I’m sorry

that the chills live on the bones in your spine
and that they invade the soft skin that rests upon your neck


I am sorry

that the frost finds you at night
and whispers lies in your ear, and i’m sorry you believe them

I am so sorry.

you are not damaged
and you will always matter

but you do not know that
not after they not after i told you differently

....................................................­..................

and i hate that the snow stays frozen in your pockets
the same snow that has been there for years

you are so cold, so cold
i don’t feel your stares anymore

i don’t think you feel at all

i guess you’ve been this way a while now
i can see your breath when you speak

but you don’t speak very often
not anymore

i think your heart might be stopping
i think it might’ve stopped

encased in a jail made of icicles
that i planted there

i am so sorry
i am so sorry

look at what you’ve become
a hollow body with a crippled heart

and a love so painfully numb.

I continue to lay in bed
Regardless of the lack of sleep it brings me
Hoping that someday my body will feel comforted enough to fall into a slumber
As if the bags under my eyes
And the stiffness of my muscles
Weren't enough to let my body know it's time to rest
If only my mind would stop running
Then maybe I could feel tranquil
But the anxiety I experience is sharp
And my thoughts cannot feel peace

I really enjoy school,
like, really REALLY enjoy school.
Aside from the insurance of a happier future, which will come in time,
there's also that guarantee of a happier time, which is now,
which is whenever she's around.

Whenever she's around, I do better, simple as that.
It's the simplest fact, she motivates me.
She motivates me to get that 100%, to do more than just pass,
to get A's as straight as Rulers used in geometry class,
Shout out to Mrs. L!

And you know what isn't enough?
7 periods in a day.
Give me 10 more commas, a hyphen, anything, to help me catch my breath –
she's taken it all, and with it she ran away.

She takes notes as efficiently as the way she passes them to me.
I'd study our nation's entire timeline, and still make time for dinner and a movie.

She makes me smile like there were helium balloons tied to the ends of my lips,  
balloons, red like my cheeks, as they touch the ends of your fingertips,

But before it can rise  past the stratosphere,
Take my hand, let's get out of here,
I don't need to be in chemistry class,
We've already taught each other that,
and truthfully my dear,

we've got a bond stronger than H2O.

So drown me in memories we've made,
and hold me under the ones we will.

If I have to be wherever you are, no matter how far, I'll be there still.

You make perfect attendance so **** easy to me.

xoxo

I got to wondering the other day,
I wondered if you still have my t-shirts,
Do they still smell like me?
Do they smell like cologne, youth and regret?

I’ve gotten older, but clearly haven’t gotten smarter,
I clearly haven’t learned to avoid touching stoves
Or walking in traffic
Or poking beehives

**** your institutions,
**** your distance,
And **** your rules,
Because this heart couldn’t care less

The heart wants what the heart wants,
And what the heart wants is to **** me,
It wants to turn the clocks back,
It wants to be less of an *******,
It wants anything but this emptiness,
Anything at all but this…

Please don’t call me beautiful
when your hands are between my legs,
and god forbid you say it as a seg-way
between you’re so hot
and my caution, your response
you’re sure you don’t want to?
I’m pretty sure the way my body looks,
nineteen and stress-infused with an Oreo belly
isn’t really what you pictured beneath my blouse,
and I’m positive you didn’t listen
to the story about my dad and the bad prom dress
because you cared. It was just sentiment. You said it was beautiful,
but really you wanted me to believe the act
like a description in the Playbill
and ride that trust all the way until the curtain dropped.
Please don’t call me beautiful
when the word ******* is before it
or if we are ******* because making love
is for married couples and you don’t even want me
sticking around for the ****** sunrise that peers
underneath your shade every morning.

Tell me I’m beautiful when I’m crying—
crack me open and watch the colors bleed
like a painting that hasn’t dried. Admire
the light that peaks through the clear parts
like a windowpane, no blinds.
Tell me I’m beautiful when I’m laughing,
when I’m reading my favorite part of a book,
when I’m stuffing my face with peanut-butter
pretzel bites and I haven’t washed my sheets in weeks,
and I’ll know you can’t be lying
because I’ve listened to the waves your heart makes
when you’re sleeping and I’ve called your smile
to the surface many times when you’ve tried
to deflect it back inside. You’ll know that
and you’ll know I’m beautiful.  
Call me beautiful
when you’re not even trying.
Call me beautiful when you’re by yourself
and the smell of my hair is still on your pillow,
or the memory of how dumb I sounded
singing my favorite song breaks your heart back
to the best little pieces.