We speak in tongues, you and I.
We sip coffee from old paper cups and talk about the afterlife.
We bring our scalded mouths together and I taste the entire universe;
I hear static; everything around us is drowning in hot, syrupy light.

what have you done to me?
My hands are coming undone, my legs are wrapping themselves around your waist; I want to melt into the night sky;
I want to morph into something bigger, something whole and beautiful, I want to sink deep beneath the ocean and feel electric blue water flood my lungs.

There is sea-salt stuck in my throat and you are spilling aquamarine;
you are rolling waves around in the palms of your hands;
you ebb and flow gently against scarred skin.

I rest my head against your chest and
you say; here and now is safe
you say; ‘stay and we can paint stars onto our backs’

I run my fingers through your tangled hair and think about how much this feels like coming home.

i) You talk about soft-serve ice cream in summer and all I can think about is the way your hands tremble each time you touch me; what are you so afraid of? You shake your head and lick cone-crumbs off your lips. I think I like you a little too much.

ii) Lily once told me that you were obsessed with aliens; fascinated by the idea that there were other forms of life in the Universe. I lie down on soft grass, look up into the darkness, and wonder if there is a possibility of ‘us’ in another galaxy.

iii) You are all curves, soft edges, and electric blue hair; so how exactly do you manage to cause this ache in my chest each time you take off in the morning to be with him? My brother sees me curled up with bottles of bourbon by the side of my bed, and says that I should stop loving you. I don’t know how to.

iv) When things finally end, it is one in the morning and we are sitting on the boardwalk, sipping coke from glass bottles, pausing to taste each other’s lips every now and then. You tell me you’ll miss me and all I want to do is disappear, into one of those galaxies you constantly think about. Instead, I grab my satin camisole off your lap, pull it over my head, and run.  

v) The whole way home, I practise letting you go.

I think we all become different versions of ourselves for different people; and maybe that’s not such a bad thing, because I turned into ‘mystery girl’ for you.

I killed the good experiences, spoke only of the ones that left a bitter taste in my mouth. When you called, I’d answer with a sigh, as if I was doing more important things in the world than you. I got a tattoo on the inside of my thigh, a dragon painted indigo; and you made sure to kiss that spot every time we got drunk. I’m not sure what that says about you.

You were all the novels I’d devoured when I was a kid;
I could never really put you down. I wanted to sit you on my lap and read for the rest of my life.

You were an amalgamation of neediness and broken bottles,
But I think I loved you anyway. I loved the way you stuttered when you were nervous, and the way your cheeks turned fuchsia when you accidentally walked in on me in the shower. I loved that you carried me home, each time I got too empty and let the alcohol fill me up, in place of hot soup and a book in bed. You said, ‘sometimes, routine can ****.’

See, I’d never met a boy who made me think about the world, who made me think about beached whales and constellations and about how the moon can actually drive people insane. I wanted to be someone who made you think too.

So I buried myself in layers, piled them on generously, because I thought that maybe then, you would stay to watch me unravel, stay to discover why I wrote poetry on the back of my hands, why I was obsessed with the idea of leaving places indefinitely, why my mind came to a complete halt every single time you pressed your lips to my neck.

You got caught on a hinge somewhere between the third and fourth layers, and so I ripped myself open, got rid of the tight skirts and burgundy lipstick. Stopped leaving bite marks on your back, and planted kisses instead. I started being me, only when I realized, you never really intended to stay.

i) do you remember? that night in the abandoned theatre; we were two bodies in the dark, tugging and pulling at each other; at all our rough edges, hoping to smooth them out, so we wouldn’t cut ourselves with the jagged bits.

ii) when the stars came out, we sipped on lime soda by the lake and I asked if you would love me; all ripped jeans, and messy hair. You laughed, and planted a hickey on my chest; I left it at that.

iii) why didn’t you tell me you preferred soft and meek; not loud and roaring, the way my voice filled up the empty rooms in your house. You could’ve told me you wanted peony pink not plum; that you wanted the moon, not the sun.

iv) but darling, I wasn’t meant to cave, to shrink, to make myself small.

v) so no, I’m not sorry, that my opinions occupy most of the space in bed, or that sometimes, I like kissing with my lips tinted cherry red. I will not apologize for my reluctance to get down on my knees for you; the last time I checked, you were not a ******* pew.

vi) and each time you kiss her neck now, I hope you remember what it was like to kiss mine, I hope you remember each and every groove that lies along the edges of my spine.

the night
your mom walked out the door
in her paisley dress,
she brushed you off her shoulders so easily,
it made you wonder how long she had been practising.

you still think about how
you weren't the only thing that fell off
the peaks of her bony shoulders;
birthday cards, goodnight kisses, home-made banana bread,
these things lay dead on the staircase she walked down too.

so you try to be kinder;
wait for me to finish my sentences;
make me pasta dinners when I come home;
all messy hair and tired eyes,
so exhausted from trying to love myself.

but I want you to know
that you don't have to love me too hard;
don't have to shove love into my crevices,
to make up for the love your mama never gave you.

so be kind to yourself;
try to get out of bed at a decent time,
make yourself some hot cereal for breakfast.

stop waiting for me to come home;
for my voice to echo through the hall and fill up
the empty spaces in your heart;
the ones you always trip over.

put on a new shirt,
go outside,
and sit by the park bench;
you can always go back
to writing poems,
like you used to.

stop waiting for me to come home;
stop waiting around for someone to love,
you can fill yourself up first;
and rip out the weeds that lace your lungs;

I'll be right beside you,
armed with metaphorical shears
and tangible kisses,
but you've got to promise me,
that you'll learn how to love yourself first.

i) Tell me what you think about when you can't go to sleep at night. When you're on your bed, staring up at the ceiling, heat reverberating off the skin on your body. Desperation hanging off your lips; her name rolling violently around the inside of your mouth like a storm, pausing every now and then to dangle treacherously off the edges of your tongue. Why are you still sleeping with her ghost darling? I wish you would stop missing her so much sometimes.

ii) These days, you get out of bed at 2 in the morning and head to the liquor store down the street with my red flannel wrapped around your waist. I don't know how long you're gone but you wake me with whiskey-tinged kisses and bloodshot eyes. I tell myself this is just a phase, that loving a sad person isn't that hard really, but when I'm in the shower scrubbing her name off my skin with warm water and soap, I can hear you calling out for her, in a drunken stupor, as you stretch your lanky arms out to my side of the bed. I tell myself things will get better.

iii) We visit her grave on Wednesday. I make you tomato sandwiches for the ride and pick dandelions off the sidewalk because I know they're her favourite; you've mentioned it at least ten times. When we get there, you're on your knees, head buried into the soft grass, I'm not sure if you're crying, I don't want to know. The dandelions now lie crushed within the creases of your palms, and I start to wonder if the sadness that's tucked behind the corners of your ears will ever dissipate.

iv) On the car ride home, you won't shut up. "she's dead, she's dead, she's dead," you keep muttering in short, frayed breaths. I don't know what else to do, so I put on some music, slide my hand into yours and feel your fingers tighten around mine. "I can feel her slipping away," you say, and I think about how that's not such a bad thing.

vi) You're tired when we finally reach the door, and your eyes are droopy; you almost can't walk. So I guide you to our room; one hand on the small of your back, the other wrapped around your waist. I tuck you into bed, and make sure your blanket covers the peaks of your toes.

vii)You've drifted off into nothingness, you're sleeping in soft and heavy breaths now. Her name escapes from the gap between your lips, and a sigh escapes from mine. I can't help but wonder if this is what loving a ghost feels like.

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.

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.

I) Mama, I’m so tired. I’ve taken 10 hot showers and rubbed my skin raw but I still taste him in my mouth. I still feel him, trapped beneath my fingernails along with all the refusals I yelled out repeatedly. Mama, why didn’t he listen to me when I said ‘no’? He still lingers in the spaces between my thighs; he’s seared himself onto my skin, and it feels like the time I was 5 and playing with an iron. Except this time, I know the burn marks will not fade. They’re all over me mama, and I think I want to die.

II) Mama, it’s been four months now, and I flinch whenever someone touches me. There seems to be a problem with the synapses that weave themselves like tapestry across my brain. All they do is transmit warning signals and sometimes if you listen close enough, they scream danger when the boy in chemistry class intertwines his fingers with mine during a panic attack.

III) It’s summer now, Mama, and the beautiful boy from chemistry generates heat with me in my room, instead of within the whitewashed walls of the chemistry lab. You should see the way he looks at me, Mama. All the formulas in the world will never be able to explain the way he loves so selflessly. He’s different; gentle and slow, patient and kind. The corners of his eyes crinkle up when he smiles and god, when I’m with him, I almost start to believe in a heaven.

IV) I think I’m going to be okay, Mama. The burn marks are fading and my soul is healing. These days, I've started to take long walks on the beach with chemistry boy and at sunset, he pulls me into his arms and we just lie there, soaking in the explosion of colors above us. He tells me that he loves me, and I know this to be true because his heart is beating so fast; I think he just might combust. It is a beautiful life, Mama, and I know I’m going to be okay.

I) Tell me about the beautiful boy you fell in love with. Tell me about how he bought you lilacs right before he broke your heart, and please don’t apologize for the ache in your chest each time you walk past the florist on Sunday mornings. I’m sorry you thought his eyes were your forever; I’m sorry you thought his arms were your only home.

II) Tell me about the way he spit out lies instead of kisses; and curse at the fact that he threw out all of your letters. I’m sorry about all those nights you spent etching pieces of your heart onto paper; I’m sorry you couldn't sleep for months after he told you that he loved her.

III) Tell me about how you’re getting better; talk endlessly about the fading lines on your wrists and tell me about how you've finally erased the acrid taste of his kisses. I’m sorry he will never be lucky enough to lose himself within the creases of your lips again.

IV) It’s been a year now my darling; and yesterday you told me you’re starting to see, that you’re the only home you’ll ever really need.

missing you doesn't come in short, ragged gasps these days.
I breathe better when I'm sleeping // the coffee in my mug  doesn't remind me of your skin // and I've finally learnt how to find love within.

Cold coffee // I spilt cold coffee on my white dress // the morning you told me you were in love with her.

What could I have done better? //  love you harder? // kiss you on the cheek before I left for work each day? // forget the world and lie in bed with you whenever your heart was feeling blue? // which happened a lot towards the end of everything.

'People do fall out of love you know' // yes people fall out of love all the time // but darling, you fell right into her.

you are exit wounds // blue jeans // and the silence before a gunshot // I am cheap ***** // warm water // and quivering hands // we were never good for each other // but you stayed //  and I will always love you for that.

When they mention you // I think of stop signs //  laugh lines and // how you were never really mine.

You called me pretty
like it was the only thing that mattered,
whispered it through the holes in my bones,
you thought it would fill me up, make me whole.

But its 2 in the morning and the lights are dim;
Baby, it's 2 in the morning, you're right beside me
but I'm thinking of him.

Take me down to the ocean and we could get lost in all the shades of blue you aren't already feeling.