A home of fallen dreams
and wishes made upon dead stars
of feathers and fungal dreams
brushing gently your tendril wings
rearranging your wisps of hair
like ghostly fingers
in thin air

i used to fear the day someone else fills the gap between your fingers where mine used to be
how painful for me to watch someone learn about you when i know even the most basic of things like how you want your coffee done
little does she know, i've heard the same things you've said to her once or twice before
i hope she straightens out the creases on your bed only to ruffle them up again as if i was never there
tell me though, have you thrown out our pictures in your wallet to save space for your new ones with her?
i also can't help but wonder how many times she has to kiss you in order to wipe me away from your lips
and lastly, no matter how much this may pierce through my entire being...
please ignore me as i count the tears that stream down my cheek each time you tell her you love her

Balloon head girl...
With eggs for eyes and
Sharpie lips,,
Don't cry your egg white tears
For me, or let
the yolk leak from holes in
Your diabetic fingers...

Snap your blouse back on, with
The buttons right up
to your neck, a throat with
3 imprints, but
2 hands and  
1 threat

their spines are straight -
two different trees in two different woods.
people like them are not meant
to come face to face.
is this the first time the distance between them is silent?
emptied of political din, hoarse
shouts of protest in market squares,
flags unfurled not in love for a country
but in hate for the other.

are enemies still enemies when they are of the same space?

the two girls recognize
that their hair curls in the same way.
they don't reach out to touch
but a curiosity forms a thread between them.
a thread. their fingers tingle, flutter
spooling and unspooling
this new connection, this new thread.
their eyes swing like pendulums.
how new, how strange to breathe
in air that is clean of artificial hate.

they are curious, spooling and unspooling.
what will happen to this thread?
for threads are too easy to break.
and each knows the power of governments,
their ability to dangle them
then break
and break and break.

the two girls wonder. the two girls stare.
they look. they look and look.

but their spines are straight -
two different trees in two different woods.

Sadness grew
        a flower in my heart,
With big blooming petals and
A long winding
                         Stem,

And as your fingers
        reached down my throat
                                                  to tug at
It's roots,
it regressed into a n g e r,
and
shriveled (all) away

I want to be the monkey bars
Not the fingers
The fingers grasp and clutch
But the monkey bars don't care much
The monkey bars stand tall
An object of awe
But the fingers are scared
Of dropping in the lava below
Burning from the blisters they give
Unable to let go
They hold
Trying to be strong
Letting the monkey bars make them rough
Terrified of being alone
Stuck in the lava with no home
The fingers are weak
They don't understand the true power they seek
Is happiness without pain
Which they could obtain of they just let go and fall into the lava below
Because it's a myth
It doesn't burn
To be alone
It's absolute bliss
Though the monkey bars they will miss
The lava burns away the pain
Leaving only happiness to gain