I open the door.
     The sweet fall air comes inside.
          The stink goes outside.

i am a skeleton.
you gave me your all
and all i could hand back
was a piece of my femur.
the love inside of you
makes my love seem small
i’m so ashamed
of my silence.
i walk backwards down a stairway
seeing
the walls i put up
too big too tall
for you to cross.
i need to love
but i’m too flimsy
my bones
are weak.
the love inside of you
taught me about the love inside of me
and it doesn’t have a home
since i left you a ghost
in a house by the highway.
we live a few miles from each others smiles,
dive in the pool at nighttime
the lights are so bright.
i swim with the bugs and we hold each other.
how hard is it for me
to show you what i see?
i lied for my pride—
he said we were beautiful.
the love inside of you is growing stronger
the love inside of me is begging for forever
but i have no skin
nothing to hold onto.
i killed myself briskly
if you had a word in
i wouldn’t have stopped breathing.
it’s car trips and teenage years
i want us to roam free
two kids with our bones and our aches and our loves
we can’t express
i deny till i’m upset
that you want someone else in your pool
in your house
in car rides at midnight
instead of my feet that can’t reach the pedal right.
i make things a joke and you laugh
and i know that the other girl won’t
make you lean back as you laugh,
though i don’t know this for sure.
the love inside of you is trying to call on the love inside of me
but i soiled it all.
i’m blue and i’m scared we may never be anything
except two kids with shotguns pointed at each other
though you are the bluffer
and i just don’t know how to fake anything.

The depth of his heart,
like a book shrouded in
mysticism,
wonder,
anticipation.
I flip through the pages,
until my eyes grow tired,
and my hand aches.  
The end nowhere in sight.
Whenever I almost put the book down,
I get a tiny insight into his heart.
Playing me like a fool into
short-term satisfaction,
and long-term despair.

i don’t even know
what to say.
all i know
is that i want to say it.
i’ve got words inside—
i swear i do—
but i haven’t felt
enough to stir them
in a while.

i suppose there isn’t any
poetry lying within the cracks
of daily life
when every day
is the same.

“𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘪𝘵, 𝘔𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢?”
“𝘖𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴.”

i don’t even know
what to say.
all i know
is that i want to say it.
i’ve got words inside—
i swear i do—
but i haven’t felt
enough to stir them
in a while.

i suppose there isn’t any
poetry lying within the cracks
of daily life
when every day
is the same.

“𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘪𝘵, 𝘔𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢?”
“𝘖𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴.”