I have not written poetry in too long. My hands are no longer accustomed
to randomly clicking the Enter bar, and making it
sound as if my words are perfectly divided to suit these confines.
Today, I have made an exception
because your name has too often found its way onto my fingertips-
and I have so little to hold on to yet I find it incredibly difficult
to keep a straight face in your presence.
It's as if I can sense whenever you are near.
I've never believed in signs as much as I do now, and my point is that only now
has it crossed my mind that I have seen you every day this week
and I dread the moment that your face will no longer take a second of this 24 hour cycle.
And when that moment comes,
I will look back to the time when we first met.
I was wearing my old pajama pants, and a tight black t-shirt, and I remember you coming towards me so clearly. You asked me about the kid who had fallen asleep in the back, and I laughed and told you we would never catch the culprit.
I will look back to when your name first popped up on my feed, to the awkward first moments
when I would take 5 minutes between every message I sent to double check whether I sounded as if I did this all the time-
As if I were too preoccupied with my own life to respond right away when in reality my focus had shifted completely to trying to impress you.
I will look back to that first walk outside, my failed attempts at making conversation, but dear god, you made it so easy to ramble on as if my words were waterfalls, and my lungs held the town's reservoir.
I will look back to returning to our empty classroom together.
It looked different than it usually did, with nothing but empty chairs facing the stage-
and when you asked me to dance, I remember how I felt flustered over the way we had just met
And here I was, holding your waist while you rested your hand on my shoulder, and never had I felt as inadequate as I did in that moment.
I do not have much to offer. Yes, she can dance, but I can teach you how to make your fingertips waltz and glide over black and white keys, if only you allow me to hold them once more.
I will look back to the time when you asked me if I loved you,
and I remember avoiding your glance,
I remember hastily fumbling with my fingers, and surprising even myself when my lips curled what should have been a no into a hesitant yes.
I will replay that moment over and over and over again, and tell myself I should have said no.
But my heart knew what my body did not, and honesty hour had come to quickly and left my brain stranded at my doorstep.
I have wasted too much of my time reciting prayers in my head begging you to feel the same way.
But I can feel the end coming a little too fast, and too much time has been burnt out
fantasizing about stories and stolen glances and first dances and funny instruments and random hellos and impromptu sessions with your guitar at the steps next to the tower.
I still don't know why your presence sets off fireworks under my skin, or why your smile has me burying my face beneath strands and strands of hair.
But I do know this-
Next week may be the last time our paths decide to cross, and if that's the case, that's just fine.
I'll see you when I see you.
But for now, thanks for stopping by.

The first apartment I ever called my own
Complete with kitchen, bathroom and twin bed
No mom, no dad
But a living room with a rickety couch
And ugly blue carpets, with cigarette burns
Even though smoking wasn't allowed

They bulldozed it to the ground
It's a big parking lot now
Full of those tiny rocks
The annoying ones that get stuck in your shoes
They bulldozed my first apartment
And a few of my other firsts

Like the first time I thought I was in love
And I waited nervously
In front of the heavy, wooden door
And he came in with a mission
Because drinking and ripping bongs
Melted away any nerves he may have had

I wondered if I'd shudder when the moment finally came
If I'd get red in the face - hot from the pressure
Would my arms turn splotchy?
Would my chest turn red?
Turning me into some diseased-looking freak
As opposed to the pretty, young thing
I'd wanted him to make love to
If only I knew,
That he wouldn't notice any of that

He didn't ask me if I was sure
Like guys do in the movies
And he told me what I wanted to hear
And bent me in ways someone with no experience
Should not be bent
And the TV was on in my very first living room
The whole time - the History Channel
I listened to the low hum
You could hear it through the walls
Despite what was supposed to be
A lifelong, loving memory,
I learned about World War II

My twin bed had pink sheets with white stripes
And a pink comforter too
And the next week he forgot my 19th birthday
And I don't know what I expected
But it was OK - I said it was OK
Because I had my own apartment
And my own kitchen
That I can't ever recall cooking in
And I had my pink sheets
That didn't feel so innocent anymore

Table, chairs, fridge and freezer
I had all of that.
Frozen dinners and plastic handles of *****
Not all memories are worth remembering
Sometimes, they just get bulldozed

The tide collects it all by morning;
The drama and the ***** napalmed across the path.
The scenes at second warning for most had been swept away
Before they wiped the sand from their shoes.

Empty cans of Dutch and Tuborg slouched on the dunes
Are tight-lipped about the Velvet Strand's secret ecosystem;
An underground microcosm;
A peripheral cluster of seething emotions drowned.

Memories of those years - although some expired,
The vestiges take pride of place - hold a cosmic clump of smells,
Tastes, firsts, goosebumps, hangovers, and ends.
I never before understood what I was holding on to.

Winters down in the shelters nearly killed us but we
Huddled through the cold, lit cheap firelogs and
Found our oblivion. It didn't take much for me to develop  
A stagger - tolerance for a lot of things was learned later.

I narrowly recall my first taste of poor judgement and
Hazy-headed stargazing. Six cans of Stonehouse
Dry cider - most of which ended up on the hillside -
Was a ridiculous endeavour that will always be sublime.

At the heart of it, I did it to impress a girl;
The one every boy has or has had that sticks;
Who holds your firsts and your hands and makes
Things simple if only for her complexity;

The one that never fails to bring upon digression when
Pens are involved. Revisiting reminiscence on a jarring note,
I think of my Junior Cert exams and a cross-dressed man
Exposing himself to two uniformed boys behind the public toilets.

This one doesn't stir the joy of the others.
This one I wish would dissolve;
An ugly, awkward blotch on a childhood.

Luckily fondness trumps disgust when recalling that place
Because of sunrises and sunsets absorbed from the roof.
The Summers spent jumping the gap and drowning in the
Heat of the sun were everything.

The fugitive sand between our toes and under finger nails
Became an accepted nuisance, a part of the territory;
A lingering grain or two to drag you back.
I miss waking up with the smell of last night's faded fire.

Are firsts important?

I think that they are.

They mark a moment of courage

A moment of faith

A change

An experience that can shape

Your whole world view

You know I waited till 22

To change my mind

On being alone

Only to find

I would have waited

22 years more

Not to discover

What being alone

In that sense

Actually meant

And that's the truth of a bad day


But just how important are firsts really?

Firsts do not mean best necessarily

Firsts form a starting point

And once you start you may as well carry on

They're A foundation to build upon

A lesson to learn from

You know I waited till 22

To take risks, to raise the stakes

That meant I would make mistakes

Only to find

I wish I hadn't waited 22 years

When I saw how much progress can be generated

When you face your fears

All of which I wouldn't have discovered

*If I had continued to run away

It was new
It was shiny
They said put it in a case
Don't let it break
You didn't realize he was breaking it
Chipping at it with every word
Every kiss
Every touch
Had nothing but hurt behind it
It isn't a sickness
So there's not a new one
You have to fix it
Mend it
Mourn it
Learn to live with it broken
The ache will always be there
It'll fade with time
But it's there
You'll miss the way he kissed your forehead
And how he used to wipe away your tears
The long talks till midnight
The firsts you shared with him
He was your first kiss your first everything
He took it all
Silly girl didn't know she could fall

Dear K,

I remember the first time I saw you,
You were wearing a white shirt under
A black winter coat with a scarf wrapped
Around your neck. I was sitting on that
Bar stool surrounded by people when
You tapped me on the shoulder. I turned
Around and the crowd disappeared.
Suddenly it was just you, suddenly it was just us.
Since then the world just doesn't seem to
Exist outside of your beautiful smile,
No music but your voice, No stars but your eyes.
No one but you, no one but us.
I knew from the second you sat down in front of me
That I was going to fall and fall hard.
And here were are, so much time has passed and
I'm still falling every single day.
And the world has never been so empty.
And the world has never been so full.

-Michael