Sometimes I think about
the structure of atoms
and how difficult it can be
to tell the difference between me
and the cantaloupe I just ate
and where I end
and the sunlight begins.
And I wonder
if maybe when you kiss me
you leave behind pieces of yourself
on my tongue
and that’s why I remember
exactly how you taste
no matter how long it’s been.

Sometimes I think about
quantum entanglement
and how two different particles
can be inextricably and inexplicably
tied to each other
no matter their physical distance.
And I wonder
if maybe a tiny piece of your left iris
is entangled with an atom
in the muscle of my cheek
and that’s why
I can’t help but smile
when you look at me.

Sometimes I think about
our understanding of DNA
and how so much of it we call “junk”
because we don’t know what it does.
And I wonder
if maybe years from now
they’ll be able to read my base pairs
like a novel
and some scientist
will be able to look at them and say
“This,
just here,
this is how we know
the subject fell in love.”

We grew up, only to grow apart.

1) When her boyfriend sticks his tongue down your throat, do not kiss back. Push him away, then swallow down the bile that's threatening to spill out of your soft lips. Take off, run, and never look back. Some boys like to play dangerous games; but darling, you are not a toy.

2) The boy next door with the tanned skin and earthy brown eyes will whisper beautiful things to you. Sad things, loving things, things that will make the blood rush to your cheeks in raging streams. Don't believe the words that tumble out of his mouth baby; most people never really mean what they say. But that's life, and it'll be okay.

3) Be strong, be bold, be unafraid of the world and all the people in it. Always, always speak your mind and pounce to action when injustice creeps up on you. Challenge him when he questions you, hurl facts and opinions like darts until he recedes with shame. Whenever you feel rage and anger spreading like wildfire through your heart, speak up. Your words matter. You matter.

4) You are beautiful. You have always been beautiful, and you need to believe that you are. Even if the magazines don't appreciate your wide hips or your glowing brown skin; dark and soft like honey, learn how to love yourself. This body is the only home you'll have in this lifetime, so my darling, learn how to embrace every scar, freckle and mole. You are made out of the same atoms that formed Frida Kahlo and Picasso. You are art and you need to have faith in that.

5) It's okay to eat dinner on your own. Or lunch. Or breakfast for that matter. There is no shame in solitude. Go to a quaint cafe; and observe the sights and sounds around you. Take note of the smell of fresh coffee hanging hot and heavy in the air. You are by yourself and free to be who you really are.  It is a lovely feeling. Revel in it, my love. When you finally leave, you will realize that you've just learned how to be okay on your own.

6) If someday you wake up and start to see the world in greys, please, please come to me first. I will hold you and we'll take a long drive to nowhere with your favourite mix-tape playing in the car. I will remind you that the only way out is through, and that the demons in your mind are most definitely not stronger than you. I will tell you how much this world needs you so it can heal, how staying alive is a much better deal. I will tell you that I love you, then kiss your forehead, and promise to do everything I can, until your universe stops playing out in shades of blue.

He smells of nothing
sometimes of trees, salt, rain, and everything pure
like moonlight
he is the colour grey under flesh, muscle and cloth
like rain; fresh, gentle yet violent
a silhouette
elusive but perhaps far more beautiful

The paths have fallen in love with your footsteps
there are cracks in the asphalt where flowers bloom
I swear they are trying to wrap themselves
around your ankles when you walk

I stopped counting
while the mountains stopped screaming
and Sohrab, you are beautiful and breathing

On mountaintops these echoes
are hollow and empty as they should be
exactly how I feel when I look at you
and how I feel when I don’t

It’s a battle of sorts
I need the reminder that there exists
the ability to feel so hard the cold will not win this war
but I know that in the end it will

I know that you are scared to breathe so deep
your ribs scrape the underside of your chest
tell me, who wants to be reminded of their ability to feel so hard?

It’s a tremor under your bones,
you’ve plunged your hand into your chest
to stop the heaving, the hurling, the surging
but everything is fading violently,
spiralling
in a decadent whirl of stubborn silence,
clenched teeth
and eyes that refuse to meet

Nothing, I am nothing

black coffee
6 a.m.
old garages
tomato sandwiches
toy planes still in the plastic

Margaritaville on casette tape
Sunday's are car dealership days
tabasco sauce on every dish
two-bite pinchers when we were kids  
every boy's name is Mitch

i) when jasey left you called me over and we hid under your duvet while your heart broke into little pieces with frank sinatra playing in the background. "I guess some things just can't be fixed, huh" you mumbled, and I held you while we sat on your rooftop hurtling your aching heart into the night sky. That was the first time I saw your entire being crumble, the first time I saw tremors shoot down your back as your chest caved in, the first time I saw your hands tremble around the neck of the ***** bottle you stole from your dad. You fell asleep in my lap that night, cheeks sanguine and burning from the alcohol and usually I think about the stars when it's that late but at 3 in the morning all I could think about was why anyone would want to leave somebody like you.

ii) two weeks later, it rained so heavily I thought the windows were going to break and so I called you up to say the clouds were angry with jasey for breaking your heart. Then I turned my phone off, curled up in bed with my favorite sweater; eyes closed, fists clenched, warm heart and cheap wine. I knew you would never love me the way you loved her, and I was trying to be okay with that.

iii) on Tuesday, we hung out by the park, and the benches were cold but your hands were warm so I didn't mind at all when you slid them up my satin blouse, or when your lips pressed themselves against mine, weaving in and out like tapestry. At that moment, you were the sun, and every inch of skin you touched seemed to burn, but I didn't really care until I felt you crumple into me; your body convulsing with heartache, salt water gushing down my chest. "I still love her," you said, and I just lay there, bare back on damp grass, looking up into the darkness, wondering if love was supposed to make our hearts hurt this bad.