and i feel myself breaking everytime i talk to you
wake up crying, go to sleep crying, mad at myself
for trying to believe im something to you or a factor
that influences your fleeting thoughts and actions during the day
are you sleeping on me? sky goes colossal over my head
and the sun exposes the long lost footprints trekking
to the wrong places i strayed to, and you can map them all out

Maybe you're just out of touch
and me too, a little out of reality
but maybe you'll holler me down next sunday
make your hands form a heart when you feel alone
and you'll know just how i feel inside

call my number if you feel like i do inside
maybe you'll hollow me out next sunday
cradle it all, baby of sorrow and ebony tough love
we hood and love doesn't belong here
trying to be cool around you, but i'm feeling lower than ever

just a bit of letting go and things that i'm not going to live
with next sunday

Anticipation always ups the ante, burns me up and up
hanging out in TC with you, the sun is peaking out
and it feels a little less empty every time i look out the window
analogy backwash, swallow my pride and spill out
my guts in metaphoric cliched prose, quantum anything
and by now it's unfocused and out of frame
the bar is closing down on us and the beach is inviting me
to sink beneath its waves

You say this with an odd jealousy~
It's easy being me, I am a marvel of a mountain
a giant sleeping on a hill, taking up all the space~
Write immortal poetry on my arms and people
take notes on all of the subjects I profess as truth

You say all these things as if the quantity in question
outweighs the persecution us women face around
the world, the options opting upon our forced attendance
guys like you creep in bushes and clamor you're
an incel and some of you wish you were girls

A terrible thing to be is to be me

The sequence idles for a bit then undulates
shall I leave or stay wait for you to collapse
on me like a ton of bricks or a roiling wave

My starvation for your presence and the increasing
loneliness I have, palpitates its manifestation
on tear stained pages and overwhelmingly cheesy tropes

that make it seem so unbelievable, how did all
of my life here and the past lead me to be writing
all of these sentences to deprecate all my life's choices~

I am an armada with holes in its hull
a meteor burning up in the mesosphere
the girl you met sort of once and forever marked you

I'm insane for launching headlong into loving you
Life is passion and I have to have it~
clear skies and gantries releasing my rockethead into space

I just wish settling down was not the only stigma
that prevented your engagement in the leap of faith
and direct contact was all you wanted for all these nights

to the perfume of impeccable smell ever drawn
with even the bitter tasting people left bereft
of speech, the hour is blue and it is blue hour
time lapses and traipses into its mystery
I keep wondering where or what that scent
came to, a heavenly starry view and a whimsical
wanderlust left in the hearts of every princess
out there with a man who takes
the mantle of the journey to crawl inside
such a tight beating space of her chest

To all my friends saying I am not up for
that decision, I am too dramatic and predisposed
to derelict conversation and intellectual thought
the rainbow comes with the rain and the LGBT
my heart is titanium and too heavy to fit
inside another's perplexing palm-

You tell me I am just like her and it crushes me
that I sit in the same spot, that passenger seat
of your jeep you hate as she did and I want
to explode in reds oranges yellows greens
blues purple yell at you that I loved her too
but she fell for you and you ruined it for everyone

Live in the white city, slip into the blue hour
again, and to all my friends saying I was wrong
that you're all right about your opinions of me
and I am misguided, I should just go to the bars
with you all and cash in on the next person
buy me a drink, like I have fun in the face
of funerals and if I make it tonight we can arrange
my own later on I guess

Look at me; there isn't much of me
I'm cold as the wind, like a carving around a post
like the sand being washed over by rolling waves
my hair enters the fray like a bat fluttering back
to its tree to sleep in, I live giving out empty assertions
to everyone who asks how I'm doing and these promises
are way too much to think about ringing about
my mind like the carnival by the sea on the beach~

Heart is a little bit less every time I check,
needs sight to behold the gamut of the dusk
and hold the onus-torch of a near-nothing dream
light a bit of the path up a bit, and realize what the sign
says at the fork in the road, "Each of these don't end up
in his arms anymore."