after grocery bags
of food I haven't eaten all day.
I've spoken to the vase of flowers across from me about you.
Stared at the yellow center just searching my broken mouth
for the absolute way to tell you how sorry I am
that I didn't love you in all the right ways I could have.
How I want to believe in now instead of then and how I want
you to be here and hold my hand as I try to make some sense
of why such bad things happen to such good people.
How I'm not going to see you everyday come the end of summer.
How a huge part of myself is over and how I always thought I'd never be
that upset until I looked over at you and realized
that soon enough you'll disappear and I'll be left here.
I'll be left here without you looking over at me.
And I've been trying to write about that.

Been trying to write about it all day when it's 40 degrees in May.
How impossible it is to feel even colder than that
when I'm wrapped in blankets sitting in my kitchen chair
with gray light for reading all the words I just haven't written yet
about anything that I feel or anything that I want to say to you.
I want to tell you that I love you and that I hope we wind up together.
That I don't know what to say a lot of the time, but you help me
get everything out
and maybe that's not tonight .

I've been trying to write about the nostalgia that chokes me after midnight.
How I'm so tired of being lonely.
I just haven't written a thing all day and it's killing me.
I don't know what to say a lot of the time, but you help me
get everything out
and maybe that's not tonight, and maybe
after all this time I don't really need you to be mine.
But a lot of things are ending for me and I've got
so much more that I need to say.

You got out of work at eleven and I was there waiting for you.
Leaning against your car with my arms crossed,
hiding in the shadow of the security camera because no one
should have to see us like this before I made my peace or before
you tried to stop me.
You sauntered over with your hair fixed and your face black
from the powdered metal dust that stuck to your skin while you were doodling
on a notepad waiting for the tumbler to shut up and give you new parts
to start the process.

I've waited and waited for my parts to have back from you after you took them.
To start the process.
To be fine
once again.

With your hands in your pockets you angrily backhanded a reply to my fainted "hi"
above the noise of other workers clocking out their time cards,
punch in and punch out
"What are you doing here?"
I didn't think it needed an answer.
But since you questioned and since I've been silently mad for days and since
I'm almost to the breaking point I said something
that I can't remember in this late night, confused memory,
that went

Well since
you don't answer my calls and won't look at me and won't talk to me
just keep pushing past and past my presence in your life when you're looking
and in your mind when you're not,
I put myself here.
I put myself where you'd have to see me just so you could tell me
why it is you loved so deeply and left so quickly.

Then my eyes went hazy and my mouth fell sideways as you told me
something I expected to hear that still shocked my soul
because a large part of me that I don't like to admit
was still hoping for the answer I'd been praying for
or the realization of an epiphany you've had over loving me
as only a memory and wishing you could have it that real again.
But you clocked me-
punch in and punch out.
You used me to heal the bad stuff and then parted when you were done.
Parted and left me when you had what you needed
to get through another stubborn year of acting like you love me
but lying because you never really did.

I got in my car and waited at the factory red light
until it turned green and drove the opposite way you were leaving.
I watched the two headlights as they blurred themselves into direction.
I watched you and I knew that I had nothing to come back to.
Just empty words to be said and a desperate attempt
to get back what I thought I had again.

Covered in sweat,
hairs a mess,
lying between the curb and the pavement,
spewing out the alphabet in cursive
saying things you'll regret in the morning
making crowns out of cardboard beer boxes
because you think you're the ******* king,
news flash
you're just another kid to everyone else
you're not special
you're not any better than anyone else
because you can hold down your liquor longer
than the girl in the ripped white jeans
or the college boy who's been doing this since he was sixteen.
you're no better than anyone else
because you stay up until five in the morning,
forgetting how you got from one place to the other,
but oh wait sorry
I forgot we're young and this is what makes you you
I forgot that this was what you gave me up to do.
So I hope this makes you feel important,
I hope it replaces all the warmth I thought I was giving you
I hope it was worth hurting me for,
I hope it was worth trashing all that belief I put in you,
when you used to be my king
I hope the sweat sticks, the concrete cracks, you break your own heart
and I hope you wear your crown like the king you are.

I'm a stupid woman but you called me strong.
I took that with me when I left and always thought you were leaving too.
Turns out you're staying here.
And half of me
half my heart
considered everything just to stay.
Just to give it up and see if I could make something out of you
with just my hands and some deep night loving.
If maybe believing in you from the outside in
could make you smile in the mirror when you look at yourself in the morning.
I'm nakedly holding my love for you in my hands.
But I knew I had to go or you'd never take it.

I've dug enough graveyards in my life to earn myself a tombstone.
Script stupid love lyrics on the surface,
because that's all my beauty is made of.
Just some vulnerability I've conquered over all that time of knowing you
like this, in our way.
But you taught me that I don't have to bury myself any longer.
That loving myself means a lot more than if you love me back or not.
So I took that with me and now I've got a man.

He admires and reflects more of my happiness than his own.
There is a softness in his voice that I've never known.
And I don't have to try so hard to make him understand-
it's just effortless.
It's perfect because the pain isn't constant and because
we don't give up
on each other.

But know that I think about you all the time.
How much I would have liked to give it one last try.
I think about how much you gave me to smile about.
That you brought out a bigger version of who I'd become to be.
How without you I wouldn't be me.

I've been writing for what seems like forever about you.
In different ways I've been severed angry.
In manic ways I've been crazy for you.
I've cried over you, I've cried for you, I've cried beneath you.
I've been the weight under your thumb and the force that guides your arms.
I've held you and I've written about that in a thousand different ways.
When you've been too heavy and when you wouldn't let me
put my arms around you long enough for you to realize
that I'm here and I'm tired of saying it-
I've already written it down.  
It's been six years but it feels like forever.
It feels like I've said all I can say, but I'm not done speaking.
I'm not done yelling and I'm not done writing.

But there's only so many poetic ways to call you an *******.
There's only so many more nights
that I have you around close enough to feel you
and that's what I like to write about.
How I feel you.

You'll be gone soon and I haven't decided how to deal with that yet.
I just write about it because in some twisted ******* way I think that will fix it.
You're going away, but I won't tell you I miss you.
I'm not going to tell you that even if you beg me to say it.
Because that will make me weak and I need to learn
to be strong without you.

So when you get on your plane I won't be crying in the terminal.
I won't even make it to the airport actually,
because you don't want me there and I don't want to see you hate me
as the last sight of you before you go.
I'll be at home and when the clock strikes 6:45 I'll know you're leaving.
I know you'll be gone.
Then I'll crack open a bottle of red wine even though it's too early in the morning.
I'll sit on my couch and watch the sun come up without your existence,
pull out a pen and paper and write through you.
Write right black through you until the day has ended
which will feel like forever.
Forever, I'll write again.

I watched you drive your red truck around for years,
and years, and years with mulch in the back on a dead road
to a new job where you'd lay some grass and trim
trim back all the rustle that got in the way,
just like you cut me out because I was an obstacle
in your plan to ruin yourself.
I watched you drive your red truck around for years,
and years, and years when you didn't think I was still watching.
I did because you trained me how to fix you
when we were just fifteen and being twenty five means nothing
when you've been an adult since you were a kid,
had to grow up real quick if you wanted to control yourself
through every pretty little detail,
through every
pretty little feeling.

I thought I gave you feeling.
*******.
But I watched you for years, and years, and years
in your apartment on a black night carrying two cases of beer inside.
And that might sound creepy but I think twelve years of kissing you
constitutes it being okay that I watch you just to make sure you're okay.
I watched you.
You didn't know it
but I cared.
I never really wanted you to know that because it made me feel inferior.
Made me feel like you had power over me,
and since you had to have power over everything else
I didn't want you to have that satisfaction over me.

So I'll watch you drive your red truck around for years,
and years, and years without feeling.
Until you spin out at the dead end and wind face up in the windshield,
staring at stars that remind you of my eyes,
finding yourself right where you've always been
only this time I won't be at your side.

I was in a real bad place this time last year.
I felt *****
all the time.
And all I wanted was to be with someone
who could make me feel even worse.

So I threw myself over people that could make me
feel a little right and hell of a lot wrong.
I poisoned the revival that was my passioned split,
and I kept binding myself to nights that had
no definite ending and put me in spacey places,
tripped me back to the things I wanted to forget,
always winding up in a grass bed with a body
that wouldn't recognize me in the sunlight but felt good.
Good in the way that made me feel wrecked,
empty, wretched, and sterilized
like a bad blood wound.

I was in a real bad place and I want you to know you put me there.
Not because I want you to feel guilty, not because its my own
sick revenge on the things you tore within me.
But I want you to know because I'm trying to explain to you,
why it is I did those things and I why it is I couldn't talk to you
when you begged me for answers, or for reasons, or if I was okay.
I want you to know I wasn't okay.
Not because I want you to apologize or tell me it wasn't my fault.
But I want you to know because I'm trying to explain to you,
how I could feel so terribly and how that could feel so good.

The pain was better, yes better, because it was easier.
I clothed myself in darkness, painted my world without the color
I always believed you gave me.
I was in a real bad place and I want you to know I might still be there.
Because you're holding me now and it would be unfair if I didn't let you in
on the secrets I kept about how I dealt with the pieces after you.
Not because I expect us to be together, not because I want
everything to go back to the way it was before you left.
But I want you to know because I'm trying to explain to you,
that I don't ever want us to feel this way again.
I don't ever want to see you mask your happiness
or think you don't deserve more safety than you have,
more love than your given
more laughs than you create.

I might still be there, but you don't have to be.
You don't have to comfort me,
for the wrong or even the right reasons.
You don't have to tell me that I'm alright or that I'm beautiful.
I feel ugly all the time and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be,
and I want you to know
you don't have to stick around for me.

I know that love has looked like an illusion to you lately.
That when you're lying with your head in your hands
with too many hours put into your midnight,
the truth of the slammed fists on the kitchen table
melts into the reality of what you're feeling.

I always knew you as a man
who kept his heart in the pit of the others,
stemmed belief in the people who had too much faith in you,
but also know that there is nothing
that you should ever have to handle on your own.

I know everything you shaped yourself after is shattered.
That you had to look your dad in the eye and listen
to him tell you how he can't cradle your mom any longer,
to see the footprints that walked you in the door
are now retracing themselves out the way they came.

I always knew you as a man
who was too afraid to be what he wanted
in fear that it wouldn't match up to what people thought you were,
but also know you gained a lot of strength
in figuring out who you wanted to model and how
you are now what that model came to be.

I know their hearts have felt heavy in your hands lately.
That you're trying to find the right way to not be so messed up,
an there's no way to quiet the silence that stings you now
between a bed that's begging to be come back to
and a place you're scared you can no longer call home.

But I've always known you as a man
who holds love as a suspension over his head
bending beauty until you were full grown,
but also know there is nothing
I'm ever going to let you handle on your own.

So let me ask you then
how many nights I have spent lying on my kitchen floor like this
praying to a piece of paper that I find a way to make this all come out right?
And while I'm lying there have you tasted
the emptiness that settles on my lips as I count the stars on my fingertips
begging a soul I don't recognize any more to come and carry me?
Have you ever tried to hold something that heavy?
You don't make it far before you're dragging your feet
around a promise nobody had to make, but was clear

It was clear that you loved me more than I
always knew you did.

So let me ask you then
how I spend the time I don't have on fixations like that
hallucinating that I see your feet by my door or your name on my telephone?
And while I'm smudging my eyes from the minute reminder
that I waited longer than me and the god that holds me now knew I should have
I turn to the clock that haunts me.
Have you ever tried to feel how long that is?
You don't realize it until you're twenty-five staring the same blue-eyed problem in the face,
that grew from the memory you have of him as a kid you tossed through,
and you're wondering how you managed to scrape through with the amount of dignity
you gaze at in the reflection of the mirror.

I know that you love me more than I
always knew you did.

So let me ask you then
how come we aren't better than this?
How come it's 12:28 in the morning and I'm waiting on a call I'm never going to get?
How come we bank through changes with a common hand in hand,
but we can't make it through to see the sunrise?
How come we aren't better than a vulnerable night, a couple drinks, a wish
between the sheets of a bed with no destination that somehow
we'd wind up back in the fragmented places we've been?

How come we always want more, but we can't have it now?

How come you won't have me now?

When I know that you love me more than I
always knew you did.

A lot can happen in four years
I whispered while your fingers were in my hair.
The night was calling us together, time threw us in a moment
where neither of us had an answer to why you called
or why I came
to find myself in your single bed with feet that hang off the end
letting you pull my clothes off with those hands
that always know how to hold me
slipping your fingers right between the space of my ribs.
I paint words on your neck with my lips
that envelop how beautiful I know you are.
You don't think you'll come back?
I tried to walk around the world enough times
in that moment, in my mind
to tell you something you'd want to hear
but all I got were ***** soles and a steamy kiss
to cradle the shake in your spine-
Not even for me?
whiskey, whiskey, whiskey
I don't even know what will happen to me.
So I just hold you enough times until the truth settles,
until the realization has become a manifestation
of tossing and turning together in your bed
wrapping around the heart-shaped symbol of love in our heads.

A lot can happen in four years
I weaved around the promise in your brain.
You retraced the curves of my neck with your hands,
pulling me in so we wouldn't feel so lonely.
And even though we can't admit in the denial
that we were spreading around each other
in a pretty suspension of how we wish
things could eventually work out,
we understand how hard it will be to take
waiting for the other after all that time.
Not even for me?
whiskey, whiskey, whiskey
we just healed the break with a kiss
as we spent another night trying to forget we were real,
masking on our own graduating fears
A lot can happen in four years.

I stepped out of the bathtub, slipped on my towel,
and ran down the stairs so I could grab us some drinks
out of the fridge in the garage,
a lager and a light.
It was cold, my tip toes were leaving imprints in the snow
my wet hair was freezing at the ends.
I tried to keep covered up while carrying things in my hands,
I got to the door and there you were
holding the **** with your steamy lips and boxers
I kept turning it, but it wouldn't budge
that's when you held up the key to the glass
waving it in my face like a sweet, sweet victory.
I gasped a little laugh that was half mad, half enticed-
you little ****.
 
"How am I supposed to get in?"
I asked as quiet as I could in fear of waking the neighbors,
you just looked at me stupidly,
your mouth foaming something *****
"drop it"
you said with a hand gesture towards my body.
I bit my lip holding back my smile, shaking my head in
denied disapproval.
You started walking away from the door,
"Wait!"
I let it go,
dropped the towel down to my ankles
and let my hands glide effortlessly to my hips.
I cocked one out, pursed my lips as I looked at you
devilishly-
your eyes got wide.
 
"Can I come in now?"
I begged with a little lean forward.
You put your fingers up to your chin,
drinking up my beauty that was dripping
from the tip of my nose to end of my feet.
"One lap," you said holding up the number.
You pressed your hands up to the glass,
I lined mine up with yours
I could tell you wanted to kiss me.
"One lap?"
I questioned with a stupid smirk,
I'd do anything for you-
I just like putting up a fight.
You shook your head up and down,
"I'm not going alone,"
I said backing away, folding my arms across my chest
defiantly begging you to join me.
"Fine" you said with a wide smile.
You threw off your boxers and opened the door.
 
"It's freezing!"
You yelled as soon as you walked out.
I shushed you with my lips and whispered
"It's too late now."
We ran around my house in the snow,
naked
you chasing me.
I tried my best not to scream,
but my heart was begging me
to release some pressure from it
some relief
from all the love you were filling it with.
I burst through the door and you followed,
trying to wrap your arms around me
but I wouldn't let up.
I ran up the stairs,
peeking behind me
to see if you were there.
 
"You can't catch me"
I taunted from the bathroom,
turning on the shower as hot as it could go.
That's when you knocked into me from behind,
tight
"Got you"
you whispered and you were right,
you had me
a lager and a light.

I know that things didn't turn out perfect.
And I know that falling for me wasn't quite in your plans,
not like you counted on all these wounds representing your lovin
but I don't want you to miss out on something worth holding
between the moments of should I go back or look ahead.

Because if I didn't love you, you would know.

I haven't gone to my apartment yet.
I've been sitting in my car listening
to all the decisions bounce off the guardrails I've constructed
on the edges of my brain
where it haphazardly connects to my heart.

You held me the other night.
Lips pressed to my neck,
pulling the sheets overtop us like a shadow
that only you could create with trying to hide
the parts of me I didn't like.

I don't want to steal a chance from you,
because love shouldn't be selfish
and I know that giving up any ties you had to my side
would let you be free enough to let me go.


"You can be mad in the morning,"
you used to tell me
"but don't leave me now. "

Because if I didn't love you, you would know.

I've been pressing on the lines the leather makes
in my driver's seat
trying to count the stitches until the numbers add up
crooked like your spine feels
after some backwards bending over my mistakes.
I know I'll never know forgiveness.

That's why I have to break the bond you have on me,
because you deserve the opportunity to love somebody good,
for the right reasons
instead of just a macramé of excuses and cover ups
for all the times I didn't.
I just didn't.
For all the times I never let you go
when I could have.

*Because if I didn't love you, you would know.

We don't look at each other anymore.
The hurting is its own kind of sad
that I've framed with the words you never told me.
And you'd think because I gave you
so much of my own self-requited happiness and help,
that because I did pull you up from the trash can facade
you threw yourself in
covering your skin in your own garbage and alcohol rain
that you'd see me.
You'd think because I loved you that things would be different.

No, I didn't ******* in the back bedroom
like that sophomore did the weekend before.
But I did clean up the beer you spilt that you couldn't afford
on the night you shouldn't have been drinking.
I did let you hold me when you looked around the crowded room
of people you didn't know
realizing you were alone.

No, I didn't laugh when you smashed your hand
through that window on a dare.
But I did wash the blood from your cuts with a gentle cloth
when you weren't looking so it wouldn't hurt.
I did call your brother to tell him you were alright
when you were supposed to be home an hour ago and he couldn't find you.
I took a lot of your pain away.
In different ways than the beer bottles in you back pockets
or the empty body you left lying on the bed.
I did talk you through a long night when you didn't know what to do-
I did that for you.
I did help you pack away the parts of you you didn't like-
I'll always do that for you.

And you'd think that'd make you look my way.
Because all the things I did do
should outweigh the things I didn't.
You'd think because I loved you that things would be different.

But you don't even look at me anymore,
it's like I'm some broken angel on your shoulder you can't see.
I just always thought I was more important
than the things I couldn't be.

I want you to know you're better than the hospital bed you're lying in,
than the life you've been leading or the cuts on your hands.
"Just went a little too hard, I guess."
You guess.
Well, as long as I know you're going to be okay
then I won't feel so bad when I say
*******,
******* for scaring me with the telephone ring I wasn't expecting
from my best friend who got the ambulance call at four in the morning-
"Something's not right" she told me.
So I ran over here because I became somebody through loving you
even though I promised myself I wouldn't let you
bother me anymore with beating yourself up.
I came in my sweatpants with the mismatched socks and my white ghost
following me to the elevator trying to bring my void to the surface
so it could remind me how empty I feel without recognizing
how much I'm always going to care about you.
And to see you in that light yellow room with the nurse outside the glass,
breathing through the oxygen tubes with your dad and step mom
whispering to your sister in the corner
"How could we let this happen?" or hanging their heads with "didn't we see the signs?"
It made me so angry seeing them wipe their sweaty palms on their
shouldn't be guilty faces,
because it isn't their fault.
But should I feel selfish for wanting to punch you when you were down?
For wanting to yell at you when you were clinging on to an opening?
"I'm fine, don't you see that?"
No.
I'm not wrong for telling you the things you don't want to hear.
Because you are better
than this.
You are better than the things you can't see right now.
You are better than the road your choices are leading you on.
"I'm 19, it doesn't matter."
And so I'll yell at you until you get it.
I'll face you until the reality sets in.
I'll be here to fade through the pamphlets you're getting
on how to cure something you thought you'd never have.
I'll sponsor the recovery you don't want,
and I'll make sure you heal from everything that's damaged you
until you understand
that you
are better
than this.

Don't tell me I have your attention when I don't.
Captivated you in a church dress with the hole in the stockings,
eating salted tomatoes between two slices of bread
feet touching mine under the table
on a Sunday after my Confirmation ceremony.

Don't tell me how naughty a catholic school girl can be
with your hand on my thigh and a thumb on my cheek.
Kissing me hard and heavy, leaving a bite on my lip with a grunt
smiling while you whip your hair back from your tan skin and brown eyes.

Don't tell me you love the way I look when you don't know me yet.
Cigarette drag me out
breathing smoke behind my ears as you lay your hand
out the window beside your bed,
while my mama's sleeping and doesn't know where I am
and my white blouse is on the chair
hanging next to my purity.

Don't tell me how unholy I've been when you don't know faith.
How it's not worth praying for something I don't have any more,
lost in my own disillusions that you created out of words you swear you left unsaid,
with a tear pressed against the part of me that felt like it was falling in love.

Don't tell me that it's all my fault.

Don't call me your lady
when all I ever wanted was for you
to settle down with me like a safety,
anchor your trust in my belly
made to keep my body warm, but your icy cold.

Don't rip or tear or strike out your own mistakes on my body.

Don't tell me how ****** up innocence is
when all I was before you came was a Mary Jane
shoe with some of the leather worn on the sole from walking
too far to find someone to caress my hair.

Don't leave me open and dry
when all this ever was, was an advantage you took too easily
on an infatuated girl who was too young
and didn't know the difference.

You eat a lot of things from tuber ware containers with a ***** fork
you haven't washed in weeks.
You pile mounds of ketchup on anything
literally everything you eat,
and you hold your utensils like a sandbox shovel
just stuffing the food in your mouth, filling your cheeks like a chipmunk,
yet somehow you still think you have the ability to talk.
You wash everything down with beer.
One kind of beer- nothing else.
I always ask for a sip and you just pull it away while pulling me in.
Your lips are warm and taste like venison, and the yellow light
of the kitchen makes your complexion look a little off
but your eyes are bluer than they've ever been.
You should see yourself stand there at the counter
trying to tell me some story I can't understand about what happened to you that day,
or that night, or maybe it was last week.
Your timeline's never been quite accurate, your memory skewed.
Sometimes I'll look at you in moments like this and mumble, "you're so ******* weird"
but truth is I love all the things you do.

It's bits like this that I miss when you're not there.
Like how you sleep with your elbows under the pillow, snoring so loud
I can't hear myself dreaming.
How you think just because you've memorized every movie ever
that means I have too,
and why it is I just laugh when you quote something I've never seen.
Especially, those times you look at me with this quizzical look
a great idea just sitting on your tongue, expecting something
when really it's just some silly thing you've thought about all day
just didn't know how to say.
I tell you constantly that I can't stand how you wait until the very last clean shirt
before you do the laundry,
how those loads and loads are a ***** to fold
but truth is I love how worn everything is.
I even love the way you sing in the shower, or in the car, or in after dark, or all the time.
I love the way you moan as the sunlight peaks through the window in the morning.
I love when you rustle up my hair after I just did it.
I love how you smear my make-up.
I love you all the time, when you're smart, a *******, rude.
And even though I'll say 100 times in a day that you drive me crazy.
I love all the things you do.

Some guy's picture on the inside of a book sleeve
told me that he could help me write something other
than the worthless crap I'd been spewing for the past couple months.
Takes ten steps-
normal stuff
like
1. Clear your mind (which means you have to have a mind to begin with).
2. Don't be afraid
3.
4.
5.
Poetry is like this.. writing a poem is like that..

6. Pick a subject that means something

I mean all the real stuff you need to know
you should know by now, right?
Well I didn't **** anyone. My innocence didn't die when I was fifteen.
In fact, I still pretend two water drops are racing each other
when the fall down my car window-
and like a real contest I take bets.
I bet on a lot of things
like how long it will take me to get to the point-
the point
so how am I supposed to write beautifully about tragic things
I never experienced?
Worst thing that happened to me this week
was I put too much mayonnaise on my sandwich, making it mushy
and no one wants to read about that.

So the book then tells me, once I've scraped tediously through chapter 7,
that I should use bizarre words in real conversations
to spark my "withheld creativity"
because I'm "too scared" to let it show.
Here's a tip the book doesn't tell you-
don't ask your two best friends for help
because they'll come up with things like
"sparkling parachute pants"
or even "scented paraffin"
and who the hell knows what a paraffin is.
Then they'll start calling themselves your "muse"
and you'll never hear the end of it.
But they'll buy you drinks to make you feel better about
how ****** you feel and the ten blank word documents you have at home.
So I guess you probably should ask your friends after all.

Chapter 10 is when it gets really weird,
because it starts wondering which side of the brain writes what-
telling me to start writing things with my left hand
because it's "neurologically different" then what your right hand would do.
But last time I checked, I didn't write poetry with my right hand
because it surged some hidden message onto the page.
I did it because I'm right handed.
I advise you just completely skip chapter 10
unless you're a shrink and need some Sunday pleasure reading.

The final chapter becomes really inspirational-
reminding my tired heart how much originality I possess
and there's still lyrical words "hidden up my sleeve."
(they use a lot of clichés like that).
It will tell you how every great writer has been there.
How they all started just like you.
How "hero's get remembered, but legends never die"
Wait sorry, that's something else.
See what these books will do to you?
They'll make you crazy
you'll start drinking things like chai tea and reading soap opera magazines.
You'll stop going to the bathroom entirely-
and they'll tell you to do stupid **** like that
because they understand that right now
you're so desperate to write something
ANYTHING
that you'll start romancing about the stuffed animal in the corner
or the piece of lint you just know is under your bed.
Before you know it you'll start listening to Norah Jones on the weekends,
not shaving,
wearing glasses
snapping
the whole bit,
because that's how empty you feel
because writing
is like breathing
and when you stop writing
you stop breathing-
it's that easy.

But I advise you to finish the book.
It'll be worth it.
However, you won't start writing a **** thing
until you laugh at all the prose sections in a book
meant to tell you how to write poetry,
but here's the secret they don't tell you.
No one can tell you how to write poetry.
You just have to do it.
You just have to **** for a good while before you start writing
something better than "seasons farewell" or the other Robert Frost snippets
you've been scratching on pages lately.

What I learned
after 398 pages of poorly constructed criticism and self help
is that the reason you aren't writing
isn't because you're scared you won't get published
you can't pick a subject
or you don't have any time.
"Don't try to dissect the moment, or it'll be gone."
The reason you can't write right now
is because you won't let yourself ****.
Be bad, have a beer, and eat a lot
it'll make you feel better
than writing something flawless the first time through.

I mean you already know everything you need to know by now.
So just write
and **** at it-
it'll be worth it.
Trust me.

I knocked my knee on the rod under the table.
I put a runner in my tights.
I licked my finger to wash the wound clean.
It stung for only a second.
Then it was as if it never happened.
The ditsy waitress with the blonde bun and bubblegum
was annoying me with the way she wouldn't pick up her feet.
She had a stupid Chinese tattoo on her wrist,
and like most of the world
she thought she could use a band aid as a cover up,
but nothing that obvious stays hidden that long
without being noticed.
And to top it all off, they burnt my tuna melt.

I got weird looks from people who passed,
catching the 50 Shades of Grey title on my book,
disgusted and pondering why
I would ever hold it up in a family restaurant.
The black man was eyeing me up in the corner.
The lady with the pink lipstick in her teeth thought I was erratic and disturbed.
The businessman thought it was merely for attention,
Well
jokes on them,
I did it just to **** them off.

That's when I looked over at you,
You were eating breakfast and a ****** cup of coffee.
It was 4 in the afternoon.
I could see your Captain America underpants
creeping out of your jeans without a belt.
I could see your eyes judging the newspaper headlines.
You seemed almost as unhappy as me.

So I went over and asked if you dropped the pen
I found in my pocket,
and when you didn't even look up at me to respond
I told you it was just a poor excuse to talk to you.
"I respect that,"
you said between bites of your omelet.
You glanced up at me for only a moment,
blue eyes, **** chin
probably expecting me to leave after the prolonged silence,
but I sat there unchanged,
I don't really pick up on social cues.

"You're pretty hot."
I guess neither do you.
I smiled something creepy, because I don't do it that often,
You didn't seem to mind.
Within two minutes you had me laughing,
saying stuff too loud,
and it was the first time
that I think I actually saw myself,
and I don't really even know you
but somehow, insanely
it feels like I already do.

You almost kissed me,
and you shouldn't have.
On the gingham tablecloth in the yellow light,
you lifted me from the counter top onto my feet
putting your hat on my head and tickling my ribs.
You know it's my sweet spot,
leads straight to my heart if you're gentle enough.
I told you to stop and you walked away,
eyes lingering on my bare skin between where my top ended on my waist
and where my dark denim jeans began to hug my hips.
I flipped my hair back around, joining in some conversation too late
between a girl drunk on grape juice and a wedding crasher straggler
in a forest green flannel with camel cigarettes in the pocket.
That's when you came back over and started yelling
some story that happened to you the night before.
You told it well,
the circle captivated, me mesmerized
by how blue your eyes stayed all this time without me noticing.
You  had the whole room laughing with your wit and stupid vernacular,
but I was smiling because you looked so beautiful in those drunken
honest moments
where I recognized the person beneath the banter
where I saw you.
I was saying my goodbyes to the carhartt boys and their one night girls
when you grabbed me by the hand and spun me around
like we were dancing,
pulled me in by your hand pressed on my shoulder blades
the other around my waist
I gasped as your lips almost touched mine,
but then you looked down at me
with those same blue eyes
and took a deep breath,
slowly letting your hands glide down my back then to your sides.
I just stared back at you,
wishing you'd forget the logic and put your hands back where they were,
tracing your lips with that almost kiss,
and I could feel how much you wanted to be in this moment
desperately searching for a way to my lips
but something stopped us.
And I think it was because we knew it would only lead to something messier
than where we were at
it would be a backwards romance, reversing our ***** footsteps
in something we've tried and tried to understand
that it never works out the way either of us plans.
We were both doing so well, moving on
but in that moment we almost gave all that strength up
gave into something too tempting and too wrong.
Because we can't really stay away from each other all that long.
I mean,
you almost kissed me
and you shouldn't have,
but I swear
I wish you would have.

Ignorance
is beautiful
when it's strung together with metal links
and hung like chains in the candlelight
so the world can see it glisten on the sour part
at just the right time.
My body,
liked to **** up that ignorance
late at night when the moonlight uncovered my hidden despair,
my secret wish that you could be mine,
so that I could pretend like it still didn't hurt that much,
like it still wasn't painful to open my eyes
when the sun came up.

When my future became blurry,
I found clarity in the comfort of the past
because truth is,
I knew it well.
So I opened the lock on the wrecking ball cabinet,
let it explode all over my life
burnt out all the flame remnants
with my fingers,
numb.
I let myself love this stencil someone
of everything I told myself I'd never give excuses to
no more,
because that was easier,
pure ignorance was more painless
than admitting
I still needed you,
after all these days.

I mean,
how is it we continue to want those that break us apart?
And why is it we can erasing the memories, tearing and tugging the stitches
but people still remain in our hearts?
I mean,
how is it after this complicated translation
I still want back to you,
I still want
you.

It didn't make sense to me,
and I cruelly didn't want it to make sense to you.
So I fragmentaly kept it covered in my safety guard,
my ignorance
because that's easier than sinking into innocence,
calling out help, tracing out apologies on your skin,
begging you to believe that trust is more than just
some cacophony I've prepared in the back of my soul.
It's easier than trying to get you to believe in me again.

I didn't want to admit that I needed you,
but I do.

Ignorance
is beautiful

when it's strung together with metal links
and hung like chains in the candlelight
so the world can see it glisten on the sour part
at just the right time.

I grew up in the same house, same town, same place
my entire life.
Big brick house with a cinnamon smelling winter and lavender summer,
tiny garden around the corner edge filled with baby red tomatoes and daddy's carrots.
I used to splash around in the puddles the cracks in our sidewalk made
after a huge storm until mommy yelled for getting my dress all muddy.
Always warm, filled with fire, hope, and being together
with someone known that one is never going to lose.
I used to fit behind the sofa in the living room during hide and seek,
but then I grew too big and everyone started to find me-
no more secrets.
I grew up in the comfortable security of a real home,
consistent with the idea of family and love behind circumstance.

Then I met you,
shaggy hair, grey sweatshirt innocence
with loose jeans and a smile that felt safe when directed at me.
You took me,
to your fourth house by now,
after some time.
I walked in to the aroma of wet dirt mixed with grass and beer,
cigarette smoke smells sunk deep into the brown couch
with puffy yellow stuffing popping out of the seams.
Wood walls left uncovered, rusty nails sticking out
living underneath the minimal television light.
I could hear your dad outside chopping word,
his wife coughing over the sound of doing the dishes
and whatever program she wasn't pretending to listen to.
You told me you used to stick your clothing tags underneath the coffee table,
but you had to leave it behind when you moved.
There's a stain on the carpet and dog hair stuck on my jeans.
You told me you used to collect bottle caps from holes you dug in the ground,
until your dad told you to fill them all back up
as quickly as you could.
It was cold in there, but someone
I felt warm.
And I realized that no matter where I was,
if I was laying in your strong arms wrapped around me
pool blue eyes tracing my smile when I laughed,
then I was home.
I had something to crash into after the disaster of the day,
complaining about things that don't really matter
until you shut me up the way you know I love you to.

I realized,
the pencil height measure walls, the hush-hush closet hideouts
aren't what makes it feel like home.
The *** and pan rock bands, the albums on the shelf
don't really matter,
if you have no one to call your own.
You
are my home.
Somewhere I feel safe, secure, never left alone.
Somewhere with you,
even if the future is left unknown
if I'm in your arms,
I know I'm home.

I can barely talk about you without my tongue
swelling up and my jaw clench too tight,
because no matter how much you like me
you're always going to love her.
You're apologizing for things you're never going to stop doing,
angrily saying you're sorry just because you think you should
even thought you know in time you'll be saying
the same lines over again.
You're an addiction that never leaves,
punching the glory out of my own self pride
washing the dignity away with every time
you show me what it's like to love somebody all wrong.
And no matter how much you like me,
no matter how many temptations you give into
or how many vulnerable nights you let me in
you're always going to love her.

I search for a star in your stomach sometimes,
seeing maybe the glow of it will radiate up your throat
onto your lips so I can kiss some celestial honesty
some reminder that maybe way deep down you feel for me
the way I always feel for you.
I caress your body catastrophe for some care,
feel your skin for some skipped heartbeat or uneven pulse
some gentle cue that maybe underneath it all you wouldn't want me to walk away
like I've thought about doing so many times.

It all collects to the poignant moment where I realize,
that never wanting to hurt somebody doesn't mean you won't
that believing in somebody doesn't mean they believe in themselves
and nakedly holding someone after beautiful movement intoxication
isn't love.
Finding something to cling to among the wreckage isn't some meaning,
hoping that one day maybe I'll be the one
isn't love.
It's a heavy like mixed with wanting to heal oneself with another.
It's a backwards devotion that takes shape in the awe of each other.
It's nothing worth giving life to if it's just messing with someone
you might honestly care for,
because you can't have the one you actually want.
It's buying time until the real thing comes home.
It's using someone
you might honestly care for,
because you can't stand the idea of being alone.
And it hurts, deeper than I know you ever meant it to
knowing your fake love is a lesson I never learned
and no matter how much you like me,
you're always going to love her.

it's these moments that I miss you,
when I'm sitting here and no one can seem to understand
no one looks at me the way you do
in the eyes, gentle smile, one hand in mine the other in my hair
letting me know that it was okay to fall apart
that I didn't have to be perfect
and no can seem to understand that
that I'm not perfect like I come off to be,
that I fake a good portion of the smiles I put on
and holding things in my hands is harder than it looks,
no one looks at me the way you do
and every time you do, it makes me want to be more
makes me want to try harder and fight longer
it's these moments that I miss you,
miss your voice telling me that it's all going to be okay
miss your words encouraging every phenomenal dream I have
miss your lips on my cheek when there aren't any words to make everything alright
miss your constant reassurance that this time
it wasn't going to fall apart
and I feel like I've missed my chance on you again
look I miss you
not just in these moments where I need someone to steal me away,
hide me from reality in the comfort of a chest to lay on and a hand to hold,
and whisper that no matter what happened you were never going to leave,
I miss you all the time
not just when I need you,
but when I don't need you
because no one looks at me the way you do
like I'm worth it, like I'm not insane, like it doesn't matter if I'm good enough
I miss you
and I feel like I've missed my chance on you again
I've missed my part two
and you've already taken my heart with you.

I’m easily annoyed
Some things just make me want to scream
Like why it is birds are stupid enough to fly into clear things, like windows
Why leaves seem to be the only things I like that change,
And no matter how many times they do
They always grow back the same.
Some things just amaze me
Like how many things a hand can hold
Or the way people can mask themselves like criminals
Just stealing the honesty right out of every moment,
The way truth is robbed without even speaking.
Some things just make me want to hurl
Like why it is people’s minds are so **** *****
And why it is we find it so **** funny.
Why it is we cuss for emphasis, we hit for impact,
And we love openly for fear of being lonely.
Some things just **** me
Like you
And your big dumb smile,
Your big dumb hands
Or your big dumb heart
They **** me because I want them
To have everything to do with me
Like hold me in a way my body isn’t used to
Or kiss me in a way my lips have never felt
Some things just confuse me,
Like why it is on this earth everything *****
But you
Everything annoys me,
But you
and the only thing I want
Is you.

I want to blow your mind

kissing you just because you're cute

and just because I want to.

I want to shock you

with the heat in my hands

that warm your cold arms

because it's after midnight

and you've just got a white t-shirt on

drinking stuff

even though it's too strong.

I want to knock the wind out of you,

take your breath away,

with the simple way I look at you.

I want you to push me down

just so you can catch me right before I fall,

and I know what they say about you

that you're flimsy and don't have any real feelings

other the one's you feel in your pants,

but I want to hold you because  I shouldn't

I want to kiss you because I can't

I want to be with you

because I know I never could be.

Some nights
it's hard to sleep
when your memories
are lying next to me
shaped like an outer mold
that holds me like you used to
Some nights
it's hard to sleep
when I'm crumbling
at the ends of all your skeletons
haunting the emptiness
of this bed
Some nights
it's hard to sleep
when your lovers mark
is still stained on the sheets
Some nights
it's hard to sleep
when your memories
are lying next to me
shaped like an outer mold
that holds me like you used to