Some nights, I dream about our perfect day.
Painting our fingernails, the sky our most cherished shade of grey, the change of seasons in the air,
And the closest thing to a bad omen anywhere near enough to reach us,
is you reading me your favorite poem.
I should have known then; angels don't paint their wings black for fun.

Despite it, I clung to you every day. Every hour. For every second,
you were my everything, and I was your something.
The reason I wrote and your desire to listen.
More than that, you were the cheerful post-it note I'd find in my locker, and I was the
healer who could spin stories of ugly ducklings into beautiful swans.
We needed no one but each other to lean on.

And every time your feathers fell I'd braid them back into your bones, I told you that your past made you strong enough to face these things on your own.
I didn't mean without me.
You never told me you could fly.
I don't know how I missed that,
But the second I realized, I wanted to teach you how to land.
Said, "Everyone has to come home again sometimes.
He will. I'm not ready for him to go."

But you were. While I was off fighting battles, you were writing Dear John letters on those post-it notes.
I've never been one to hate the change of seasons until now that I realised
migration is just something you can't avoid.
'I get that you have mistakes to make and risks to take.
But I'll bet those promises you broke still cross your mind.

I mean, hopefully. Maybe you think this is something I should just be over by now.
That I shouldn't want.
But, I want you to tell me you miss me. I want to say it back.
Hissing "I hate you" feels like they must be someone else's words in my mouth so I spit them at you.
I love you claws at the back of my throat, caged by clenched jaws when I see you.
And for every useless metaphor, a poet could think of,
I still can't find the right words to tell you I'm sorry,
"I'm sorry."
I still need to hear it from you.
"I'm sorry"
A cover up for our communication issues.
I'm sorry they chipped away at our friendship. But like the nail polish on your fingers,
I thought we could just paint over the problem.
But our hands were never steady enough for that.

I watch you wash it off. Pick a new colour. Maybe something that doesn't remind you of the fall.
You still want to be the simple boy with no problems, a bright smile, skirts and short hair.
But I know you better than that. No matter what you think, I still know you better than that.
You haven't changed.
You're just, gone.

So,
"Leave no black plume as a token of that lie they soul hath spoken. Leave my loneliness unbroken.
Quit the bust above my door. Take thy beak from out my heart."

Please, try to understand.
I can't speak to ravens anymore.

What must you think of me?
Dark
Hungry eyes
Full of hurt and hope,
And
All
That love,
So sudden.
I've never met someone like you.
I know you see it,
And yet somehow I think you believe it,
Receive it,
Understand.
And I don't know what to do,
Because
Nobody's ever known that
And not flinched from me
The way you recoil when your hand rests accidentally on a hot stove.
In your eyes I saw...
Joy.
I saw that you wanted
What was in
Mine.
And god,
I've been trying to recover from that ever since.
It makes no sense to me.
No sense.
You saw
You saw the secret.
It spilled out at your feet
And I wanted to fall to my knees there
And beg you to forgive it.
But your eyes never shamed me-
They glowed
(god I cannot unsee them)
With excitement,
As if maybe my touch shocked you
The way yours shocked me.
In that moment
You must understand,
And every other moment since
When your eyes have found mine
And burned my disguises to dust within seconds,
Every single thing I ever knew about myself
Was overturned.
That's why I can't get you out of my head.
Why I'm scared,
Why everything I do now is a little shaky and uncertain in my mind,
Because everything
Is new.
I based my life on the knowledge that I had to hide.
Everything I was sure of, everything that had been
Proven
Time and again to me
By never being disproved
Dissolved in that moment.
You razed it to ash.
When you touched me with tenderness,
I fell apart.
When you kissed me,
I lost everything
I've been wanting to shed
For my entire life.

Arthur McKnight was a powerful man and New York was his playground.  Not that he ventured out anymore at night now that he had met Evangeline.  The long days of mind-numbing numbers he crunched managing Wall Street hedge funds had taken their toll on him over the years, but becoming intimate with Evangeline had saved him, had changed him in ways so fundamental that for him she was all that mattered.

     Arthur no longer noticed these subtle differences.  He daydreamed by the dim LCD light of stock tickers, craving the touch that only his woman could bestow upon him.  He had surrendered completely to her bliss.

     These days when he woke to her already gone from his Upper West Side apartment all that was left of her presence was a lipstick kiss on the mirror and a bottle of Sally Hansen Tangerine Orange nailpolish.  The quiet was deafening, but that bottle of Sally Hansen left on the bathroom counter held the promise of Evangeline's return.

     It was just after 7 p.m. when Arthur made it home and he could already sense her.  She was coming.  He strode with purpose to his master suite, spying the black thigh-highs and silky red dress he had laid out for her arrival.  The waiting was unbearable, and Arthur finally broke, needing Evangeline so badly he could smell her perfume, could taste her in his throat.  It was time; no more waiting.

     "You look lovely tonight, Evangeline," Arthur croaked aloud as he pulled the first of the thigh highs onto his shaven legs...

Everything reminds you of him.

Everything.

I stepped out of my bed and looked at my bare feet, the nailpolish on my toes chipping away from prom night.

I get into the shower and I wash my hair, feeling its curliness and remembering his fingers running through it.

Fingers, and then

My hands, dangling them behind me in long hallway, wishing you would latch on.

My dad, and the times I biked to your house to drown out the hurtful words he screamed in my ears, and knowing that you would kiss the bruises on my thighs until they disappeared.

My ankles and the times you laughed at the patch of hair I missed while shaving

My backpack and the how you lent me three dollars and 48 cents so I could buy it.

And my cheeks, and all those ****** days when you refused to kiss them, but kissed my lips instead


Thinking about God, remembering thanking Him everyday that I’m alive every time I pass the part of 94 E where I got into my car accident, on the way home from your house on that icy night.

I can’t function in a normal way without pangs of hurt
Popping into my head like bee bee gun pellets.

I can’t think of bee bee guns without thinking about that night we hung out with your stupid friends and they shot a phone book with it, putting holes three inches deep.

I can’t think of that night without getting angry at your parents.

I can’t think of your parents without thinking about the day your mom caught me putting my shirt back on after an hour and a half of happiness
and how she sat us down

And said that you needed to think about your future, you future wife.
Was I really worth it?
Were you wasting your time?
I guess that was always up to you.

I can’t think of Christmas, because you gave me a ring that morning
And we fought a lot that winter.

I can’t think about Halloween because we used to go to Erin’s party every year
Except this year because she cancelled it
At least
I think she did.

I can’t think about valentine’s day because the day before it is our anniversary, the day you asked me to be yours
Over a text message.

And I said yes.
Over a text message.

I can’t think of easter because that was the day I kidnapped you
And took you far away from your mom
Where we couldn’t hear her tell us we were wrong about each other.

We went to a bridge
And you made me feel so beautiful even though my shoes were so ugly.

And we kissed on top of every sculpture
And we tried to kiss at the very top of the world, but it was closed
Because of easter.


And I can’t think about the day after easter
Because that was when I ended it.

And I’m not ever gonna get over this.

You.
You are 10,000 miles away
and yet, I still want to run  my hands through your
wet, dark brown hair.
I want to press myself against your warm body
and live in the steam and smell of a hot shower.
I want to breathe in your kiss and taste the shampoo
that slowly dripped  from your wet mop and fell on your lips.
Find a cheap motel room and dream there.
Dream the things you live and live the things you dream.
In that dimly lit, musky, hotel room that I'm dreaming of right now,
where we can forget the world.
I want to forget Clint Eastwood and September and the snow.
I can't remember the color of your eyes
because you kiss with eyes closed
and it's been an awful while since I've opened them.
I wish.
I want to watch you drive down California highways--
sunglasses on and my bare feet hanging out the window, my nailpolish sparkling in
the California sun.  
I want to make you laugh, and watch  your perfect eyebrows crinkle with
your nose when you admirably look at me.
I want to take pieces of paper and write my heart on them
then put them in a memory box
and throw them all out the window.
I want to go to the airport and find you standing
all alone,
looking lost .
Then pull over in a car and make the night alive.
Listen to the stars laughing and lose myself inside of you.
I want the games.
Challenging and, well, you know.
I want the way you make me feel.
Like I'm about to burst out of my skin
at any moment
because of passion.
I want. I want. I want.
You.
Find a dark place deep into the night and settle down
for a couple hours and let our minds shut
down for once.
No devil truck or eyeless lips or hand guns to decide our fate.
and just slip away into each other's bodies,
and become submerged in each other's kiss.

I never thought I could ever feel so nervous,
and so proud looking in the mirror.
Sister, in some ways our resemblance is uncanny
and that never makes me feel terrible.
Even if we both cling to our bottles of perfume,
nailpolish, and beer
to remedy our despairs,
I'm proud of you.
I love how you don't ever leave your effervescence at home.
It's contagious, and everyone eventually wants a sip.
You found your beauty quite recently-
but I want you to know its always been there,
it began when your eyes first became
those thick lashed squints
from smiling too hard.
You admire things, and they admire you back.
I hope you won't forget that
when you chase what seems to be difficult.
Sister, I know there are days where you
don't see what greatness you deserve,
when you believe you have to be sorry for
your *****.
I know it because I've seen you, and I know it
because I do the same.
You always remind me to never apologize.
And now I do you.
Sister, don't let that crown fall over those
smiling eyes.
You are stronger than the chance you might be sad.
You are finer than the fool who won't call back.
You are better than the boy who should be a man.
You carry troubled teenage girls over your shoulders
every single day.
You save them, as much as you can and give them that warmth.
Don't forget to warm yourself.
Because the heat travels, sister.
I feel it too.

I tried to be a girl today
Painted my nails red and blue so I’d stop biting them
Tried to be pretty
With unbrushed hair and acne and calloused fingers
The nailpolish chipped off and I peeled it away
My hands wrecking the paint in place, colors end up beyond the lines of my hand, its everywhere, its ugly, Its suffocating, I take it off.
I want to say its a metaphor,
Something about how I cant cover up what I am with pretty colors and shiny surfaces.
It’s got to be indicative of future and past behavior about how I mess up preconceived ideas or something about how I break the molds that others try to put me in,
It happens every time.
It smudges, curve of fingers, grooves imprinting the paint with traces that I am there
Breaking the construct of beauty
I feel I cant say its anything more than smudged paint, despite how true the metaphors would be
Nothing more honest than the disfigured coverup and what lies beneath

I tried to be human today
Felt alien in my own skin
Wounded as I fought the judgement of a species I dont feel I belong to.
According to my mother I am an enemy of God for finding a temporary yet more beautiful love with her than I’ve found with a man.
I tried to be who you wanted, it never worked then, dont expect it to work now.
The mold that was casted does not, has not ever fit me.
I’d apologize for failing your expecations but theres no apologizing for finding solace amidst the storm.

I've been
reminscing
about you
and the nailpolish
you used to choose to colour
your toes
it shows
that i'am worn out
like a dark cloud
hanging on me
Have you heard the news
rockets on their way
to bomb em out of their shoes
i drink some more
to make it go away
thinking about you
and why you wouldnt stay
there are noises
just voices of peoples
that are passerbys
my eyes get heavy
from the things i hold inside
i smile for a while
to keep myself alive
while my mind is rambeling
i think my bones are trembeling
from the thought of you
i let my eyes travel
through the faces and their meaning
everyone is shining and gleaming
nights are what you make of them
here i am
thinking about you
thinking about you
Here i am
with my mind rambeling
while sitting like a rock
till the clock
runs out of numbers
and i'll fall again
for the late night slumber

did you know, azaleas only bloom in the shade.
she's much like that,
bundled in argyle sheets on my couch
with her hair up
and golden hoops in her ears
little red nailpolish on the tips of her fingers,
the colour of Mother Earth on her skin,

she's just like a bouquet of wild petals
spilling heirlooms of universal beauty
upon this room
my eyes
and my soul.

i wonder when it was
i noticed
my relationships with family
and friends
had started to become warmer
kinder,
Gentler. she is--subtle ethereal
change
touching up the darkness
in there, the mystery of
where my heart had gone.
where the good remained.
she is turning the furniture inside
gold.
everything she touches
turns to gold.
she is like Midas.

her laugh
is like spring rain,
she is blooming
blooming
on my couch

delivered through the seasons
without being tainted by
the autumns,
and the winters, someone
else's hand
had never been allowed
none of this
world
had reached her.


in pure,
untouched
uncorrupted
rapture,
my fingers are the first
to trace the contours
and the painted lines
that form her cheeks
and her hips,
i am the luckiest man on earth.
i am in love.

Because I remember things, like people,
And skateboards aren't just skateboards,
they're my best friend and the memory of her pushing me around the kitchen in her longboard.

Pool and my eightball keychain are much the same, another friend's name attached to it like his lips to a drink, because god he could drink.

My uncle's the surfers catching their first waves and my older brother is all fighter jets and firemen.

Meanwhile, my mama's all roses and red bandanas, and the poetry I try to birth every night. And I only thought about colors when referring to her and I, red and blue mixing into a perfect lilac sky, but then my ex became green. Green like the olive sthetoscope they wanted and green like the song that hopes they're happy. But green, like the various shades coloring my house, doesn't phase me anymore.

Instead, life's a bit more yellow. Yellow, like the sunflowers I'd get Dali or the chicks my goddaughter would chase after on the yard. No. Yellow like the nailpolish you ruined and yellow like the sun that rises on the east.

Yellow, like fire or passion when you play, and yellow like the colors burning up the heavens at the end of the day.


Yellow, unbeknownst, laced into that first hello.

I am uncertain of my body,
how strong it is, how little it appears that way
having hurled itself into danger several times
and coming out only with a few hand scars
see its muscle
see its fat, unneeded storage,
look and don't touch, please.

The soft thrumming of my heart
in my throat shows how strong it is,
sneaking its way up
to where it shouldn't be
see its battle scars
see its healing wounds--
still festering, a little raw.
look and don't touch, please.

I've got a strong jaw and a chin
with an irritated red galaxy on it,
an odd contradiction between
soft and hard--
see the constellation in my scarring,
a rude connect the dots you shouldn't be playing,
look and don't touch, please.

I look out from hazel glass,
flecked with hidden gold foil
you see if you stare long enough,
but staring would be rude--
see the one way mirror,
so that you stare at you and not me,
look and don't touch, please.

My fingers are long and spindly,
artist's hands,
the webbing in between makes them seem smaller--
see the raised marks,
see the wearing nailpolish,
my hands are an artist's hands too.
look and don't touch, please.