when you are six you will hear many things.
you will hear that you are gorgeous, that you are growing into
a beautiful big girl and your favorite sound will be the addictive
beats of your mother's jazz records and whenever you
are bored you will dance the only way you know how;
shamelessly and recklessly, swaying your small hips and legs
in rhythm with the music. this will be before you become
embarrassed of your gangly and uncoordinated body and
before you discover why your mother plays her jazz
records late at night so loudly. when you are six,
it will be the last time you will remember being happy;
before the word content disappears from your mind
as easily as the stolen homemade chocolate chip cookies
that you would sneakily eat before dinner
melt in your mouth, you will be six and the world will be
the biggest puzzle you cannot wait to solve.

(h.l.)

he is the sun. I used to think the sun revolved around me but
then I found out that I am heliocentric and if stars were infinite he
would never die but we do not live in a type of universe
where love can survive long distance relationships with hallmark cards our
wrecked art is a fire and I cannot tell if you are the gasoline
or if I am a lighter and i cannot tell what difference that makes
or if I really care about either all i know is that space does not exist
to me all that is relevant is the distance between us and they
say young love does not exist they say that this is only infatuation
but it can't be because I know everything about him religion does
not exist if he can't go to heaven the world was not made to
last but he was because he is a shining ember that doesn't
burn he is a form of poetry that never ends he is my favorite book
the chapters are long but I can never get enough and the way
he lies right through his teeth like a magician just about to draw
a rabbit out of a hat is not okay the way he inhales the toxic fumes
of requiem into his lungs is not okay and I know it but the
world was not made to be survived the world was made to be lived
and every time he breathes I swear I feel infinite it's like I'm drowning
but I'm not falling and he is not the brightest star in the
galaxy but he is mine and he is special because he is the *sun.

she is a hostage to her own emotions she is a trainwreck that
causes traffic she is missing in action she is relentless she is insomnia
she is depression she is a 10 paged project that you wait
last minute to start her skin spells out different words that no
one can pronounce, but they ryhme with insecurity and
anorexia her favorite color is a mix between lilac and gray
her favorite flowers are nonexistent because she is the
type of girl to grow flowers where only weeds grow
she is unknown to everyone she meets she is a whisper
among violent storms she is a catastrophe among smiling faces
she is not a metaphor she is not a simile she cannot
be put into words she cannot be broken down into language
if you cut her she will not bleed instead she will cover it up
with a sad smile and the same phrase she always uses: I'm fine
(h.l.)

it is easy to become lost in the blinding lights of new york city
and the deafening sound of yellow taxi cabs and screaming
neighbors and the chatter of mundane conversations between
people who are ghosts in every sense of the word with
their paper thin hearts and transparent minds and the inability
to feel something other than the heavy weight of coffee
in their stomachs

it is easy for people to say that when new york city was made
God himself struck down and said "let their be light" but all i ever
see is the blur of motion as everyone runs to jobs they
all hate working with people they despise and then spending
their money at stars that don't even shine in poorly lit movie
theaters when the real ones are in the sky and in new york
every expensive restaurant is vegan friendly and boasts animal
rights and shames everyone who doesn't but no one
ever wonders what happens to the ducks in central park during december

it is easy to fall in love with new york city.
with the magic that it spreads with the euphoria that you feel being
surrounded by others with it's almost frightening ability to
take away your loneliness and manipulate you into thinking you
are happy, it is easy to fall in love with new york city.

it is also easy for you to say that you lost yourself in new york
because even when you say it no one will hear you
over the sound of madison square garden and it is easy to
call new york paradise it is easy to call it the city that never
sleeps because everyone stuck there is paralyzed

(h.l.)

his favorite color was blue i know because i when i was with
him all i could think of was blue all i could breathe was violets
all i could hear was the ocean and all i could taste was
the sky on my lips and heaven in my mind

the words i'm sorry have died on the edge of my tongue so
many times i'm beginning to forget how they form i
try to call you sometimes to convince myself that you deserve
an explanation but all i hear is static on the other line
i wonder if you can hear me panic on the other side
and the silence doesn't hurt as much as it used to but the
shock that you are no longer here for me always does

cigarettes are more expensive than alcohol i learned that
this fall and if i could buy you love i swear i would but the
loose change that make up my pockets are nowhere enough
and i have a feeling they never will be

(h.l.)

first you will cry. you will feel every emotion that you've ever felt being washed
down the drain and you will taste the sour, bittersweet heaviness of sobbing at 4:35 a.m. on your lips and you will scream so quietly it will be a whisper to others
but a clap of thunder inside of you and your lungs will stop working and your
ribs will feel as if they were collapsing and you will not be able to walk the next
day because you will feel as heavy as a truck full of rocks

next you will be silent. you won't speak you won't nod your head you won't smile
you won't write you won't move; you will suddenly be able to feel your bones and your stomach caving inwards inside of you and your skeleton will become so thick with the secret carvings in your skin that it will
be a labyrinth that even you will not dare to explore and the world will continue
to spin, everything will go on and you will just stay numb to keep yourself
from falling apart

then you will hate him. you will curse every single being that pushed you to talk to him you will rant about what a terrible person he was and how ****** up your love was in the first place and that it hadn't meant anything and you will say he was just another burning star in the sky you will say his light has started to fade you will say he never cared about anything you will say it doesn't matter and you will yell until your voice is raw and your throat is hurting and you will go to sleep silently wishing that the tears on your cheeks would stop pouring and you will feel an inner self loathing at the core of your chest for being so stupid, for caring about him in the first place, for being pathetic enough to keep all of his things neatly in a box at the corner of your closet because you cannot bear to throw any of it away

then he will call you.

he will make you question every single thought you've ever had, every single moral you had created for yourself and he will tear down your walls with an ax made out of love and nostalgia and he will say he still loves you and he will say that leaving was a mistake and he will make you remember the memories you had blocked out he will give you a new phone number and you will attempt to talk to him but it won't feel the same and all your old conversations have been deleted all your photos are no longer on your wall and you will realize that you are in love with the memories you had together, not who he actually is and you will still cry at night sometimes and you will still be overwrought with anxiety and helplessness and your heart will become a boat sailing on rocky waters but you will be okay.

the word finally will come on a cold tuesday morning and you will be rushing to get to school because you overslept and you will search desperately for your red sweater but you will not find it and you will mutter every curse word you know and pray that your mother doesn't hear you and you will stumble across his sweatshirt and you will throw it on lazily and run to school and you will forget all about it until somebody asks if you like that band and you will smile confusedly and say that you haven't listened to them in a while and you will go home and he will not call you and you will not care because the word finally is branded on your chest and it means that you have moved on. it means that your lungs still work and your ribs are in the right place and you will go to sleep that night with the taste of happiness on the tip of your tongue and it will not matter that he was toxic, it will not matter that all the flowers you grew together have died, in that moment you will feel better than you have in months and you will realize that you are okay, your boat will not sink the storm is over the aftermath has passed and you will be okay.

(h.l.)