His fingers reach for the glass pipe and all you can think about

are his eyes

and how they’re the color of every city you’ve never lived in.

The smoke undulates from his lips

like the most honeyed death sentence

into the chasm that surrounds the two of you, and the words

“he’ll destroy me”

are ringing in your ears.

He’s a paradoxical boy,

with his shooting star hands and his nebulous mind,

that carelessly leaves his magnetism lying around

for you to trip over.

Perhaps that’s how he gets girls on their knees.

You have fallen for a boy whose words fall from his lips

like dark matter, but he is

trapped inside the black hole of his own mind.

He cannot fold himself around your galaxy

because he cannot escape his own.

He’s lost there.

The sadness in his eyes

is a mirror

and as you stare at yourself you realize

this is the first and last time you’ll love your own reflection.

Now, you will only meet up in the

liminal spaces between this life and the next.

He will come to you in daydreams,

this is the only place where you can learn to love each other.

When you are in the shadowy spot

between sleep and wake,

refrain from memorizing the outline of his lips when he smirks.

The sunlight will take it away

as quickly as it gave it.

You came into this world screaming for your right to be loved,
please don’t think you have to leave the same way.  
I know what it’s like to crush pills every night just so you can break something other than yourself, but darling, love doesn’t exist in powder.
Remember that inside of you are crashing galaxies; every fiber of your being resonates with tragedy and stardust,
and there is someone out there who will want to crawl into the folds of your universe.
However, there will be days that even ghosts can’t see you,
but just remember that you don’t have to search for approval in the arms of strangers.
It won’t be there.
The only thing you’ll find is trouble.
When you notice that lovers repeatedly treat you like a puddle, stepping
over you and carrying on with their life, know that that’s not what you are.
You are an ocean, ebbing and flowing with the moons magnetism.
Calm enough to carry the burdens of others,
but powerful enough to drown them.
It’s not easy realizing that everyone you have ever loved has never loved you, but neither is pretending to be a *******.
So give away paper mâché versions of your heart, one after the other,
until you find the person who notices the difference
between something living and something dead.
Until you find the person who is willing to ask about your real heart.  
There is no reason that you should not be loved.

swim
through the dim
      abyss of the ocean's blue water
      to become a daughter
                  of the violent and quiet sea.

dive
through cold knives
      as your body submits to the waves,
      you must let yourself cave
                  to the water's hypnotic sway.

trade,
for green jade
      scales to cover your ivory legs.
      no longer will your wade
                  in the shoreline's shallow waters.

dance
with the chance
      of happiness running through your mind
      and you will learn, in time,
                  in order to swim you must drown.

They will only hurt you as much as you let them.

And when you want to tear your veins out from frustration,

You must remember to channel that anger into forgiveness.

But don't forget,

They will never love you as much as they love their fix.

Convulsing,
Vibrating,
Spreading.

It’s tendrils reach across the floor
And up the walls,
Feeling.

Emitting a heavy buzz,
It becomes overbearing.
The only sound I can hear.

Dripping,
Clammy,
Suffocating.

I feel it wrap itself around my throat,
And makes it’s way into my ears,
Seeping.

Snaking through my cingulate cortex,
Putting it to sleep.
Putting me to sleep.

Morose,
Destructive,
Burdened.

You carried the scent of a heavy summer rainfall with you
everywhere you went,
dropping hurricanes from your pockets for strangers
who have only known spring showers.
I didn’t know it was possible to fall in love with a storm.
Every time your cloudless eyes met mine
I felt a swell in the back of my throat,
as if I had drank too much seawater and you just kept staring
until I began to cough up the entire
Pacific Ocean.
You told me that this is what it meant to be with you,
to be with a nihilist.
You held other worlds on your fingertips
and slipped them under my tongue,
my blood becoming bellicose within it’s own veins.
The parabola of my pupils stretched until they became quasars,
I had never known energy like this before.
Your lips twitched into a most complacent grin at my lack
of self-possession as I writhed in the rapacious wake of the river.
Everything around me shimmered
with the light of 1,000 stars
and I heard centuries of music in your laughter.
I was a foreigner in a different world.
That night we made love with the intensity
of 50 lightning bolts striking an erupting volcano
and it was the first time you told me you loved me.
It was the only time you meant it.
We anesthetized each other so much
that you became insusceptible
while I became hypersensitive.
You carved kisses into my skin
and they were wonderful
but I was starting to bleed out.
But you couldn’t even feel my nails
as I tried to dig my way into your heart.
I had never wanted to live inside a person so badly,
but you can’t make homes out of people.
You can’t make homes out of addicts.

Out of all the words in the human languages, almost is the cruelest.
                                              I almost loved you.
                                              I almost won.
                                              I was almost there.


                                              I was almost *****.

When he snuck into the room like a wolf stalking its prey, my stomach didn’t almost tie in knots.
            It became a sailor’s masterpiece.

When he laid beside me as quiet as a stone, I wasn’t almost shaking.
            I was a leaf on the San Andreas Fault.

When his long, spidery fingers began trailing down my back, it didn’t almost feel like razors.
            He cut so deep the skin began to peel back and expose every    
            insecurity that I’ve hidden away between my vertebrae.

His fingers didn’t almost dig into my arm,
            they became shovels that dug a hole big enough for a casket.

Bruises didn’t almost blossom across my skin,
            I was a primrose bush in full bloom and he was the gardener.

When he coerced himself between my thighs, I didn’t almost scream.
            Years of ancestral abuse surged through my lungs and out my lips  
            into a battle cry.

When he tried to force his hand inside of me I didn’t almost feel spoiled.      
             I was a fruit rotting from the inside out, something that no one  
            would ever want.

And when my screams finally drove him off of me, I wasn’t almost okay.
             I was paralyzed with fear and disgust and shame.

Everything I’ve ever believed in slapped me in the face as I told myself:
                                      This is what I get for liking ***.
                                      I shouldn’t be so easy.
                                      I was asking for it.


                                      It was my fault.

I felt like a butterfly, beautiful but ruined by a man’s touch.
             Never to fly again.

But the truth is, a butterfly sheds scales throughout its lifetime,          
             regenerating its wings.

So when a man reaches for your wings in attempts to rip them off
             remember that you are not what he thinks you are.

Remember that it is never your fault.
             Not even almost.

The first time I met you, I tasted blood in my mouth. You reeked of ***** and misogyny and bad intentions. You reeked of my mother’s rotting happiness.

Every time I saw you my skin turned to Braille, but that never gave you the right to try and read it. See, the small of my back was not your pocket, my chin was not your coffee cup and my shoulder was not a place for your crocodile tears. You don’t have to touch a person to know them.

When you realized I wasn’t a tween romance novel, you started to read my mom like she was self-help book. But I knew you were illiterate the day my mother’s makeup foundation couldn’t find the exact shade that went with black eye. The cut on her lip was just a new shade of lipstick and the bruises encircling her neck and wrists began to look like jewelry. She told me they cost more than any pearls she’s ever owned. And like Samson, my mother’s hair was cut short. But it was by her doing. What good was strength when you were the one pulling her around by it?

But the moment we found out that she was carrying life inside of her your hands had to find a new hobby. I suggested training your fingers on how to pack a bag but instead you chose how to learn to pick up bigger bottles. It was a relief to see my mothers stomach swell rather than her face but 9 months is nothing compared to 18 years.

The only solace I find in you being in my brother’s life is that I won’t have to teach him how to hate you, he’ll already know. And I’m counting down the days until the ocean in his veins form a category 5 hurricane. I’m counting down the days until he destroys you.

It took me a while to realize that you were not my first love. Sure, my first time, my first older boyfriend, my first lover who was also my best friend. But not my first heartbreak. While discussing the argument between your girlfriend and me with a close friend, she said something that woke me up.

“Why is she so insecure if you two didn’t work out? Like, you two just don’t work, she shouldn’t be attacking you.”

At that moment I wanted to interrupt with a, “we did work out but-“ But what? I let what she said resonate through my brain. We didn’t work out. I was trying to keep every beautiful memory alive (there’s a lot of them) by ignoring the idea that we really did not work together. It was a slap in the face when everything clicked. We would still be together if everything worked.

Naturally, this led me to think of everyone I’d been with and why it never worked. I ignore Evan. Yes he was my first boyfriend and yes he was my first kiss, but that’s all it was. We were eleven years old with dorky crushes on each other. Hardly love at all. Then there was Gareth. He was my first love. It was one of those things where I saw him and I felt like 500 bees had stung me. Only their stingers left the healing sensation of honey. Right after the pain came the comfort. But with this also came with the reality that he was my first unrequited love, my first heartbreak. It took years to get over him. I dated Nick, I dated Hayden, I flirted with Jordan, and nothing sufficed. And then came you. Seeing you wasn’t the equivalent of a bee attack, but rather the feeling of floating in the ocean. Calm, tranquil, heavenly. We had a good run. I could write every amazing moment our relationship had but I’d die before it was finished. In the end, we were changing people that weren’t changing together. It hurt to realize this, as a Taurus I abhor change, but looking back on it years later it all makes sense. I tried for so long to get back what we had, but we never can. Burned out flames should never reignite.

After you came Jake. Now he’s an interesting one. He’s the first person that I was infatuated with. At the time I didn’t know this so I merely stuck the sticker “head over heels in love” onto him. I thought he was another repeat of Gareth. Unattainable and heartbreaking.  And in a way he was. I broke when he left. I completely shattered. But I’m thankful for this because most things that fall apart already have some sort of cracks in them. I realized that I didn’t shatter because of Jake, but because I had been living with depression. Jake was just the missing puzzle piece. And when he came back around, I felt nothing. And with that I found Rory smiling and lying in a pile of my shattered pride. We challenged each other, bettered each other. Until we carved and sculpted each other into the partner of our dreams. Our love was built on copious amounts of *** and drugs; Rory and Tia became a euphemism for Sid and Nancy. “I love you” became euphemism for “I'm not sober.” That’s how I knew it wasn’t love. But what was love however, was Daniel. Being with him was lava. Molten hot lava. This was the kind of love that grew out of proximity. Scientists say that if you look into someone’s eyes and tell them every deep part of yourself for thirty minutes, you’ll fall in love. And that’s basically what happened, except for the fact that it made Daniel feel nothing. I, on the other hand, was being consumed by him. It was a hookup gone wrong and I still have yet to learn the lesson that his role in my life will teach me.

he loved me, and then he didn't

"I", a simple syllable placed before "love",
A complex emotion I feel for “you.”
You pierce the thin veil between my needs and wants.
You attach yourself to my soul.
And I succumb to the feeling.

I am what lurks in the dark corners of your conscience,
Flickering through your thoughts
As you walk down an unlit corridor.

I am what makes the hair on your arms rise.
Making your palms sweat
As the sounds from the darkness behind you grow louder.

I am what makes the breath catch in your chest
Like a wild thing caged.
The way your heart beats
As your fingers lift up the skirt of your bed.

Have you let it sink in?
Does your skin feel stretched tight?
Have I consumed you?

On the days that you can’t open the front door
without greeting that tsunami of grief,
remember that even the softest and sweetest peaches
have pits sharp enough to cut the tongues of old emperors.
The Chinese Taoists believed that the peach tree only bloomed
once every three thousand years,
don’t let your happiness do the same.
Bloom every day.
All day.
And even when the sunlight is covered
by the same clouds that loom over your shoulder,
keep blooming.
Just because you can’t see the light
doesn’t mean it stopped shining for you.

Technically my first,
But it was only practice
For the boys ahead.

You were just there too.
I didn’t care much for your
Big lips and bad breath.

We were our first loves.
But we were young and naive
and too gullible.

The football player
And the post gothic new girl.
Such an odd couple.

I could never tell
If we were in love or just
infatuated.

You played piano
Better than you played my lips.
Had to end it soon.

Oh god, I loved you.
Almost more than my sadness.
But only almost.

I almost liked you,
But then I noticed your gaze
Never left my chest.

It was a bad time
In my life and you were just
Another mistake.

Twenty years apart
And not to mention, my boss.
What were we thinking?

You were a freshman
And I was bored at the time.
I know it hurt you.

You ****** my sister
And gave me a drunken kiss.
You’re just pathetic.

Loved me since eighth grade,
But I always turned you down.
Our kiss felt empty.

I didn’t know you.
All I knew is that you were
Higher than a kite.

You wanted much more,
But I felt nothing towards you.
Just one more let down.

You had a girlfriend,
But it was late and you just
Got me with that kiss.

I should have listened.
You were just a drug addict
Looking for your fix.

We were more than drunk.
I tried to say no, but you
Just kept saying yes.

Our love was nothing but a paradox.

                  You taught me how to swim,

                                   then drowned me out at
                                    
                           ­                                        s
                                                               ­       e
                                                        ­                 a.

Your words spread through me,
Soothing my souls violent waves.
You’re my sedative.

It’s Winter and I wish someone
could give me pesky little lovebites
that I have to cover
with expensive scarves.

Kiss me until my lips are swollen
And even then kiss them back to health
Let your body show mine everything it’s been missing

It’s one of those nights
where I miss the way you breathe out the stars when you laugh,
freckling the sky’s velvet skin with drops of
gold.
Your lips were the sun
which I orbited myself around and
your eyes the moons which pulled my tides.
The Milky Way that was
your skin
felt just like Heaven beneath my touch
and your lips on mine ignited an incandescent
supernova.
And as I lay here now
I think back to the
black hole
that collapsed our celestial world.
All that we knew died.
Not with a whimper,
but with a
bang

One
It’s nice to see you.

Two
If we weren’t best friends, I’d totally be with you.

Three
You were the only reason I came home. I couldn’t be away from you.

Four
I’ll love you long after our world is gone.

Five
I don’t want a girlfriend.

Six
You’ve shown me how love is supposed to be: pure and forgiving.

Seven
He loves you, and I’m ******* you.

Eight
I feel like a lot of the time I was just using you.

Nine
I don’t want to date anymore.

Ten**
I really do love you.

l am the familiar unfamiliar.
I am a house of bones working as your cage of sorrow.
I am the three o’clock suicide hotline call your mom doesn’t know about.
I am your shallow breathing.
On a clear, cold night I am the emerald flash
Of the dying sun on the ocean.
Blink, and I’ll be gone.
I am the lukewarm coffee you force yourself to finish at the cafe.
Bitter, cold, and disappointing,
But you can’t stop drinking.
You once told me that coffee was the only thing keeping you alive,
So I pulled the plug on the machine.
I am the regret you throw up from your weekend binging routines,
Spilling from your mouth and falling off your lips like lava.
You could never keep me down.
I am Van Gogh, cutting my own ear off
In attempts to get your love.
I didn’t realize that giving it to you meant throwing a piece of myself away.
I am the earthquake that shattered the foundation of Los Angeles
just because I could.
After all, you always said you liked disaster.
On the nights that you actually manage to sleep, I am the spider
That crawls into your mouth.
It’s always been my favorite place to go.
I will love you like a mother loves her unborn child,
Cherishing the sight of blood just because it reminds me of you.
I am the two things you hate the most,
Paper cuts and taxes.
I am the two things you love the most,
Smoking and forgetting.
When you go to light your lucky, I am the kiss
Between the flame and the paper:
Something you only want to do once.
But you don’t have a smokers cough for no reason.
I am the desire in a baby’s grip to hold his mothers hand.
But, I am the mother who never cared.
I am not the tropical showers everyone wishes for,
But the devastating monsoons.
I am the reason storms are named after people.
When the winds are howling and your fingers are blistered with frostbite,
You can count on me to not be there.
Your mother always warned you to wear a seatbelt,
For fear of a collision.
I am the windshield your head crashes through when you don’t listen,
Carving the word
“Guilt”
Into your scalp.
I only wanted to see how your brain worked
When you weren’t thinking of me.
I am the look on your best friends face when he catches you
Sleeping with his girlfriend.
I am the teeth you lose from the punch;
Hide me under a pillow and I’ll disappear.
I am your ravenous drug habit,
Breathe me in enough and I’ll give you a high
You could have never imagined.
I am addiction.
I am withdrawal.
I am the lies of God and the hope for redemption
At your AA meetings.
Talk me up enough and I’ll be truer than your fathers gambling habit.
I am the tears that fall from your grandfathers eyes
When you tell him about the last time you tried to **** yourself.
After all, it was just yesterday.
I am the stones you placed in your pockets
And the icy river you plunged yourself into.

I am not the stranger who saved you.


I will never be the one to save you.

Do not open my veins again just so you can crawl into them and diffuse yourself into my bloodstream. I can’t let you be the drug that keeps my heart pumping and my breath flowing anymore.

On the nights where the air was thin and I’d been smoking like the world was going to end you wrapped yourself around my thoughts like a python suffocating it’s dinner.

But the difference between you and a snake is that they digest their prey. Slowly, giving it their undivided attention. You never loved me enough to swallow me whole. You opened me up and feasted on the parts that you liked, and maybe that’s why I can’t function until you return to finish me off.