what does it feel like to be held
not by another body
not by a set of limbs, a chest, a chin
but
by another soul

what does it feel like
to see truth in another pair of eyes
instead of hidden intentions
instead of absence

what does it feel like
to hear a familiar heartbeat
resounding next to your own
reaching through skin
through bone
two rhythms
indistinguishable

what does it feel like
to write poems about
a love that exists

I've never been a sentimental person
but too soon did the
smell of salty air,
the sound of waves gaining
and receding
endlessly, reliably
become dear to me.
My memory betrays me
long enough to drag up the
sound of your laugh
(the unintentionally honest kind
that still raises goosebumps
on my skin)
along with the feeling of
Normandy sand beneath my toes.
No matter how much I want to let go,
I'll keep the jar of sand
on my dresser
and the image of you
with your arm around me,
our hair and our hearts wild,
in my mind forever.

i open up
they walk away

when you lean down your eyes toward me
I can hear the whisperings of the universe
and when you swing down your arms toward me
I'm lifted into the wilderness
because your lips are wild
and they ravage
me
you found me fishing for ligaments
or maybe something to join my soul to my body
like another supplement
to feed my psyche

secretly
I'm waiting for day break
and the day you take
me

I try to elucidate your gaze
from across the room
What do you think?
What do you see?
What events replay in your
memories?

I want to explicate your movements
as you shift in your seat
A worried bite of your lip?
A sigh of fatigue?
How would you act
if you thought of me?

I steer my thoughts back to something
more germane to the subject
The Union loss at
Antietam Creek
But then you open
your mouth to speak-

And I think of orchestras
the instruments and sounds
moving, flowing
together

I think of night
thousands of stars flooding
the sky

I think of poems
that I can't begin to understand
but all so lovely

I think of wolves howling
flowers blooming
waves receding

I think of the wind blowing
between my fingers
while my hand rests outside
the window of
your truck

And I think of you.
I always think of
you.

I feel like
I'm suffocating
more often
than I should.
I never knew
breathing was so
labor intensive
until I knew
life without
you.

I think I'm getting bad again
I'm thinking all or nothing again
I think my control is slipping again
I think I might not be able to heal again
I think I might do it all this time
So I can finally feel *nothing

She's a natural disaster and a work of art.
Rain rushes in and out of her mind
while wind gusts through her heart.
Drifting from a tsunami to an
earthquake and everything in between-
on a good day the sun shines through her veins
as she walks on flower petals and
free spirits
but on a bad day her footsteps sound like thunder
and her words throw flames until her
misfortunate surroundings are reduced to ash.
Some days clouds pass over her eyes
and birds go still
and she doesn't say anything at all...
But stars always populate her thoughts
even on the darkest of nights
and the rings of Saturn are often mistaken
for the hypnotizing gold rings around
her irises.
She's as lovely as the first green day
of spring
but as lonely as the last red day
of autumn
and she has never once noticed
that while she was wishing on shooting stars,
everyone else had been wishing
on her.

I don't love you
because I don't know you.
I don't know what you think,
I don't know what you do,
I don't know how your
voice sounds when I'm
the only one there to hear.
I only know the low and
husky tones I imagine when
I'm alone.
I don't know the lines
of your palms,
I don't know the exact color
of your eyes,
I don't know what your skin
feels like against mine,
though the sense has been
given some thought.
I can't love you
because you've become a stranger.
I can't love you
because you love someone else.
I can't love you-
but I can love the idea of you
that I hang on to
more than I'd like to admit.
And I shouldn't love you-
but sometimes I still think I do.

I've always been careless.
About everything.
It's why I can't help the things that come out of my mouth.
How I broke the coffee maker
(again)
while I wasn't even using it.
Careless mistakes are the ones
I'll always regret the most.
Last night when I should've said stop
but I never think
Think, Erin, Think
unless it's too late.
On the drive home as I whispered
too soon too soon too soon too soon
I didn't see the other car
because I'm so ******* careless
every time.
Still, I never see it coming.

You are the manifestation of perfection.
There's not a flaw you possess that doesn't outshine the stars,
there's not a word you utter that doesn't create its own alphabet,
and there's not an action you take that doesn't inspire a revolution.
While the rest of the universe is black and white,
you reflect prismatic waves in the eyes of everyone you pass.
The flowers in your hand couldn't compare to the fingers holding them,
the same ones that brought me back to life when they tucked my hair behind my ear
like tucking the sun into your pocket.
And maybe you mistook the sun for another old jelly bean
because every time you smile I see it shine through your teeth.
Your teeth are jagged like a mountain range
and every word you whisper is another flake of snow gently gracing the summit.
When you move an orchestra performs,
muscles and trumpets, ligaments and cellos all flow in pure harmony.
Sometimes I think music was written simply to accompany your body.
Looking at your body I could believe the world really is a safe place;
from the curve of your shoulder to the round of your heel,
everything is smooth and peaceful.
I'm not afraid that once you're gone your presence will be lost
because everything you touch is left with a phosphorescent glow,
a constant reminder that perfection does not only exist in myths
but in everything.

A girl of only seventeen,
who knew you could make
so many mistakes.
Was it that long ago?
Your dress was always white
and you could sleep without
worrying or waking yourself
from muttering "no, no, no,
I don't know this person
I've become."
What have you done?
You crashed your car for the second time,
careless/stupid/thoughtless/daft.
When's the last time you didn't make
your mother mad?
You loved too many boys
you didn't know
because falling into bed
is easier than getting up again.
You smoke like a new bad habit
and your best friend's a
soon-to-be addict;
you said you knew you had sinned
and yet you still refused to repent.
The verdict is in: it seems
the world would be a better place if
you weren't in it.

I know I like to act like I'm too good for that country ****
and I still refuse to wear cowboy boots or say "y'all",
but I had the time of my life with you in a town of
roughly 600 where the whole yard is a driveway
and dogs roam free.
The rides at the city fair may have been held
together with duct tape but they fulfilled all my
secret childhood dreams of going to a carnival
with the prettiest boy in town. You ate funnel cake
and I had a corn dog and I felt so in love.
At night we sat on the porch swing with our hands
barely touching. We listened to the crickets and cicadas
and watched your dog watch the light and shadows
alternate through the window.
In the morning we went to the river and I swung
on a rope swing for the first time. Your head bobbing
in the perfect blue-green water is something I'll never forget.
We followed your younger cousins behind the waterfall and
when they left we kissed and kissed and kissed.
I fell so much more in love with you.
I am so in love with you.
Now there are miles between us again but you're never far
from my mind, and know that I'll always remember that small town called Miller.

I would never try to paint your face
because I love it precisely for the way it changes.
The endless night that is your eyes
could never be illustrated,
the millisecond it takes for you to smile
cannot be shown on paper,
and the rough texture of unshaven cheeks
can't be felt on a canvas.
I would never try to paint your face
but if I did I would paint it on velvet.
Flakes of gold would pepper your nose
like the sun kissed freckles I've memorized,
sheets of ivory could be inlaid
to mimic the pigment of your skin,
and only diamonds could shine as bright
as the artful glint in your squinting eyes.
I would never try to paint your face
because it's impossible to depict
something so close
to divine.

A starless sky blinds me
in an empty ocean
drowning
The night is too cold
for warm hearts
or warm thoughts
Stagnant wind cuts through me
raw skin and cracked bones
uncovered
The perfect terrain for
feeling       vacant
                               lifeless
                                           *frozen

it's ok to decide
you don't want me.
i won't keep tugging on
your sleeve to try to
make you love me.
but after all i have given,
after all we have shared,
i deserve to know
why.

No one's supposed to know
that I feel so completely alone.
It doesn't matter if I feel like a shell
empty of life, shipped off to hell.
I can hide behind softer eyes and
lips that curl toward a constant grey sky.
I've gotten used to the hollow,
the desolation and sorrow.
No stars come out at night and I think,
that's me: not one, but none.
Because a soul so forgotten
isn't a soul at all.

3 missed calls

Sunday, August 3rd 9:07 am
Last night I was tossing and turning
in the middle of the night
with thoughts of you
clamoring around my mind.
The corners of your mouth
populated my vision while
my eyes were closed
and I could feel your warm breath
stirring my imagination.
When I finally fell asleep
I dreamt of raspberry green tea
and your tangled blue sheets.

Sunday, September 23rd 5:43 pm

I'm sorry.
I know I should've said it when it still mattered but I'm sorry.
Sometimes I can't distinguish between my feelings
when I'm too scared to admit that I'm in love
and I did something I regret.
He wasn't anything like you.
He wasn't you.
I'm sorry.

Sunday, October 7th 11:32 pm

I still think about you.
I miss you.

We used to be one and the same,
saw the world through
one set of eyes;
where my thoughts left off
yours picked up
before they even
left my mouth.
We would get high
on autumn nights
and laugh until we
blacked out,
our hair braiding together
on the pillow
until it was impossible
to tell yours from mine.
But as hard as we could laugh
harder we could fight;
we threw words
like they were knives
hoping to find home
buried between the
other's shoulder blades.
Now harsh intentions
run through our veins
and my blood churns
at the sight of your
face.
We traded matching smiles
for matching scars
and when you finally
shut the door
there was a pool
of blood
left on the floor.
It was impossible
to tell yours from mine.

I hate love poems
but I don't know any other way
to tell you that you're the only person
who can coax an unguarded laugh
from the lowest pits of my abdomen.
I hate love poems
but when you let me store
my kisses in the crook of your neck
I feel like maybe I could
stay there with them.
I hate love poems
but I've spent too many nights
thinking of how flowers
turn their heads to listen
every time you laugh.
I hate love poems
but I can't stop listening to
the kind of music you like, the kind
that paints life as it really is
and doesn't always rhyme-
or flow.
I hate love poems
but when the sun skims its
fingers through your hair
I find it hard to breathe steady.
I hate love poems
but you know everything about me
and you haven't left yet
and I'm awfully close to getting attached.

I hate love poems
because you're not unlike anyone else,
you just fit a little better
in the contours of my heart,
and you're not the reason I live,
you just make it a little easier
to stay above water.

I hate love poems.
But I still write them about you.

when I first saw you
I thought maybe
you were an angel
and the way you looked at me
gave me my own set of wings...
well you never showed me
gates of white
but lines of ******* did
look almost heavenly.
what's the harm in sin
if we'll just be forgiven again?
like I forgave you
again and again and again
(your lies went down as
smooth as the pills)
how was I to know
the space between you
and your sheets
wasn't the palace
I had been waiting for?
you left open your
closet door-
white feathers, broken
and mangled, strewn on the floor,
a hundred other angels who
had been here before.
angels don't cry
angels don't cry
but if you were ever an angel
you fell before I met you
and maybe now
I've fallen
too.

I don't recognize
the face in the mirror
Something in me
is lost,
something vital
familiar
And I think it left
when you did

she walks lonely in the night
through the constant
waves of streetlight
(more
and then less)
lights a cigarette-
inhales.

and lets out a breath.

the darkness fills the gaps
she never could by herself.
her eyes are soft and weary
searching the swirls
in the atmosphere,
faintly she whispers
"what are you looking for?"

what are you
looking for?

If I had a nickle
for every time you
looked at her
I would have
seven dollars and fifty-five cents

If I had a dime
for every time you
turned away from me
I would have
fifteen dollars and ten cents

If I had a quarter
for every time you
laughed at something
I didn't say
I would have
thirty seven dollars and seventy-five cents

If I had a dollar
for every day
I have loved you
I would have
one hundred and fifty one dollars

If I had a dollar
for every time you
thought of me
when there were
ten minutes left
in class
and your mind
refused to be tethered
to irregular verbs
I would have
to get
a job.

I can be content
with daydreams
because I love
the longing and
I'm addicted
to the distance,
suspense,
I prefer your
touch when your
fingers are ghosts and
your lips hold
whatever secrets
I want to be told

I can be content
with the
anticipation,
hallucination,
existent only in my
imagination

I can be content
because
this way it
never has
to end.

staring at the shattered glass
of my mom's wine
I dropped on the kitchen floor
thinking that deep red
looks good on white tile
and thinking maybe I deserve this,
in fact maybe I deserve to
lay on the scattered shards,
one piece of glass in the back
for lying to someone I love,
one in the thigh where he
kissed me while she was gone
for the night...
thinking I'm being eaten
inside out and it's only a matter
of time before something comes out
      about it.
twenty minutes later there's
wine on my socks and
the front of my shirt is wet,
with tears I guess,
but all I'm thinking is
guilty
guilty
guilty
I don't think
I can fix this.

I used to sing at the top of my lungs
and only think of colorful air
passing over my tongue
but ever since you left
every time I sing, I think of you.
You were taken from me too soon
without a chance to say a last
I-Love-You.
Sometimes it's a dull ache
but sometimes I'm doubled-over in pain
and it hits just when I think
I can finally see the sun.
Because how can the sun still shine
when its rays can't find you?
You'll never flounce through the
screen door again
on the way to your favorite
wooden bench
but you still
float in and out of my dreams
and it's such a bittersweet pleasure
to see you there.

Life went on in the background
like white noise
but I was too hung up on your words
to hear it.

My fingers shake as I grip my coffee mug
and your face comes to mind-
yesterday you told me you loved me
but I couldn't say anything.
My heart beat too fast and
words caught in my throat and
all I knew was that I had to get out of there.
I didn't used to have these sky high walls
around my heart,
but maybe that's why I do now.
And I'm sorry that I strive to keep myself
so closed-off,
that my veins show more color than my words.
I know you're infinitely frustrated with
how fiercely my eyes guard the secrets of my mind
because I'm frustrated too with
how afraid I am to put my mending heart
in someone else's hands.
You don't deserve to love a girl
whose stomach turns at the
thought of something permanent.
But I promise I'm trying
I'm trying
I'm trying
to say I love y-

I was so ready to leave this place
I only realized I loved after I'd
decided to go
but then you stared at me
like there was nothing you'd rather see
then you held me like you meant it,
like no one in my life had been honest
until that moment when you wrapped
your arms around me and I felt safe
for once
for once calm, content
then you wrestled me to the ground
and blew on my stomach like a kid
and I kicked and screamed and
laughed like I was
like I am
then you kissed me
and kissed me
and kissed me

now I don't know
if I can let go

Darling I hope you understand
when I say you're as beautiful
and dark as the night
I mean you have stars in your eyes
and freedom in your heart.
I mean you hold the deepest secrets
and only speak the truth.
You embrace the lonely who
wander the streets of your soul
and show love to those
shut out by everyone else.
Even the broken bottles
in the corner of your mind
reflect the glow of the moon
to show someone the light.
There are those who revel
in the bright of day
but there are also those
who only find solace
in the black of night.

Life is shown in black and white-
like a still-life photograph
or ink on a sheet.
At least through the lens
of a camera you can't see
broken promises or
invisible tragedy.
So next time you see me
keep your eye on the window
and I'll try to move in time
to your shutter speed.
I'll scribble you a poem
on the bottom of the creek
of a love I've never felt
and people only in my dreams.
The wind can carry my words
away with the stream-
after all,
they never did mean anything
to me.

A girl walks
along the beach
looking out longingly
at the horizon.
She lays herself down
and wraps around in sand,
falling asleep thinking
of the sea.
The waves lap over her toes,
Over her knees.
She dreams of worlds
made of water
and skies shimmering green.
The tide covers her palms-
open and welcoming.
When the water tickles her chin,
she says one thing:
Please.
Salt burns her nose
when she tries to breathe,
but she could not imagine
anything more lovely.
Her last wish was granted-
she became the sea.

Things are never easy for anyone,
and I know you've had more than
you're fair share of misfortune
but I've never heard you complain.
If everyone got what they deserved,
you would've grown up with
blue sky in your eyes
instead of dark clouds in your heart.
You didn't ask for your life
to be filled with death and desertion
but the universe isn't prone to
granting requests anyway.
I've never known anyone who
didn't run away from their problems
but you're still in that sorry old house
so maybe you're the first.
You may not let me in anymore
but you still have your own personal
doormat at the gates to the
back of my mind.
I wonder if you still compare yourself
to the peeling wallpaper or the
rusty hinges on the laundry room door.
I used to think you were crazy
for not being able to see the glint
in your eye that the world tried so hard
to beat out.
Whenever I see you around
I try to make sure it's still there.

being beautiful got me to his bed
to the couch in his basement
to the old **** carpet that
had never been replaced.

being beautiful made me feel wanted
alive again

until another girl was more beautiful
on her back
on her knees.

being beautiful got me unanswered calls.
collapsing to the shower floor with a
hand over my mouth
his name in my mouth.

he taught me that i was beautiful,
he taught me that it meant nothing