While i was guaranteed eternal advice and happiness in my exclusive group of friends at our tri-weekly lunches and weekend clubbings, I simultaneously indulged myself in the pleasure of being surrounded by an erroneous kind of couple, the lesbians.  Stefanie and Andy were the token lesbians in our group of friends.  Token lesbians proved to be a great asset to our group for warding off unwanted straight guys looking for a way too easy lay.  My friendship with Stef and Andy would give me my way in to all of the lesbian and gay bars in the city notorious for their ***** ***** martinis laced with desire and chilling excitement on pretty girls drink free everyday.  Whenever i needed that "unique" night out on the beautiful New York town, Stef and Andy were right there to buy my first beer.  Everyone has to have that one token gay couple, no matter man or woman.  Some of us choose to flaunt our outrageous choice of friends all over the most elite restaurants and parties across Manhattan as a way to boost our inner self-esteem; while others specifically keep them around to ******* our conservative elders who refuse to give over our much deserving trust funds.  Stef, Andy and i had been friends for nearly eight years.  I met Stef on my first day of working at the Times, she was a fellow new employee fresh out of intern training hell.  From day one, we stuck together like glue knowing that if we played our cards right and made friends with the archangels of New York literary heaven, eventually we'd see the light of God.  We had thought the hazing of interning at this stress packed **** hole was horrifying but we had only experienced a slit of what true work was.  The slaving over deadlines and editorial reviews had cut our souls in half and drained our eyes of tears.  Stepping out of one of the most powerful buildings in New York, the fresh smell of cigarettes and brandy flowing through the opening and shutting doors of the nearest bar half a block away.  Given the name and outer decor was a huge signal that this place was not somewhere i would usually find myself after work on a Friday night, the offer of "first round on me" boggled my thought process.  Stef persuaded me to walk alongside her as we paraded our way through the busy rush hour traffic of guilty hubbies simply wishing to get home and bang the life out of their trophy wives in hopes that their women would forget the minor incident involving someone else's lingerie ending up in the ***** clothes on Wednesday morning.  Boredom had overtaken me personally as well earlier that week when i overheard Stef confirm with someone named "Andy" that she'd be at "The Heel" as soon as she could leave this "constipated place of crap".  Much to my surprise, my third eye skills lacked as I was under the impression that A) "Andy" was a boy, B)  Stef was straight, and C) I would end up going home with one lucky bachelor tonight who made the wrong mistake of being able to order a ***** *** and coke on ice and dance like his *** drive depended on it.  Fortunately, I was wrong on all of the above and while i was repeatedly hit on by pixie cut after pixie cut, i lost my gay bar virginity, gained my token lesbian couple, and went home tipsy as a homeless man on Fifth Avenue.

Some people were naturally graceful
She was not
But
She taught herself how to be;
She taught herself the powers of
intimidation by ****** tension,
gracefulness,
and how to look like an iceberg was harboring your heart at all hours of the day
She taught herself how to
flare her nostrils and
elongate her eyes to where they scared the living **** out of you
but turned you on just as well
She taught herself how to
steal hearts and
break necks and
fill eyes with lust
She taught herself how to look like a ******* bat straight out of hell
but god forbid
that she teach herself how to love
She was a glorified bachelorette,
a dignified eye catcher;
And if anyone could say no to a diamond ring
and a promise of forever,
She could;
And that scared him more than the prospect of ***
with one woman
for the rest of his life

12 AM silent tears, matty hair, wet cheeks, exhausted sockets
1 AM runny nose, hushed sobs, escaping eyelashes
2 AM car horns, brisk winds, rising goose flesh
3 AM screams, pain, quiet
4 AM unsteady breathing, ripping apart of pearl necklaces
5 AM cocking of a pistol's safety
6 AM whiskey breath, ***** tongue, an empty orange juice carton
7 AM chattering of neighbors and schoolchildren
8 AM shouts of husbands and wives briefly forgetting how to love each other
9 AM ringing of flower shop cashiers, whistling of tea kettles
10 AM guilt, ample remorse for the undead
11 AM business lunches, speedy dates, short ***** to pass the time
12 PM recollections of a first kiss in Central Park, replay of 12 hours ago
1 PM promises to meet for dinner someday, hair salon gossip
2 PM chiming of church bells, unanswered prayers to invisible gods who doubt your purity
3 PM catcalls, ignored pleas of attention
4 PM passing of verdicts, granting freedom
5 PM wasted apologies, divorce papers being signed
6 PM an old woman's sheets ruffling for a final time, descendance of the sun
7 PM lighting of street lamps, laughter over pizza, beers and a dining room table
8 PM locked doors, readings of bed-time stories
9 PM whispers of "I love you", murmurs of "I'm sorry", snores of a newborn
10 PM breaking bottles, crashing glass, foggy windows, smoky glances
11 PM blood stained clothes, yells of fear,
            the sounds of a lonely girl running into a busy city street

She doesn't know you like I do.
She doesn't know the real you.
The you that has a cute little birthmark just above your right elbow.
The you that has scars trailing up and down your left arm
from those times where your world was spinning so fast,
you just couldn't handle it.
The you that is beautiful without even trying.
The you that gets drunk every once in a while, loses control and goes insane.
The you that has adorable toes.
The you that has that tattoo on your left shoulder to show
that you don't settle for anything less than what you deserve.
The you that always has to shower the morning after ***.
The you that once sat in front of an oncoming car
speeding towards you,
at 75 miles per hour,
because you didn't think you were worth living for.
The you that picks at your nails with your teeth.
The you that has to vigorously brush your teeth after making love.
The you that is searching for a person to make a home out of and lay your heart in.
The you that bats his eyelashes and blushes easily when pretty girls brush past him.
The you that is 17 years old and still hasn't started shaving,
because your parents no longer trust you with sharp objects.
The you that once played the sweetest melody my ears have ever heard,
but stopped when you found out that Mozart had never found love.
The you that just wants reassurance that all of this mayhem and chaos,
is worth living for.
She doesn't know you like I do.
And I know that nothing is guaranteed in life,
but baby,
I promise you,
that she doesn't have a **** clue who the real you is.
She doesn't know you like I do.

If you are the very reason that I awake
From a deep and torturous slumber every morning;

If you are the rays of light to my sun;

If you are the goosebumps to my low temperature;

If you are the skin of the apple that I had for lunch on Wednesday;

If you are the soles of my shoes;

If you are the dust underneath my bed that is really just dead, old skin;

If you are the breath of life that a lifeguard gives a drowning victim;

If you are the fire coursing through my veins making its way into my heart;

If you are the demon and angel on my shoulders,
Bickering about my choosing the road less traveled by;

If you are the pen to my poetry;

If you are the frostbite left on my fingers from waiting out in the cold too long For you to come back;

If you are the edge of a butterfly's wings flapping past me aiming for my palms;

If you are the love of my life;

Then what am I?

The right answer, is

I Am Everything To Myself
And Nothing To You.

Sometimes I wonder if my first mistake in loving you was getting to actually know you.
Know you like the back of my hand,
And then realizing just now,
That there is the tiniest freckle in that wrinkly area between my thumb and pointer finger
And I have been alive and barely breathing for 14 years but I never noticed that speck.
Or if my first mistake in loving you was
Introducing you to my friends as the boy I was talking to at 4 am on school nights
And the boy that I had just promised I was "done with" 2 days ago
At Elizabeth's house because I saw you kissing Karly behind the bleachers on Thursday.
But right now, I am standing in front of 20 somewhat people,
Questioning if my first mistake in loving you was
Watching you **** me 1 month into our strenuous relationship,
I don't mean the *** was bad,
I'm just saying it wasn't the best either,
And that you probably could've done better.
Or maybe you couldn't have,
Your ***** was a bit small.
I'm just explaining that I think if I had loved you correctly,
Then the *** wouldn't have made me question if no actually means no
And whether or not the height of my skirt made your ***** decide that it was getting through My lace ******* one way or another that night.
I'm not telling you that I regret it, because I don't.
I don't regret things.
I don't regret things.
I don't regret things.
But I do regret you,
And I do regret walking out of the house in that mini leather skirt despite my mother's Objections,
Even though I should be free to walk around my city wearing whatever ******* clothes I want To,
Without worrying over whether or not I'm asking to be ***** at
Dickpoint.
So the question is if I really didn't love you,
Which at this point of the poem,
I don't I think I ever did,
Then who made the first mistake in our relationship?
And boy, you better take the blame for it this time,
Because I am an angel.
And I will not claim this loss as a loss,
But in fact as a win,
Because I deserve better than this.
I deserve better than regret.
I deserve better than ****.
I deserve better than you.
I deserve better than your *****.
I deserve better than your uncomfortable hands.