it's strange how the
light purple marks she left
so intentionally at 1:20am
make me feel just
a little more human just
a little more breakable

I'm learning to love
My words not only
As I am breaking
But also as I am
Finally blooming

It's a cliché, almost,
daffodils springing out of snow.
But does that mean that
it's not worth noticing,
maybe even marveling at?

the frustration of having
so many thoughts but
no words
has me turning myself
inside out
searching for the only medicine
I've ever found effective

Stoner eyes scan the highway
Blurry, chaotic
Nothing looks like it used to.
The music is loud, but it isn't your style.
Smoke escapes the window, but it isn't from your lips.
I have to remind myself
That it isn't you.
It never is these days.
You don't drive that car anymore.
Memories gone, faded
But I can't forget,
No matter how hard I try.
Things are different now.
Uncertain, cautious, confusing
Far more confusing
Far more enticing
Than I could ever hope to be on my own.

Shaky hands, bleeding nail beds
Walls begin to close
Heavy breathing, erratic pulse
Hide behind a hood so they won't know.
A name is called, one I know all too well
One I hate as much as I hate its owner.
They don't understand.
My voice cracks,
The words don't look like they should,
Unfamiliar, robotic as they leave
My cracked lips, that I want nothing more
Than to shut, silent, unmoving.
"Don't be nervous"
My heart rate increases,
And the only thing I can think about
Is disappearing within the pages
Of these stupid ******* textbooks
That no one ******* opens.

I want to crack you open like
The pages of a book
I always wanted to read but
Could never get my hands on
Write my own words in the margins
Not with a pen but
With my fingertips
Take notes on my favorite passages
Not on paper but
On your lips
Memorize my favorite lines like
A prayer I never knew I needed
And then reread each chapter
Page by page so that
I'm sure to not miss a
Single word or phrase

you say you don't want me if
the only time you can have me
is a quarter past twelve at the top
of an empty parking garage.
and I understand.
I wouldn't want a boy
who's mind is half a thousand miles away,
searching for answers at the hands of
the same people who left him
with far too many questions
either.

I am a person tragically unfit for solitude
Yet I can’t get the feeling out of my chest that
That is precisely what I am designed for

happiness hit me
like a bus
it's my fault
for not looking both ways

I became these things
for you and
in your absence
these things
still remain

sometimes I forget
where my body ends and
where your body begins
where the boundary lies and
sometimes I wonder
if the boundary even exists

a light powdery layer of pollen settles on my laptop, my coffee cup, my toes which are seeing the sun for the first time in seven months.

the sun heats my right leg and I find myself strangely anticipating the day this warm kiss will become a hot red burn.

the birds have been yapping on since seven in the morning, and I can only assume that there must be plenty of gossip to catch up on since last august.

what do we do with



the vast sea of silence



between the small spaces of sound

I've become a museum
in which you
are the only exhibit

it has been two weeks and
the fantasies are starting
the daydreams where you show up
in the middle of the night hands and breath
shaking
clothes anxious to take their place
on the floor in the corner
where we are no longer lovers
in name or shape
we are sea and mountain we are
paint mixing spilling
into and out of each other
the daydreams where we stay
laced and woven
beneath your grey blanket
until the doves start whispering about us
sometime around seven in the morning

We met you in the morning
Two miles up the mountain’s spine.
All broad and beautiful,
Full of intent, and of blackberries.
Before I knew it not three yards stood between us.
My two legs together were smaller than just one
Of your outstretched arms, reaching
For something sweet in the bushes. Quite like us, I think.
“Black bear” is the word we used.
You sauntered off, smelling of musk and honey,
Your child, all fluff and fight, in tow,
Probably entirely not knowing
That you were the miracle of the day.

it's the way you delve into me
like I am the most divine flavor
to ever grace your tongue
your lips pull prayers out of me
that would put those
ancient hymns to shame

I'm slowly learning the art
Of being selfish with myself
And not other people

and then it was may
and the air touched us
like a lover's wet kiss

shadows dancing on my wrist
and wind licking at my fingertips
light moving back and forth
past the greyish-blue eyes I always hated
but never knew why
everything is new
and nothing is the same
but then again
I've never craved consistency

I’m so afraid that
I’m going to spend the rest of my life
Searching only to find
Artificial second-hand versions
Of that feeling you so violently
Pounded into my chest

I am not clean.
I am torn up nail beds.
I am bruised knuckles.
I am smoke curling around bleeding fingers.
I am tired eyes that lost their shine.
I am cracked lips forming disappointed smiles.
I am the loose tobacco at the bottom of the pack.
I am dried up old pens.
I am all the words I’ve left unsaid.
I am shaky knees.
I am the discomfort in your chest.
I am trying my best, I promise.
I am hastily scribbled words you’ll never read.
I am not the stability that I need.
I am not what anyone needs,
And it is not beautiful.

you were a red light
and I was going far too fast

I want to hold your stupid hand ✔
I want to lay in bed and listen to you talk about space ✔
I want to watch you make all the beautiful things you do ✔
I want to lay in the grass and watch the stars with you ✔
I want to kiss you somewhere with a view ✔
I want to play with your hair whenever I can because it's perfect ✔
I want to wake up next to you ✔
I want to discover new music with you ✔
I want us to do every dumb, cheesy, cliche thing I can think of ✔
I want to fall in love with you one day ✔

there's something comforting about
returning to the basics
welcoming a heightened heart beat
with open arms
being okay
once again
with the sweat collecting on my palms
touching my knee to your's
barely enough
for you to even know I'm there

I walk to class wearing her glasses and your shirt.
I can still smell her hair from yesterday,
And I can still feel your lips from last month.
I told her I’m not ready, but she didn’t care.
I told you I was ready, and you didn’t care.

You turned me into an instrument
Why was I surprised
By what you did next?

            -played

I can sit in the woods all morning
talking the ears off the birds
while squirrels laugh at me, or
I can sit silently, reverently and listen,
and I think I'll learn something important
either way

It is so tempting and somewhat expected
To measure a year in numbers.

Twelve months, twelve thousand
More dollars in a bank.

Today, eight months since spring.

In Colorado, only one inch of rain
Since July.

How many trees lost to fires?

I can’t count how many prayers.

Next year I will have three hundred and sixty-five days.

And I don’t intend on wasting
Any single one of them.

I'll get sick in the bathroom at school
Because we haven't spoken in days
And
I'll buy the cigarettes I hate and you love
Because that's what you always tasted like
And
I'll try to love myself like you did
Because no one else can
But
I'll die before
I tell you that I miss you

as autumn quietly approached
the cold air against my fingertips,
hanging out of a cracked car window,
began to feel less like a bite
and more like a kiss

I told you a year ago
while we were buried somewhere
in the mountains, I'm not sure which ones,
that I believe in magic

and you didn't say so but
I think you silently agreed—
how could you not?

You too watched the sun climb from behind
the mountains overlooking us,
and heard how joyously the birds sang when it did.

I killed the spider living in my bathroom this morning. I’d left it alone in the corner for days while it ate stinkbugs it caught in its web—it’s October, 90 degrees, and my home has become refuge for anything hiding from the heat.
I was in the shower when I saw it out of the corner of my eye, sleeping I think, in a fresh web stretching from right beneath the shower head to the opposite corner. I was going to leave it there, squishing myself against the far side of the shower, the tile wall freezing cold against my back. It was just a spider.
But then it was an awake spider stretching its tapered, spindly legs. The spider looked at me and I looked at it. It must have interpreted this as an invitation and not a warning because it moved towards me across the invisible bridge it has spent all night building.
I immediately cupped water in my hands and threw it, drenching the web while the spider fell further and further down the yellow tile with each handful of hot water until it reached the tub floor and circled the drain like a cyclone before it disappeared.
A new spider moved in this afternoon, bigger than the previous tenant. It’s fixed itself back in the corner near the door and I think I’ll let it stay there until late autumn when the stinkbugs leave.

did his lips taste different
last night than they did in january?
did the flavor I left on your lips
three hours before mix well
with the bitterness of his tongue in your mouth?
are his hands stronger than mine baby?
did they hold you better than mine could?

I begin to envy the sun
Who sees you dance in the morning light
I start to resent the sea
Who is lucky enough to feel your touch
I grow jealous of the moon
Who gets to know all of your secrets
When all I have is
The occasional evening text
And blurry photos taken by your friends

your clothing fills the space on my floor
with such defined intention
like that of a form cast onto an abstract canvas
perfectly articulating and punctuating
wordless conversations from the night before

The scent of your hair isn't the one I want
Clinging to my fingertips as I lie in bed
The fog on all six windows is there because of
Your heart and my hands,
But the rest of me is missing.
I left it with someone else, somewhere else
Barely visible walls and a low off white ceiling.
I'd like to say I'm thinking with my head
And not my heart,
But neither is true when it comes to you.
It's that one part of me,
Selfish and cruel,
That I never wanted to be
That I want no one to see

There's a strange comfort in the backseat
Watching sheets of water slide
Down the windshield,
Casting shadows on the skin
You already fear is too dark.
The music is gone, faded and
I'm glad you can hear the
Hitch of my breath as your
Hands find their way to my hair.
None of the windows are covered in fog,
Everything is in view.
Hands and words and mouths
Melting together like
Spring green mixing with rain,
And all I can feel and
All I can see is that
This is how it's supposed to be.

Your hands are not the first to trace along
Those parts of myself that I hate.

Embracing the discomfort of the backseat,
Protected by foggy windows and songs played
Just loud enough so
That you can't hear my uneven, nervous breaths.

They're not the ones that I want or miss,
But they're the only ones brave enough to touch me
In the last four months.

if you thirst for the good things to happen
be patient
they will come in waves
like sheets of rain on dry pavement

I've spent hours, probably,
strolling the same streets,
walking the same trails seeing
just house quiet my feet
can possibly be on three inches
of dried up leaves,
wondering what the doves,
what the wrens are saying
so loudly, so charismatically to each other
and it's a wonder that
one hasn't said to me
"why do you need to know
what it is that we're saying,
is it not enough to know that
we're saying it at all?"

am I coughing because
I have smoked far too much or
is it because I am trying to
rid my lungs of whatever
you there is
left in me

My greatest act of self hatred
Was letting myself believe that
I was nothing without you

I'll not write poetry
until the poetry
begs to be written

there is nothing beautiful about the way
I smell a little too much
like stale cigarettes and day old coffee
and not enough like the flowers
I am trying to grow in those
barren parts of me that I
refuse to let them see

they played with your heart
like it was their favorite game
and didn't bother to tell you the rules

we used to laugh at how
your hair would get in the way
when we were kissing but now
I'm tearing my bed apart
frantic
to find just one strand
to remind me you were real

Something isn't right
We're in the back of my car and she slides my hand up her shirt.
Her skin feels strange and unfamiliar
beneath my fingertips and her breath feels dangerous against my bruised neck.
Her hair feels foreign tangled in my hands.
Her lips feel wrong pressed against mine.
She says my name, but it sounds nothing like the way that you used to say it.
She isn't you.
She can never be you.

can we intertwine like
the paints on your palette?
till my green hues
mix flawlessly with your blues?
till there is no me and
there is no you?