It's been awhile since I thought about love.
I closed myself off to it,
And have yet to open up that door.

But I think about it now.
That must count for something,
Or maybe nothing.
But it's on my mind.

Love is a vulnerable place,
so intimate,
it's hard to find.
Made impossible to search for,
behind the door.

The one I closed.
Because I was too scared of the unknown.

But I have hope that i'll open it again one day.

I'll take it one day at a time.

I never write love poems.
I think it's because I'm afraid to

open up & feel so vulnerable.
I'd have to look inside my heart,
to write something beautiful,
intimate,
and heartfelt.
I'd have to embrace the warmth,
and reflect on the lingering traces,
of the hand once in mine.
The love that once had it's time.

I'm afraid to confront those feelings.
I'm afraid to commit to love,
even if it's the everlasting type,
where two stars collide,
in the afterlife,
like they did milleniums before.

I've been hurt so deeply.
In ways I haven't felt before.
I'm not sure I can take it anymore.

But I dream of not being afraid of love.
One day,
I'll write love poems.
I'll find the person worth writing lines,
and stanzas about.
One that makes me forget we're in a drought.

I was going to write a poem

   about how I stood on the corner after
   work, gripping a squishy handlebar with
   my left hand and holding K’s flip phone
   in the other.

My stomach flip-flopped across JFK blvd, down 20th street, and to that little alleyway where I stood alone for a while.

An old lady stared at me...

   did I trigger a happy memory of her
   youth,
   or was she just smirking at the beads of
   sweat on my forehead and disintegrating
   soles of my ballet flats?
   My black dress slouched over my body
   like I was going to a  funeral.

And even though my acro class was yesterday, I still felt upside down. There’s no way I could stay in a handstand that long, but I would’ve done it if it gave me a different explanation for why I was so sick.

Inside of me were those cropping rainbow scribbles that I used to make on Paint, you know, the ones that seemed like they could create a picture but ended up turning into shaking lines?

I could feel the lack of your presence, I could FEEL your not being there. As the minutes passed and I kept standing and waiting my face drooped and it was hard not to cry right there on the spot.

It was just past lunchtime but there was still a steady flow of businessmen filling the sidewalk.
   They glanced at me but I just looked
   away because they were my father's age
   and gave me familiar half-smiles.

I said that I was going to write a poem because I didn't have enough energy to do anything but list words,
but I guess this just turned into a ******
one.

Why are you here?
Things can change
Tomorrow could
Be different
You have your thing
That's not unattainable

Maybe your
Version is
The person you feel
You can open up to
Maybe it's a place
You know
You can be safe

But it's out there
And it's not
That far away

How sad is it
That the validation I get
Comes from people who don’t even know me yet
And I cling to it
It makes no common sense
To believe in strangers opinions over your friends
But how could I believe that the people who love me
Wouldn’t lie to my face
When it’s all I’ve ever known
Getting older means learning how to cope with change
And growing up from the child your parents raised
And you can’t do it all alone
You’ll have to learn to pick up your phone

My mother used to say that friends would never last and I shouldn’t trust that anyone would have my back
She said that family was the only ones who would love every piece of me regardless
But that just wasn’t true
Her love came with conditions too

So it’s sad that now
When I’m feeling down
I don’t feel like I can reach out to my friends
So instead I cry to the internet and
When people ask me why
I tell them it’s because rejection is easier to swallow when the relationship is hallow

I’m so sorry that I can’t always be that
Sun-shining person you think I am
So I’ll hide from you when I’m feeling blue
So you don’t see every scrape cut and bruise
That I dug and carved right out of my heart
Just to feel like I am human too

I am soft and mandible:  
          fresh clay,         the inside of an oyster,        the belly of an armadillo.  
          vulnerable.                      tender.  ­                             the anti-sharp.

everything is blurred.  dulled.  hidden
behind a gossamer haze and ambient noise.  
a photo out of focus.            one eye closed and ten feet back.  

dizzy.            so dizzy.            disoriented.  
there is no logic here.             no rules.             no laws.  
and that’s what makes it horrible and incomprehensible.  

the transplant recipient still dies.  the man in perfect health
                                                                ­suddenly has cancer.
the proned patient flipped back to supine for intubation
                                                codes and dies immediately.  

nonsense.  it’s all nonsense.  
it's easier to take a breath and
                                                        compartmentalize.

Yea, it’s a long time coming,
They'll say
But that’s not how I feel.
The gentle breeze against me
I have to catch myself
As I lean into it
For comfort
Pretending there’s someone there.

My cowardice has led me here
Away from the light
Once again
To exist without making
Myself vulnerable;
Not even with myself I could be,
Even if there were any places
To cast and stare at my reflection,
For it’s too dark to see.

The world is too big to push away
So digging a hole
Is a start,
But somewhere out there
I know you are
And maybe when I climb out
You’ll be waiting for me,

Or maybe not;
Maybe in this life,
I missed my shot.

before I step out into public,
I lock my opinions in a safe
that resides deep within
the ridges of my brain.
I wear a sweet smile
to mask the dull pain
radiating throughout my body.

but when I enter my safe space,
I strip myself of that smile,
and look my pain in the eye.
I dig into the ridges of my brain
to grab and unlock the safe.
I welcome my vulnerability
in all its undisguised nakedness.

Careful, love,
that you are not
too well-guarded,
sounding high alerts
until no one
dares approach
your gates.

Mind not to wind
yourself too tight
out of fear
to let loose
some brittle flaw
until you splinter
and shatter.

A closed fist
a lover never made--

Loosen your grip
on your expectations
of the audience,
and simply play
your part.

Come curtain,

we may
surprise
each other.