She sat at the corner of my mind
Comfortably installing herself.

there are loose leaves
at the bottom of my teacup
I rarely finish drinking the thing
- instead I stare through the dark transparent liquid
at barely-floating twiggy tea leaves that
escaped from the bag
I am forgetful
and unforgiving of myself
I am too easily entranced by
lights and thin branches that dance above muddy grass
my eyes see things breathe
like marbled floors and brick buildings
I am so enraptured by rabbit fur
and tree bark
rabbits prance along the neighbourhoods
and I love the game of seeing how close I can get to them
before they leap away

when I think of bliss,
I think of not knowing what is coming next
more even, not caring

when I think of bliss,
I think of running after rabbits
or petting a tree
I do these things when no one’s looking
so no one catches the crazy in me

there are loose coffee grounds
at the bottom of my mug
caffeine kills me
and I love the taste
of the cruelty
but my body is hurting
again
like last year
where fainting and falling and confusing my words in conversation
arose every time I felt an anxious feeling
nudge its way in deeper
maybe it’s just way of giving up
my body surrendering in complete so that I feel full effect
of how badly I’ve treated it
it’s hurting again
so much that sometimes I can barely get out of bed
or get off the bus
and walk the trek home in the nippy night

I see rabbits prance along the neighbourhoods
and oh look, I am repeating myself
again
I hardly notice because my head is hurting
like there are a million and one hurricanes
inside of it
less of a crash and more like a rush
there is a difference between headaches
and light headedness
both hurt though
still I’m ashamed I’m lightheaded all the time
there is a weakness in it
that only frail people can relate to,
the scatterbrains, the unconcentrated, the anorexics, the cancer patients
the sick-of-some-sort
what am I?

Your bedroom is a carefully preserved time capsule,
a tribute to a fondly remembered time long past.
Though I have visited this small square room less than
feels right since our once tight-knit group dissolved, it is
kept as pristine as a display about a foregone era in a dark
and cluttered museum.  The walls still stand wearily in that
same stubborn shade between periwinkle and robin's egg,
the only difference is one unfamiliar poster-the rest have
hung steadfast in the same positions since you moved into this
bedroom from the one next door many years prior.  In the
corner across from your bed, rests the desk you have
used to hold some of your most valued items for as long as
we have traversed the undulating cycle between friendship
and acquaintanceship, including the now-empty terrarium that
bravely contained a wooly tarantula.  Your closet, still noticeably
bare, informs me, through a smattering of neon yellow t-shirts,
that you are still employed for the same landscaper. As we pass a
meticulously re-rolled cigar between us, two old and distant
friends, my vision drifts towards the dresser under the plain
windows, which overlook your claustrophobic backyard.  It is,
surely, an Ikea affair, for though it has the coloring of mahogany,
the wood has the unmistakable sheen of faux; but what compels me
to gaze at this dresser is not its questionable quality but the years
of graffiti scrawled across its drawers and walls in the sort of thick
black marker that might give one lightheadedness if uncapped for
too long.  I realize, suddenly, that this dresser is our monolith.

I express to you my incredulity that you have kept this dresser,
of all things, for so long, as a wry grin splits my mouth in halves.
Too many memories, you say, a melancholy tone suddenly echoing
through the small bedroom.  My grin fades, and I look closely,
recalling in a bright flash a multitude of intoxicant-fueled evenings-
you were always in that black pleather computer chair, while
always I sat on the bed, squished between or beside the
on-again-off-again couple.  The exact words inscribed upon this
Ikea monolith, I realize, are no longer of importance, for they
are largely insensitive, pejorative, and crude.  These words are
the spirit of a fading adolescence wasted in suburban bedrooms
and backyards, or in city basements and roofs, spawned by
countless cases of the cheapest beers available, by handles of
off-brand *****, by bags of substances in every shape and
size imaginable.  I am staring at a proclamation of a girl's
promiscuity on this very monolith when you exclaim that you
would give anything to have a time machine, to go back to those
days, that they were the happiest days of your life.  Though
outwardly I smile and offer a noncommittal expression of
sentimentality, inwardly I frown, struck by a wave of pity.  

Halfway between twenty and thirty, I am no longer the shy,
hasty, or withdrawn teenager who spent hours cooped up in
a stagnant bedroom, ****** and bored. I can suddenly perceive
exactly how little you, my old friend, have changed, and I am
ashamed of my inability to say so.  But that couple imploded
years ago in a neon display, temporarily destroying all that
surrounded them; all of the satellites that orbited our group
have moved out of our gravitational field, some going off
to college, some getting good jobs, some moving to big
cities, some starting bands.  Graduations or birthdays
might bring us together for a few hours of drunken
reminiscence, we all know, somewhere, that we have
grown apart, while you hide in this bedroom,
a lonely hermit.

This room is not a time capsule;
it is a tomb, and the Ikea monolith might as well be your
headstone.

she looked worn out and wrinkly.

her date in comparison was wearing a beige suit, but under the dusk light he looked like he was the same color as the building paint. he could almost pass as presentable.

he was a business graduate, and he recently had some sort of corporate deal that would grant him some sort of something.

she didn't care for it at all, whatever happened with him and such.
all he is to her was some old college friend of a friend, who happened to approach her a few weeks back.

it had been a while since she had talked to anyone from her old school, and she was almost bewildered that chuck asked to take her to dinner. she couldn't refuse; despite of what she thinks of him, or what he would think of her, she was not one to refuse activity.

all she is expecting now is company, and a good talk and a good dinner. she expects that from him, but not from herself.

taking her seat, she felt a bit lightheaded.

the restaurant was glamourous. it looked liked the insides of a department store furniture section. hardwood beams and hardwood posts and matte black stools with velvet cushions. the lights were incandescent; the type of light she loved, that reminded her of four o'clock sunshine and reflections upon amber fall leaves.

𝘪𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, she pondered. her mind began to wander.

"𝒂 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆
𝒎𝒂𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒏 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕...--

"Hey, are you alright?"

she was staring at the lightbulbs. she was startled

"Oh, sorry. Long day. Can we have some water?"

they gestured to the waiter. chuck had the flair of a high class yuppie. all around her were upper middle class couples and well dressed demoiselles drinking brightly colored cocktails. she felt small.

the waiter gave them a pitcher of cucumber water and their menus.

𝘦𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘤𝘶𝘤𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥.

"Order anything you'd like" said chuck. "I'm not afraid to spend tonight."

"Are you sure? We can split this later, I got paid and all-"

"Please, it'd be rude of me to make you pay. Especially now."

𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯?

she looked at the menu. it had all sorts of cuisines, european and exotic. she could order something from spain and eat her way through the mediterranean and the alps and end up eating desert from japan.

𝘪 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵

she hadn't eaten for hours. shame went out of the window.

"I'll have the fillet. And the mushroom soup. And the swordfish. And this. And this... how do you say this? Yeah that..."

chuck was stone faced. he ordered the same steak. he then asked about the wine selection. the waiter asked her the same.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I don't drink. Maybe the iced tea."

the waiter went off with their menus.

"You don't drink? I thought in college you were a connoisseur of sorts." chuck asked.

"I don't drink now. College was ancient history."

"It's been a while, huh. Do you still talk to the other guys? Your old dorm mates? Mel?"

she shuddered at the thought of mel. she hadn't even thought of that name for years.

"No, I haven't talked to them. I barely talk to anyone these days, other than work."

"Oh, okay."

their appetizers arrived. a basket of italian bread was on the side; she immediately went for a piece.

"I've been working with my old mates." said chuck. "We were part of a merger of our company and that really was a stepping stone for us-"

"Yeah, yeah, mhm." she wasn't paying any attention. she was busy buttering her bread stick.

"And that gave me a lot of opportunities and stuff. I got a new house, new car, first class on business trips..."

chuck went on clamoring about his mcmansion and second hand ferrari. it went on for a few minutes.

"Yeah, that's great." she mumbled, with bread in her mouth.

she went for the last two pieces of foccacia on the basket.

"Aren't you going to try the bread?" she asked. whether it was out of shame or politeness she did not know.

"No. You're emptying it anyways. Don't fill up."

she looked up and saw chuck with an expression of mild annoyance. she sat straight and offered him a bread stick.

"It's fine." chuck went to have a sip of his wine. "How about you, what have you been up to these days?"

somehow, she didn't expect to be asked that.

"I'm doing good. Stable office job."

"Yeah. Mhm."

there is a silence within the hubbub of diners. the bread she was eating tasted like it suddenly turned cold.

𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺.

"Soooo..." she mumbled. "The food here good?"

"You must be hungry." chuck tensed.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I was just tired the entire day and I didn't get to eat lunch..."

"Don't apologize. This is a dinner. We're here to eat."

"Yeah, and to get together."

"Yes."

𝘺𝘦𝘱, 𝘯𝘰, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘱. 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦.

"You did order quite a lot." chuck finished his wine.

"We'll share."

"It's fine. I'm trying to reduce, actually. Been working out and all."

"Oh, are you? Back in college you were quite big."

"...yes. Yes I was."

𝘪 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.

"Anyways..."

"Oh, excuse me." chuck had a phone call.

she looked around. everyone looked like they were enjoying themselves. she could see herself in one of the bar mirrors, with a pallid expression and subpar hair. she looked at chuck. he looked busy and executive. she could not deny that he looked well and good, but in her eyes she still sees a plump frat boy with badly oiled hair and spots painted with acne cream.

chuck's call ended as their order arrived. as it was all set she immediately started on her mushroom soup.

"Enjoy." chuck had another glass of wine.

she ate quickly. she ate her soup before it cooled down and ate her steak before it lost all of its red. she topped her italian swordfish with an orange mash potato and ate it with her salad. she downed three cups of iced tea and ordered another pitcher of it.

chuck ate his steak quietly, sipping his wine occasionally.

"You really are hungry." chuck finished his plate.

"Mhm, yes I am." she said, while admiring a piece of arugula.

chuck stared at her. she kept eating. this went on for several minutes.

"You know, I didn't expect this night to be like this." chuck leaned back.

that set her aback. she looked to see chuck looking slightly displeased.

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I have to leave in about thirty or forty five minutes. My boss needs me. Can we check out early?"

"Oh, yes, of course." she dropped her fork. chuck called for the waiter.

her lightheadedness returned. the food did not help

"What did you mean you didn't expect the night to be like this?" she asked.

"Oh, it's nothing."

"No, come on, please. I'd like to know what you mean."

chuck swirled his wine around. "It's just that it's been a while, and I thought-" chuck paused for a moment. he took a sip.

"I thought you'd be different. I mean I don't mean different but you're different in a way I didn't expect."

𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵. "I don't get it."

"No, I mean- you're not whom I expected. You know, I thought you'd be that old talk from college, you know-"

she was beginning to get it. "Did you talk to Geo before?"

"Yeah, I did." he finished his wine. the bottle had two more inches left.

that ruined it for her.

"I remember you being cheerful and chatty back then." said chuck. "You know, back in the old days, you were the girl who everyone looked up to, loud scholar and activist and all. Geo and your dorm mates had a lot to say about you."

𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥.

"And they always say, 'you were a mean drunk, you always wanted to talk, always had something to talk about.' Nothing that happened in your day was uninteresting for you, they say."

she pushed her plate away. "Well it's been a while, Chuck. It's not college anymore. Not that I agree with you, just- ugh, I dont know..."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. I didn't mean to ruin this date."

"Oh, yeah. It's a date." she feels like she needs to run away.

"But I hope you're doing well. I hope you enjoyed the food, at least."

"Okay." she said.

they sat in silence for a minute. chuck's eyes were still at her. she checked her phone. no charge.

the waiter came and went with the bill. they sat in silence as chuck finished the bottle of wine. she felt the need to say something.

"You know... I saw a weird hat earlier." she blurted.

"Hm?"

"It was round, and made of plastic. It was like a bowl..."

"You mean a hardhat?"

𝘰𝘩, 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦... "Yeah, something like that."

more silence. it was beginning to turn unbearable.

she had to think of more things to say. she looked around, looked at chuck. she remembered. "What's in the bag?" she had to ask.

"Oh, nothing. Just my stuff." he raised it up. it looked like a fresh shopping bag.

𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵. 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘨...

"Anyways, I have to go." chuck stood. it was barely thirty minutes

"Oh, I'll come with you." she stood and went. it is raining outside.

his car was parked in the back, they had to run to the shade.

"Can I have a ride?" she asked, worriedly.

"No, I'm sorry, I have to go." chuck went and left on his rip off supercar. she was left on the sidewalk, in the pouring rain.

...

she arrived home, soaking.

she went straight to the bathroom. the rain was cold on her head, and gave her shivers. the lightheadedness turned into a headache.

she kneeled on the can. she threw up steak, and swordfish, and iced tea.

she took off all of her clothes and dried herself. she went to her living room and laid down on the carpet.

𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵, she thought. 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵.

she sat and took her pen from the clothes bin. she opened her notebook.

"𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔
𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔...

𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘪𝘵. 𝘨𝘰𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯.

she ripped the page off and wrote on a new one.

"𝒄𝒉𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒌.

𝒈𝒆𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒈𝒐

𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒕."

she closed her notebook. she stared at the ceiling once more.

𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘩𝘶𝘩. 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘥.

she closed her eyes and slept.

I was asking around for poem ideas, and one of my friends told me to write about past relationships. I was looking through an old box of notes and cards and stuff that I still have, and this poem just kind of bubbled up inside of me. I'm not sure that I like it, I was just kind of writing to write and then FEELS.



When I was young
and my family told me boys (or girls) would be
"breaking down the door to date me"
I didn't realise quite how many people
would say they loved me
and how many people I'd say I loved
in a lifetime.
It's amazing how love can be given away
so freely,
so willingly
yet so painfully...
I have memories
of each one.
Lucas will always be my Percy Jackson.
Devon was a constant "babe" and "baby",
"you and me,"
and a Valentine's card/stuffed bear that I still have.
Evan was "1... 2... 3"
playing Doctor Who with my little brother,
I wonder if he still keeps that 4th grade picture
of me in his wallet?
Derick was "#dickerdoodles"
and a Valentine's card/stuffed Pikachu that I still have,
Netflix, a rainy day, a pack of cigarettes
a notebook
and a promise of New York City in a year.
Hannah was a bass
duct tape wallets
carmex,
a song lyric or three, and
"How do I love thee?"
Ellie was the Tumblr Accent Challenge
cigarettes, alcohol
a homecoming dance
and incredible music.
Magus was Zelda, movie nights, and
"I love you with all my heart,
with all that I am, with
everything I have."
Jayne was (and is) "kiddo," and now "baby girl"
JannaLee was "Stay strong, babe, and burn bright.
You're my fire; I'm your hurricane.
Those nights belong to us."
Jason L. was "Aw, butts..."
Scooty is "John SNOOOOWW",
"Groot..."
heart-to-hearts, and
Jekyll and Hyde,
#TeamApplesauce.
Travion was "Hey, let's face battle"
a note on yellow lined paper
and Hotel Transylvania.
Andrew was a lick of the lips,
my 9th Doctor,
"Hey, Nii-san."
Randi was "honeybabe" to me;
I still think that's a cute nickname.
Matt F. was "You're DIGAUGFN... I <B you."
(and I still don't quite know how to say
how much the jumble of letters "DIGAUGFN"
still makes my stomach flutter.)
I've made sure not to replicate
with current lovers things I've done
things I've said
special phrases, special actions
with past lovers
Memories are sacred, see.
I don't believe that any men or women
have hindered my ability to love
but at the same time I want to hold
the ones that I've loved
(or maybe don't want to admit to myself
that I still do love)
in the back of my brain,
in the bottom of my heart,
in my palms, rolling them into joints
and inhaling them until all that's left
is a labyrinth of white smoke and a smile,
lightheadedness and a moment of peace
I want to make this explicitly clear:
Just because I have loved many
and still hold many dear to me...
That does NOT hinder my ability to love
any given person at a time.
After breaking up with my boyfriend of 3 years
for a man whom I didn't know I could love
as much as I do
I realise that with all the people in my heart
I still have room
and as awful as it sounds,
I live in the past
as well as the present.
I can't let memories of people
things, places go
but please do remember that
I do know how to be faithful
in mind and in action.
I know how to hold only one,
how to kiss only one,
how to date only one,
how to marry only one,
how to live with only one,
when I say I'll never leave,
please believe that my words ring true
but I'm sorry...
I do not know how to love
only one.

*****.

Twirling like the devil's baton
a cyclic cul de sac
'round the positronic menagerie,
speared from stem to stern, floor to ceiling,
arched bowed bent backs saddled ridden tools
adolescent ne'er-do-wells and prepubescent fools
all desiring to sit nowhere but by me,
by me, by me-

My friend of cosmic dawn, take my hand and
traipse like a runner in a blind alley.
Lead me to my quiet stead, walk and stamp about,
my cloven-hoofed associate, sarcastically devout,
and show me that everything in this whole world
is presented via legerdemain, deceitful cleverness,
but it cannot cure my lightheadedness, felt by me,
by me, by me...

day 1- excessive thirst and headache
day 2- sore throat
day 3-runny nose, panic
day 4- runny nose and coughing, panic
day 5- coughing, sneezing, drowsiness, panic, lightheadedness, neck muscle tension

What happened last Monday morning?
I woke up in my body and it wasn’t that body anymore:
Throughout my body I felt sharp pain
Followed by an added plus of lightheadedness
So I kept asking myself some questions,
What can the matter be?

The devil can be a liar sometimes,
I took a long look at my lifeline in the palm of my hands
It reads a long life ahead of me,
but somehow the most crucial pain
Was trying to outbid me: 

 As I lay there on the gurney
I thought about some cow’s heel soup with pumpkin,
Dumplings with the carrots simmering on top
The thought of food when you are feeling sick is unreal
But only a poet would have:
he thinks, he creates an illusion for a solution

That was last week today
I am having a bowl of delicious cow’s heel soup
Loaded with carrots and corn dumplings
To ease uneasiness:
I shall follow up with the doses of ranitidine
To complete this poignant write

When I look at him I wonder if he even knows he's addicted. Addicted to the way she laughs, and how the curves of her mouth turn up into a smile. If he knows he is drunk on the way that she sighs at the rain, or how she talks to the cat late at night. Does he know that she is what makes his reality worth it? And at the same time I wonder if she knows. If she knows that he the reason the blood races through her veins. If she knows that he is the reason that her lungs feel so full. That he is the dizzy lightheadedness, the weightless feeling within. Does she know that he is what creates her earth?

I don't miss the lightheadedness
I don't miss the fatigue
I don't miss the secrets
I don't miss the planning
I don't miss the fixation, the obsession
I don't miss the emptiness

But

I do miss the willpower I used to have

I don’t remember the first time I got drunk
I just remember the sensation
The lightheadedness and the pirouettes.

I got two hours of sleep last night

No, it wasn’t because I was working on the essay that was due today
I couldn’t care less about the essay

Actually, I could
Because I care too much about everything
and that’s why I was up all night

I’ve spent countless sleepless nights worrying about every moment that’s gone wrong
Wincing about every word I stuttered over
Analyzing every glance I received
And it makes me wake up with bruises underneath my eyes

My mom didn’t make me go to school today, even though she knew I should
She wants to scream at me to get out of bed, to do something with myself
But I think my empty stare and my cheeks stained raw like a ripe pomegranate
stop her from making me do anything

I haven’t washed my hair in three days
The thought of leaving my room ties a knot in my stomach that can’t be undone
And why doesn’t my dad understand
That I don’t feel like dragging my body around because it’s as if it’s a bag of sand?

My doctor told me that I have anxiety
headaches
trembling
nausea
lightheadedness
trouble swallowing food
excessive, o  n  g  o  i  n  g worrying and tension
difficulty concentrating
trouble falling asleep
                                       or
                                              staying
        ­                                                     asleep

I didn’t get to sleep tonight

I sit outside here alone
The chilly air suspendes around me
The smell of wetness resonates boldly from the rain some twentt minutes ago
I wear my white formal shirt wrinkled and undone at the top and bottom as well as my black formal pants that protects my legs from the cold
It's dark....
Lights in the distance remind me of the isolation which beats in time to my heart
My fumbling hands reach for tge carton and I remove one
Placing it in between my lips, the taste making me anxious for what is to come
A scrape and a fizzle then a sudden yet small blaze of light erupts as the damp matches are lit
The frenzy of letting the flame touch the lip before the dampness kills it
The matche's flame burns out, ending its bright career
But not before it ignites the cigarette and leaves the tobacco smoldering like miniature embers
I inhale.... tasting the smoke and exhale, watching in awe at how the smoke lazily twists and curls in the air
I enjoy the taste of it in my mouth
I don't allow it to go further than my mouth simply enjoying the flavour
I finish one, staring at it as the sliver of doubt creeps in....
Better light another to make sure
I repeat the process but this time I inhale deeply on the first drag, allowing the bitter smoke to enter my lungs
Yup...There it is: the disgust
I sit in the dark like some kind of thief smoking a *** just for the sake of smoking it
I do what my friend taught me
I inhale deeply and take a big drag into my mouth and sharply breath it into my lungs
It stings......
It burns......
And I wait...wait for the- Ahh! There it is. The lightheadedness.
The only immediate effect I feel from smoking
It hits me harder than my freight train of insecurities
Here I'm sitting...
Outside in the dark as if I was a common criminal
My legs are on the table in front of me spread like a cheap *****'s
And in a way I'm allowing my insecurities to **** me as if I'm the cheap *****
I start to taste the disgustingness of the bile-bitter smoke in my mouth
The pretty patterns of smoke no longer making it worth it
I close my eyes and the dizziness causes me to feel like I'm on a boat in a sea somewhere about to drown
I'm never had seasickness but the nausea cripples me
I open my eyes and look at the half burnt stub I hold between my fingers like some posh *******
It smolders and despite the hate I feel towards its ugliness I love the beauty of the smoke
I realize how disgusting I am
How the smoke in my hand tastes like cud
How my below average body screams for attention
How the oily pimples on my chest swear at me each time I look in the mirror
I am disgusting
And so is this smoke
I close my eyes again and I feel like I'm falling forward
Towards the darkness within me
The darkness I kept locked away for so long
I plummet and right before the abyss I open my eyes and look at the now dead *** in my hand....

Maybe I need a new brand...

Invincible-young,
Running through the pages
Like the book will never end.
Muscles never sore,
Chest never tight,
With breathless, lightheadedness.
Free like a beast from his cage,
On a warm spring day,
For the first time in a decade.
Sprinting till the crowd is in sight,
Embraced and lifted on their shoulders,
Welcomed to the next stage,
Grown, we now must be.

Giddiness
Feeling jumpy
Breathlessness
Rapid heartbeat
Lightheadedness
Constant daydreaming
Smiling inappropriately
Butterflies in the stomach
Feverish but in a nice way
Extreme feelings of euphoria
A springlike rise in one's temperature
Hearing singing when there's no one there
An unexpected interest in romantic poetry and schmaltzy love songs
And
Finally
A sudden urge to dance

DIAGNOSIS: You're not sick -
                         You're just in love!

there are bystanders
and there are activists,
the ones who care enough
to attempt some futile rebellion
by taking a seat on the wrong side
of the couch.
it doesn't sound like much,
but it is.

lately,
your hands are always
on that bottle of glue.
I guess it's better
than a bottle
of something else.

look at me,
the famished beggar
quenched and grateful
and silent
in consumption.

I do take hold of it
and clutch it in my palm
even if you can't see it.

and then, the impact.
it comes quickly
in lambent fractals
an unsettling, gleaming mess
of lightheadedness
and holds me in paralysis.

It doesn't belong to me.
it never did.
and there is still that guilt
buried deep within;
it howls in the night
and whispers incessantly
in the afternoons.

it is dry gluttony
incarnate in the hardest
of gazes, of nights in indigo
and in the softest
of ratted fabrics.

look, I remembered for once.
that's a step
in the right direction
but I've still got so far to go.

don't you know
you have so little time,
in the blink of an eye,
the flutter of a lash
you'll be insipid ash.

you've got to go
it's better you're blinded
by crimson sand and salt
than you stay and wait
for a hurricane.

the torrents, these downpours
but we all stay the same --
we refuse to move away
from the shore.

First it was simply tape
He feebly tried to attach himself to my mind in attempts to make his words stick
But they never lasted long
And I would kiss him in the dark
And he would leave before the first hint of light made my eyes squint
My mother whispered about him as he came and went
My summer ghost who lived where I would let him
And I don't think it counts as love when you're not even awake for most of it
After that drunken confession I was uprooted
Free to be the wind
Winding through the holes in people's bones in an attempt to feel warm
But even the hottest of fires sometimes aren't aware of the heat they give off
He came next
With three nails and a hammer
But his father never taught him that to love a girl you must know her
And in the end it was inevitable that he would spend most our nights wondering how it could have gone better
And I know I ****** him up
He built that ladder for me with everything he had
And in the end I never came down
Because I was an ocean and he was stranded
I'm deeper than him
Deeper than his shallow pools of lustsick thinking
Now it's you
Does God know you stole from him the very substance that he used to piece me together?
Because so far you're the only thing that's stuck
And rooms aren't forests anymore
And they aren't seas or deserts
They're just rooms that I can walk across to sit down next to you
And I wish I wasn't so **** stubborn
Because when I turn my head away in the night I know deep down you wonder if it's something you did wrong
I'm not afraid to love
I'm afraid to be loved
You're like a child
Stealing candy from a store
At least that's what I told myself to make me feel better about the fact you always know when something is wrong
In reality you're just made of what I'm made of
And I'm not quite sure what that is yet
But I know with you I'll figure it out
And I know with you that all my past thoughts of love were based on how I thought I was supposed to feel
I thought I was supposed to dread the other half of me
That it was normal to cry in the fading dusk as I walked in circles wondering if I could ever bring myself to touch him
Now it's as if I can't get close enough
And every boiling morning my hands run down your back like I'm searching for a way in
Desperately clawing at doors without handles
That February morning was warm
As if the sun knew that I'd want it to last a lifetime
And you helped me down from that pedestal
Slowly
But surely
And you let me fall asleep on your lap even when I had no idea what commitment even was
With your forefinger you smudged my boundaries of friendship and love
Because like oil and water I thought all my life it was best to keep them separate
I'm Medea
And to concoct the perfect poison of all of my wishes would be suicide
It makes me laugh now
Because I drink it every night as I watch you play
Sweeter than any alcohol but I can assure you the burn is far worse
Smoother than any cigarette but I can assure you the lightheadedness that follows is more intense than that night I sat in the forest with people I barely knew the names of as I laughed to jokes I didn't understand
I love you
And I want to say that I love you
Because I know you love me
Even if those words have never left your lips
And we tease each other relentlessly
I love him
You love her
Always dancing around what we are like hot coals
I find it funny how I can write a novel simply about the way you look up when you're trying to remember something but I can't bring myself to say those three words
I think it's because I'm so used to saying them that they don't do how I feel justice anymore
Which is why people ask me why it was so easy to cut him from me
And I shrug as I hide my wire cutters behind my back
I buried my tools that night on the hill
The night I told you everything
Like I was writing it down
Except this time the paper was breathing next to me
I think everyone should have something as sharp as their wit to cut people from them
Because even though there's something so beautiful about an oak looming over you with tendrils and roots up to your knees
There's something more hopeful about a freshly planted seed
Because you can't see it
But you know it will be wonderful
And I've realized I don't need to have something beautiful to shade me
It's easy to waste the day away sat under a canopy of leaves
But to grow something is harder
And that's what we're doing
And I know it will be better than anything I've ever done before

The feeling is one of a drunkard,
Stumbling and falling, lightheadedness
And distant memories. He pain I feel boh physically and emotionally is turmoil, up and down and nowhere to rest.
I skim and laugh and everything which is a blur,
The memories I had, the pain I fuel through them.
Hurt ain't easy and the love comes hard,
But I'd rather cold and distant than this love.
My insanity proves right, that there is hurt pain and things to go away but to away with it. No more, no more. I am not a about yo let it.

How many times
One dream so it seems?One fight
one more addiction
Is it in one card prediction
Did someone tell you
they love you
There you go the cry

Or they need you
Don't ask why-?
How they used you
Only one time you were
too good
You knew his game
Be the Robin hood
Steal from the rich
Only one time
Lotto what is the motto
So many swindlers
You didn't see the
numbers coming

Seeing through his lies
he's humming
Taking away someone's mind
To switch the lightheadedness
match
They know there prey

They wanted you just
to hear it the catch of the day
Never too late clean slate
He aggravates such etiquette
Being pulled on his strings
He's carrying your weight
of wings

No manners what happen
to her many tears of flowers
The competition being
the sore loser he showers
or take one good
beating
Getting a second wind the winner
someone
beat him to it from behind
Takes one time to know
the fate whats in front of you
I don't think so we are not through

Is that what we saw
from close up painter Gogh
Or it was your farsighted
eyes of your imagination
Did it get you so fed up
So near for him nearsighted
Pay your rent it happened
the very first time

The first time ever I saw your face
Throw your clothes and suitcase
One bad apple in my song
Birds and the bees throwing it to
the birds your picking
way too many seeds

Sesame noodle brain or pumpkin,
Head  takes one time to wet her bed
What do we represent
The munchkin land takes one to know
  Disney land
No man is an island shady roots
of the tree, he shows his
fortune hand
Takes one bad copy
For the counterfeit hand

Again takes one to know one
Love me or not or he loves me
or won't
I cant get out of my French knot
Too many reasons I'm not going to
tell one side of the story
When there are a million reasons
Someone keeps lying and
buying my story

At the deli, cold cuts
The rating one good movie critic
Don't panic Super bowl
Bologna Salami Hoagie PA
Takes one time to reach your goal
All turkey necks waiting
so long you
only got
one ticket

Beatles she got a ticket
to ride she got a ticket
So many songs but only
the cruel to be kind
The two-way mouth street
At your ***** feet, one
sunny side closed
the street

Takes only my heartbeat
Robin redbreast only one
the bird you tweeted too
many times heads and tails
Flipping nickels and crimes
one bad interview
One thing to gain another rear
view window Alfred Hitchcock
  couples they kiss and pass
Twin doubles
one piece of the rock
Two headboards are better than none

You see one
a nasty side of her cheek
an Oxy Miss Roxy a pimple
Forgive me one
chain link are we all linked to know
only something
How that very one thing
bothered me

Her glasses yep you're getting old
I could use a double by now
But I am human I could
use a smile
My one and only
or way too many
traffic jams
Don't point your finger
Computer slammed it
I love strawberry
homemade run
Raspberry, we know
Mom always bought
blueberries
She knew what was
good for us
Everything is a mix
not one flavor the trio
Only the lonely got
to be her bio
take one miracle whip
minute
One computer crash
One blink of your eyelash
She takes her time throwing
out her hefty so nifty yard sales
  Her garbage trash
Mom telling me you buy one
good thing news flash

Chamber Blabber dapper do
 takes the Babalou one singer
Lady GaGa performs hella
Queen  to get her bed rest
She is spanking mean
one night beauty sleep

Women for one
For one lady that thinks
she's the only one
Having his one baby boy
Like the ****, he forged
her name like boy-toy
Like a fat Porky Pigpen

What one slice of ham left
at the deli
There is only one
Houdini or the designer
One creative style
Valentino
Takes one photograph but one
too many stares
Come to see the Mona Lisa

You say Holy crap I have
been trapped
So wired up my coffee
Take one Starbucks
Hip just one big tip
Hip Hooray
I never saw such
vultures so many cultures
coming out in one day

All this time with one person
please get out
of my poem line
She takes so long with her
call we used to
have a phone line

Now she loves to be inside
Her own brain not taking
New York train
She will never complain
about how it takes
one to know so many
well-known artists
In the cell like a jailbird
con artist
Only one call on
her cell phone

I've never told anyone that I missed them,
never told anyone that their absence keeps me up at night,
never had the privilege, or perhaps the curse, of experiencing my heart when it's submerged in love and longing.

I guess I've been dipping my toes in the water - too afraid to jump right in. I've never been careless like that.

Love is not a game, not a lake you jump into during the summer when the sun is high in the sky and you're sweating bullets.

Rather, love is that oasis you find after walking one eternal day in the desert of life - the clear water you stumble upon and drink and drink and drink until you're stumbling away with lightheadedness.

Love saves you -
gives you a reason to say I miss you,
I can't sleep when you're not here,
*take my heart with you if you really must leave me.

Forgive me, my heart beats too fast.
I suffer from lightheadedness.
In frigid sweats I shrink aghast.
I panic from my breathlessness.

My weakened legs won’t let me stand.
My skin sizzles like it’s been shocked.
Can’t calm the tremor in my hand.
I’m speechless as if jaw’s been locked.

My eyes are crossed in confusion.
I’m frozen like an icy blue.
I’m afraid it’s no illusion.
My body’s broken around you.

I wake up.
Tear stained pillow,
Blankets thrown everywhere.

I have to get up.
It takes so much energy,
to push my body onto the paper covered floor.

I don't want to get up.
Wrapping myself in what's left of the blankets,
wincing at the pain felt as my body moves.

I lay there.
Mind whirls already of things that must be accomplished.
Can't I have just a moment of peace?

I get up.
My body aches as I step over the forgotten homework and ***** laundry,
Dizzyness and Lightheadedness cause me to stumble my way to my closet.

I walk.
Putting on clothes to cover the night before,
and starring at the unrecognizable figure before me in the mirror.

I get ready.
Making food that I'm never hungry for anyways,
and forcing my eyes to stay open.

I leave.
To go to a place I am scared to be in,
but sometimes is better than the place I left.

My Anxiety is odd
It’s not like how others describe it in the books
I don’t tremble in a large group
I radiate, never hesitating to cause a laugh
I don’t stress and fidget in front of a crowd
I stand taller and have no fear of what’s to come
It’s when I’m alone, that’s when it happens
Sitting, isolated from the rest
Shopping, waiting, walking from A to B
I can’t help but shake
Overthinking every move I make
Breathing deeply and frail at the same time
A panic attack around the corner
Standing idly, awaiting the brutality
Hitting me in the gut, taking my breath
Being ruthless as it watches me fall
When I realize I’m out of control
It sneaks in, startling me and I’m unable
To shake off the lightheadedness that comes
From holding in the large tears and suffocating the sobs
As someone who doesn’t know their own volume
I silence
Happening less and less over the last few years
I’m more at ease with the self awareness
It’s just hard to comprehend
Why so many crave to be alone

the air is never truly fresh anywhere
it gets harder to breathe by the day
and my chest still hurts, but i can ignore it a little better now,
and i think i might be starving but i can’t really tell anymore.
(i go to the gas station i always do to ****. i get an apple and some cranberry juice, just in case—i check nutrition facts and choke it down, convince myself this is enough nourishment to keep me conscious. i know all the workers here—i wonder what they think of me and i can’t get it out of my head. i fight the lightheadedness and eventually it fades; i’m used to looking through a lens with black around the edges. i make it home before daylight tonight, somehow. this is peace, i tell myself—true peace means succumbing. when i get home, i throw it all up.)

I’ve been forced to learn to be comfortable placing my life in hands other than mine.
The truth is that I’m not clean, and never really have been since the beginning. In whatever capacity that may mean. I’ve always been chasing.
It is over when it’s over.
There is something about this that lingers.

(the sirens came before the storm. the air was blistering and the sky was clear as swimming pools but you knew it was coming, you know it when the leaves turn their back on the sky, when you can feel it thick and hot on your face.)

18
this moon, everything bloomed. the forests got so dense they obscured paths and openings, sprouted lungs and limbs, grew a head of hair so full that rainfall never kissed the dirt. this blessed season, a saint returned to me—i was high for months and months. i awoke each day like i hadn’t seen sunlight in years, clawing at  window sills and locks on doorknobs; arching toward sunlight like a dandelion sprout. this was when i became part of it—grew roots deeper than the tallest tree and spread my seed as far as it would reach. and i was cool—i was so, so cool. you could smell it coming off me like a fever.
(the saplings i fostered bear fruit now; fruit that’s all pit and rind and meal and rots before it falls from the tree.)
(are you scared of me now? that’s all i’ve ever wanted.)

Was it me all along?

explore the possibility of a grey area.
whatever’s inside you lives in everyone.
sometimes there’s no one to blame and sometimes there’s no one that’s innocent.
stop seeking repentance—you’re far past punishment. there are no lessons left to be learned.
you need to grow now.
you need to move now.
forgiveness can be enough, but you need to start with yourself.
you’re not enslaved to this cycle; you’re married to it. it will never love you back.
this will be all consuming. i don’t feel bad for you anymore.


I don’t think any of us deserve this.
I love you all but I hate you so much.

19
dissatisfaction creeps in
ugly ******* staircases
crawling
nothing glows like it used to.

i cried and begged for rain to come. i slept on rugs and covered mirrors with silk sheets. the most evil thing to be is to be pretty.

this was the hit you take after the first time—the second dull head rush, watered down. getting familiar with sickness. realizing you will chase this forever.

…
this month it will be a year since you died. i barely have anything left of you—a couple messages on a long abandoned instagram account, a conversation on my old flip phone, a polaroid, a few grainy videos so old i barely remember the stories behind them. i’ve searched for every shred of you i can find—i hoard memories of you like a dragon guarding its wealth. i have a video of us laughing in my basement that i’ll never show anyone. i want the moment all to myself.

your death ushered in a change deep in my core—something far greater than personal growth or character development. a pillar of my very being broke down; a rudimentary aspect of my character shifted. im afraid it changed me in all the wrong ways. nothing scares me more than disappointing you. ive spent a whole year doing nothing to make you proud. ill never stop being sorry, and id give anything to tell you that.