I am so tired of this white earth
so weary of the cold that keeps
tiptoeing under my skin
I want to feel the sun in my eyes
the grass beneath my feet
knowing that the planet is awake
I want the breeze to stroke
my cheeks
to tangle and untangle my hair
to give a wisp of life than to
numb my friends to their demise

(I wish this poem sounded
as beautiful as the one
that was in my mind)

I want to see the analogous
of nature
the complementary colors
of summer
and the monochromatic
hues of the sea

I want to be engulfed in
a lover's embrace, not the
warmth of a knit afghan

I want to smile again
I want no anxiety
            no duty
            no selective mutism
            to hold me back

I just want to be free,
or maybe I just want to go home.

Spill over the top,
let me drink your insides so they become mine
once more.
We were all the same once but that was before
our parents decided to donate fingers
to the place on their gravestones engraved
forever yours.

And I still see you sitting there
pipe in hand
burnt lavender floating through your veins
just how you floated through mine
every day when we were a lesser age.

You're the only reason I am,
and I am nothing.

I laid out a smooth brown blanket
to comfort the scales
flowing through my laptop speakers
five hundred and thirty-two times every second.
Two more times is disarray,
One hundred less leaves you crystalline,
like water,
pouring from the sink
into tupperware cups,
gurgling,
heated,
tea.
We both just need a little tea.

The scene sways to double voices,
and the library stillness
draws dull attention into
warbling intricacy
flitting amongst television feelings.
A surface connection
waits at half the distance
to every pretty looking girl
that passes by.

But the cracks are the most interesting.
In sidewalks,
in streets,
in spirit.
I'd let their faults divide them
into one of the sixteen trash bins
on the way to class.
It's only past,
and the significance is imprinted
upon the present.

And I guess it's a heavy cotton flannel kind of day.
One dissociated from hard wood,
where the metal corners
nestle in a thick layer of fabric,
and embrace it.
The heavy cotton clouds only embrace for so long,
the fog replicates familiar separation anxiety
in the early morning consistency.
Midnight swells from the left
to steal the rays from my room.

With toes seeping between
yellow blanket and
quilted leaves

shirt front ripped beneath
blue-white crossed pattern

With newfound treaty between
******* and
poetry

I know I am okay.

Breathe.

"You're so much more to me than you may think."

It caused that pit,
in between my rib cage,
to split, and pour out reasons why I'm a mistake,

You classified our argument as a falling out,
but in fact I began to fall for you,
and the pavement of your harsh reality,
broke my fall,
and crushed every bone in my body.

So how can anybody expect me to be preoccupied
with the idea of evolution,
when all I wanted was to evolve
into something worth keeping around.

Your eyes devastate me.
They split my veins,
and burn my trachea with all the bitter regrets I hold to myself concerning you.

I wish I could talk to you straight,
but you and I,
we're more alike than I'd prefer to believe.

We both hide behind metaphors,
sarcastic personas.
witty comebacks,
sly sayings,
and smiles that mask our true feelings.

Crunch my toes in an effort to rise to my lips,
steal my breath, and
grasp my waist to keep me from falling.

When you said you could never go anywhere with me emotionally,
it broke me.
That tiny piece of myself I had left,
that sliver of sanity that held onto the idea
that you would stand by my side,
unlike my regretful family,
disregarding family,
and ashamed shadow.

You left as I tripped on my self esteem and pride,
in an attempt to hold your hand in public.

For Christ's sake,
your  lips are the sweetest thing I've tasted,
and I've never enjoyed kissing,
because it's sloppy,
and pointless,
but with you,
your lips are medication that keeps my heart beating.

You were my sunrise,
and sunset,
and I'm sorry if that's corny,
but my harvest clock revolved around you.

I'm sorry I wasn't enough.
Just please ,
please,
Tell me the truth behind your egotistical walls that you bare up in an effort to keep the daring out.

In the 6th grade,
I read a book about a man who climbed Mount Everest,
and I've been dangerously daring ever since.

Let me in,
and kiss me as if you never wanted anything more.

I guess I'm not enough.