Mentally, I started titling my poems
“If you only knew…”
the minute that you left

See, we were more like
Mother Nature’s children
Than we thought

Both of us polluted
Like the Ocean, I’m so full of this
Trash that everyone seems to leave me with

You were like poisoned vines,
Twisted and full of thorns
And roses you hide from the light

We built a garden though,
psychedelic and shining through the nights
we always stayed up
late for

Three psychics told me I’d love you
And one of them
In a dying breath told me you’d be
A rose

Boy was he right
I pricked myself just to
Hold you and adore you
Every single time
And I’d do it again

See, gardening takes work
So I cultivate this imaginary love
I hold something fragile every day and
Practice moving slowly enough
Not to break it

I listen to strangers talk
Until I’m bored and I keep….on….
Listening
So that I never miss another word
Love speaks

I look at myself in the mirror
And I find something beautiful
So that I can try to grasp
At how it felt the few times you
Actually looked at me like
I was (AM) a flower too.

I AM A ROSE TOO, ******* IT

I breathe you in like the fragrance
Of these roses that bleed my heart dry
And I wish you cut yourself on my poetry
Half as hard as we both have cut ourselves
Wishing we could bleed out whatever
Makes us undesirable

If only you knew
That I hungered for the few times
You came and watered me with your tears
Nourished my roots with your lips
Rolled around in the dirt
And loved our garden

….More than you loved her.

The night is still
Holding it's breath
In anticipation of the charcoal clouds
That are rolling in
Like a rising tide,
And with whips and cracks
The skies break their banks
And rain pours forth
From the heavens
And the clouds collide
Like gunshots in the air,
Bones breaking against wind,
Light scatters across the atmosphere
A haze of purple and blue
Fleeting, but brilliant
Passionate, but deadly
A tremor that shakes the walls
Of brick and stone houses
A wound ripped in the sky
Electrical blood seeping through
the cracks and crevices.
The storm is upon you.

Take my ashtrays
and throw them in the street
where the ratty, shirtless children play,
sure
go ahead
drop my keys down storm drains
never to be seen again
when the skies all open up
and the rain pours out of them
it will be like you
showering me in your glances
from the other side of the desk
this train has no known destination
and I can’t make out the turns from drops
but I do know that we’ve been off track
for a few miles now
and that this boxcar is dark and dusty
no breathing room to light a fire
no time for the canned food
******* I am really lost
China st is closing in all around me
and I could have sworn I’ve seen these houses before
phantoms from some long lost dream
teasing the fringes of my memory
this necklace sitting on my desk
amid the ash and dust and ink and carvings
is my favorite thing I don’t own
my tongue is the frayed leash
which allows my mind to wander
off on infinite miles in every direction
My heart is a drum
sitting in the back corner
of a garage sale
and my words and my cigarettes have a lot in common
because inevitably
I just end up
blowing smoke

The sun and flowers
didn't seem to
       shine today.
But the smile
upon my face
                      did.

I want to be your
favorite song
on the B-side
of and old record.

                And I want to
    inspire you
to tap your feet.

                  The same way you
make my heart thump
         in an off-tempo beat.

I have an obsession with depression
When the sun makes summer days everlasting
and I'm left grasping at melancholy ideas
my mind slips back into it's natural state
self-hate will forever govern my fate
and I'm tired of living like it's all okay
and that I'm supposed to live a certain way
I'm over the monotony and hopeless love
that can't be found because constantly flirting and
never getting anywhere is doing nothing but hurting my
already shattered heart while the dreams that I once had
that people convinced me were bad have all been beaten down to more realistic goals based off of what I've always been told.
When I stop doing what is expected of me
that's when I can finally see
my true self gasping for air in the pit of my stomach where
I pushed it so long ago;

clawing to get out.