a.) a crossed off to-do list
b.) crumpled toilet paper, used as a tissue
c.) white paper, rumpled but never used
d.) raisins
e.) sins
f.) a green plastic bottlecap, inscribed with the waves of a far away sea
g.) a mechanical pencil, out of lead
h.) a bobby pin, rendered useless due to short hair
i.) a small piece of string
j.) the small piece of my heart which contained affection for my father
k.) just kidding, that never existed
l.) the sleeves i cut off of a tshirt
m.) the heart i cut off of my sleeve
n.) a ****** poem about alcoholism
o.) the self loathing that weighed me down for nearly a year
p.) a list of the different gym classes available
q.) q tips, in the interest of alliteration
r.) one very old, very ***** sock

it hurts to love someone
in general
there are a lot of specifics

II. Specifics
to the locked doors
to the sweaty palms
and the ones curled up under blankets
to the crackling speakers
to the ***** running shoes
the razor burn, the entitlement, the beige
your bonds are made of scotch tape, gauze,
and the trips to the guidance office you keep quiet
the solemn solitude which you maintain
will cast you away, more than screaming ever could.
it is hard to save a drowning person
because they thrash and fight and choke
it is harder still, when you are small and
covered in a downy coat of ideals

my words
splinter and die
rodent feet
pointing ramrod into the
smeared horizon of prose
frozen with rigor mortise and
dread, dread, dead
in a lingering way,
completely unlike the
clean bleach
coffin sealed
pool of blood way
you idealize
this is
rotting and putrid,
there is no
embalming fluid
for bad poetry

i found out
another friend is
Sad
with a capital 's', with capital weight
heaviness, of a bomb dropped
into glowing memoriam
sorrys and thanks, in equal measures
the world is
a little off kilter, a little
straighter
now
the sky still disassociates with the earth, in the morning
a membrane of white
stitched by avian sillouettes
awhiles whittling into brittle tones
paneling the arching of our spines
and
the italicized whir points out the
jagged smoothness
of sighs

there is a hollow space
in the valley of your sloping
shoulders,
'tween your ribs
and i
will always
want to be there

sometimes
i dont know what to write down
sometimes
the papers too thin and
sometimes
it's the words
sometimes
i want to cry and theres
sometimes
when i can't.
sometimes
i can figure it out but
sometimes
when it comes to
sum time
it just doesn't add up
sometimes
when there is
sometime
before i'm gone
i take
some time
to remind myself how alright life is and
sometimes
it isnt but thats only
sometimes
and i really really want you to be okay
because these are some times
these lives, and youve had
some time
but not enough, not NEARLY enough.
sometimes
i don't know what to tell you.
sometimes,
you only listen for
some time,
and i don't know how to heal these wounds except with
some time.
but there are
some times when we're running OUT of time, but
sometimes,
there's too much, there are
sometimes
when the rain outweighs the
sun's time
and you're lost, but just give me
some time.
there will be some times
you'll be grateful you stuck around for
sometime
longer.
sometimes,
i won't be there but
sometimes,
maybe, you'll remember me
some, times
when you'll be happy, and those
some times
long ago, will be
some time
behind you.
sometimes,
you'll cry and
sometimes,
you won't because
sometimes
there isn't anything to cry over.

(sometimes
you won't know what to write down.
sometimes
the papers too thin and
sometimes,
it's the words.)