Gatsby was in love;
completely infatuated
with another being

The way he looked at her
with his anxious eyes
exhibited a love that couldn't be greater
And
the words he spoke
emitted such fondness
for her rosy lips against his
as he whispered sweet stories
that he irresistibly imagined
of their future together

he fell so in love--
he fell so tragically and desperately
in l o v e--
he lost himself completely
and became absent
in his own consciousness
trusting false hopes,
refusing to let go of what would
never be his
and if this insanity is what they call
true love--
if this is what one experiences
when such passion takes over--
then I, too
have gone Gatsby for you.

Back then
I bought you some cigarettes.
you always craved another
Even after a few hours had passed.
The smoke dove into your body
And flew back out into the air
As your lovely lips
Set it free;
I was always so fascinated-
But I swore to myself
I'd never get into such a habit
Because I would hate to get addicted
To such a silly thing

Now
I no longer have someone
So alluring to observe;
I picked up my first cigarette,
brought it to my mouth
And held it the way you taught me to.
As I inhaled my strain
And released my tension with the smoke
I felt the hum of relief travel
From the top of my head
To the tips of my toes--
I had only held it once
And I knew I'd become addicted
To such a silly thing
much like the way I had gotten addicted
To you

I miss you
in what feels like a more
mature, grown-up way
right now.
I no longer feel the
urge
to angrily message you
or call you and
cry.
I haven't checked on you
as much,
and I kissed another boy
without comparing him
to you.
I suppose this is what
falling out of love
feels like.

I'm not quite there,
though.
Because
there are still those nights
where I become a sad,
little girl again
wishing you were holding me
and whispering things
in my ear--
things that were
supposed to
be.

I always hated my freckles.
They sat on my face like splattered paint, something everyone noticed. Some girls would gawk at them and I remember thinking, “if only I could peel them off like stickers and give them away.” Their words went in one ear and out the other. My desire to have plain cheeks was screaming so loud I almost couldn’t hear their compliments.
You were different.
It was our first date. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of your perfectly chiseled face and almost missed it when you said, “your freckles.”
I had spent so much time on my hair and choice of clothing, and the one thing you noticed were my freckles. I hoped you wouldn’t talk about how many I had or ask why I even had any or what I did to make them look so faint or—
“They’re extremely cute.”
That’s all it took. My train of thoughts halted on its tracks and might have even started moving backwards in confusion. Your words didn’t go in one ear and out the other. They stayed there and sunk into my head, making themselves at home.
I heard you say these things time and time again, each time only feeling lovelier. You would trace my freckles with the tips of your fingers as you whispered how many beautiful constellations you could make out on my face without having to take a single step outside. You kissed each and every one until you had kissed them all twice and we were laughing out loud. You told me how each one was so lucky to be with me forever and that you could only hope for the same.
Then one day you left without warning. You placed the three bittersweet words on my shoulder and left a kiss on the right corner of my lips, then my cheek. When you kissed my cheek I was only left with my freckles. I was left with me. And just like that, I hated myself again.
I cried like a child that day and the many days that followed.
After a week, I finally got the courage to look myself in the face. I walked into the bathroom and quickly rinsed my puffy face with a cold, wet washcloth. I set it down when I was done and looked up. I saw my cheeks and the constellations you had made up on each side. The memory of you struck the worst kind of pain upon my heart and I broke down for the hundredth time. I looked up to try and see the stars again, but I only saw my tear drops smearing the splattered paint that had been sitting on my face all along. I always hated my freckles.

It’s only
7:30pm
and my head is
thundering
as if it were
3:59am.

Sometimes I wish the
lightning would just
*******
strike
and end this
******* storm.

most love life
most fear death

but why fear one thing
when the other is what
creates it

we have become
misread glances
silent arguments
over analyzed messages
inevitable encounters and
bitter reminiscence
I guess
you and I will always be
unfinished business

The trembling of my hands
And the stillness of yours
Always worried me.
I swear my heart cracked
Every time you said something
You weren't so sure of.
The crevices only grew larger
With every missed glance
And empty promise,
Losing myself along with them
piece by piece.
You started causing
Small earthquakes in my chest
Making me question
If I was strong enough 
For not only the both of us,
But for myself.
I got lost somewhere in between
Our midnight phone calls and
Shared cigarettes in the afternoons.
You made me forget I was
Building walls for protection,
Letting you subconsciously break them down
Without my knowing.
The endless storms in my head
And the disasters in my soul
Have become too much--
You brought the final quake
That broke my heart
When you spoke during what would have been
A perfect moment
And all I heard
Was carelessness. 
It's not that I wasn't expecting this,
I suppose I just irrationally delayed preparation
In hopes of your seismic words
Impossibly leaving a positive impact.

Ever since you left
I've been trying to go back
To how I was before
I ever met you

I've been trying to smile
And I've put extra effort
towards being happy

I've been so deep
Inside my mind
That I've nearly
D r o w n e d
Searching for the shore

But as I lay on my bed
And listen to the guitar strings
Plucking from my stereo
I sense a familiar feeling
Of sadness

Perhaps I've always been this way
And you were simply

A distraction.

I am quite fond of
walking down the busy streets
filled with intricate trinkets to buy and
unique people to see, and of
running through the markets
like a nomad among
unknown souls.
But
more than anything,
I miss the green mountains that
run as far as the eye sees,
and the vast, blue sky that races
with the summer breeze.
I remember rides in that old, white truck;
grandfather always gripping
the steering wheel through the endless
twists and turns.
The trees within vision would all blur together,
blending their leaves as if
Mother Nature's paintbrush
was glazing the car window
with several shades of green.
When the truck came to a stop
the dragonflies floated over to rest
upon the rear-view mirrors
while the butterflies dances among the trees, and
I would scurry out of the vehicle
to see the view of the
quiet mountain-tops
as the rattle of cicadas
hummed past my ears.
What a breath-taking sight it was,
and still must be.
High above the world,
away from all the fuss,
feeling as if one
truly
existed.
A brief moment of winsome reality...
so rare, but indeed,
so real.
Oh how I wish
I could exist
like so,

forever.

The kisses you
planted on my lips
have not been cared for
since your absence
and have failed
to bloom the happiness I
once had growing in
the darkest parts of my soul.

i.

I sat down at the piano alone on stage and
played my favorite melody at the time
The notes echoed in my ears and sent a smooth buzz
through my veins
I felt someone’s presence and turned my head to see your eyes
following my fingers that eventually stopped dancing on the keys
You looked up,
our eyes met,
and I was never the same

ii.

Your name lit up my phone and my heart nearly skipped a beat
I opened the message; a cue for me to come out and meet you
We took a silent drive to the restaurant, our only words being
"I like your shoes" and "thank you"
Before I could reach for the door handle
you opened the door for me
and I already liked you more than the minute before
We sat at the table and ordered food that became cold anyway
since we preferred getting to know the strangers we saw in each other
that chilly, Saturday night
"I can tell I’m going to like you a lot," you said
I smiled, hoping you weren’t lying
Thank god you really weren’t

iii.

I was terrified of your mother when I first met her
I think I always will be
Your father is a favorite of mine, though
I enjoyed spending time at your home
I remember you were sick one day, so we went to your living room couch
and watched It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia
as my fingers danced upon your neck in slow, gentle motions
with your head comfortably resting on my lap
We had a blanket covering the both of us and your father came in
and thanked me for taking care of you
When you fell asleep that was the first time I had seen
an angel in human form
I haven’t seen another one since

iv.

I had never smoked in my life
—**** or cigarettes—
and you happened to have both
I was always curious about cigarettes
so I tried those first
I hated it but I didn’t cough
and you called me a champion
We eventually smoked some of your
beautiful greens
and I felt it settle in my body and lift up my head
I turned to look at you and instead
our lips met
and we rolled over into a trance
I’ve never quite gotten out of

v.

Back and forth, back and forth
our lips gently played together
then our hands
then our legs
until our bodies intertwined
You laid me down and kissed my neck
then my chest
then my stomach
and you slid your hands under my sweater as I slipped mine
under yours
Our eyes met once again and I whispered
"please"
slowly removing what garments were
unneccessary—
You nodded your head, grasped my face, and kissed me again
except this time around I felt a stronger sensation
It ran through my body and escaped through my mouth
There was something breathtaking about the way you
said my name
and when someone else says it
it doesn’t feel the same

I didn't believe in
Heaven or Hell
until you

grasped my face
and kissed me,

then left me and
forgot me.

Orwell once said, “All writers are vain, selfish and lazy, and at the very bottom of their motives lies a mystery. Writing what we live is a long, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand.”

I am the demon
who I can neither
resist nor
understand.

You can reprehend me
all you want,
but please
don't smear my words.

They're my
feelings,
my world;
the only written whispers
I know to be
true.

You and I
will never be anything more than
a disaster.
A part of us,
the past us,
lie dead somewhere we can
never go back to even if we wanted to.
We have become
nothing.
The poison has sunk in and has
let any possibilities for anything
steady or consistent 
completely impossible,
and we are
nothing.
I've been hollow and empty,
but I've come to form a
liking to it.
I don't want love.
I don't.

Nothing

is exactly
what I want.

I can't write beautifully or with heart anymore and it makes my soul feel like it's drowning in the merciless sea that my mind has become

Never did I ever think
I'd be the very thing
that has caused
all of my fears
to exist

I have passed you by
Many times before,
And with each and every time
I wish I would have
The ******* courage
To say more than
Pitiful mutters
That sound like meaningless words
When we get the chance
To speak.

You're in my head when I see movies
You're in my head when I read lines
You're in my head when I exhale
You're in my head when I see lovers
And I'm probably not even in yours.

One cigarette
Is usually all the time
I have,
Burning my seconds
And words as I try to
Come up with
Something
For you...

It's funny how many
let the killers in
But block out the possible
Opportunities
with the smoke-

Oh god,
is it silly of me
To want something
to spark from these
Week old ashes?

Stick me between your teeth
And burn me,
Inhale me,
to the filter.

They always say that
"Nothing gold can stay."
I remember a couple of years ago
when the sun set for the day,
and the golden flames' absence
made the night seem much too long.
I wanted the stars and the tears
to pass
and I held my own hand.
But the sun came back
and peaked through my blinds, saying hello.
I knew I had another day
and I was stronger.
I remember having a bad dream one night:
My parents were in a room full of nothing
having an awful fight.
I awoke with fear,
my mind in a wreck. I thought they were done,
but my nightmares weren't right--nowhere near.
That morning at breakfast,
I saw her golden ring.
It sat comfortably on her left ring finger
as she smiled at my father like he was an angel,
but without wings.
Maybe I've been lucky
to see the sun's golden rays
shine in the morn until the end of the days,
and maybe it's not so common
for that golden circle to stay on most hands,
and perhaps peoples' lives don't always go as planned

But trust me when I say,
"I've seen that gold can stay."