I wrote this for you a long time ago on a coffee stained napkin, after you left me, full of love, lingering in a cafe.

"For you, in all your follies and faults and the way they make you so perfect for me.
For you, in the moments that linger in the vehemently insignificant corners and corridors of things, as if drifted of their own grandure.
For you, for the words that spill to the floor and the brilliant way you understand the deafening silence that follows.
For you, for your supernovas and clever shades, for your daylight smiles and nighttime skins.
For you, for your familiarity and the impossible truths that stand as martyrs to say that I have loved you before.
For you, despite the treachery and quiet sinister fun of the world.
For you, for making me so terribly scared of dying."
Yet here I am, in your wake, so full of so many thoughts and demons. Know that I have died, that I have loved and lost with equal measure.

When our lips meet,
I swear that stars collide
I can see supernovas
in your eyes
And even the lightest touch
Fingers on my spine
Sends shivers, pleasure,
surging through my veins
Once upon a time,
I was little girl lost
But the stars looked down
They shook their heads and said
“She shouldn’t wear a frown.”
They found a soul with scars to match my own
We stood to watch the stars collide
I saw supernovas in your eyes
And cherished the feeling
of your fingers entwined in mine
Now, when our lips meet, I swear
Stars collide to create a new universe
Souls tangle, they entwine and combine
And the word outside simply falls away
As fingers dance gently along my spine.

you know, i’ve been thinking a lot about comets
because all stars are destined to explode
and the more light you give off
the faster you burn out
i guess this is why they say only the good die young,
i guess i’ll live forever
but immortality sounds lonely and most living legends tie their own nooses,
and the rest of us live just by making excuses
i'd count out all the stars in between us like miles
but you're half way round the world and i'm more than a few days behind
i'd count out all the stars between us, make promises and wishes on them
but i know they’d both be empty
but stars are always dead on arrival
but you’re too far away even if you're right next to me
we were looking at the same stars, just not the same constellations
and i'm so ******* sorry for all the things i let burn out,
all the things i let go ruined instead of dealing with them
i’m afraid of failure so sometimes i don’t try at all
i’m sorry you got the worst parts of me
i’m sorry you got my collisions instead of constellations

you know, i’ve been thinking a lot about comets
because you were afraid of commitment mostly because
you thought you were supposed to be and i said
i love you like a bomb going off too soon
my whole body is on fire,
you ignite me like lighter-fluid and bad decisions
and the best things burn out fast
the shortest lights burn the brightest
it’s science, it’s physics, we can’t fight this
we were doomed from the start, it’s inevitable
that we have to take things apart
somebody told me love is having the perfect opportunity
to hurt somebody and letting it go,
so i guess that’s how i know we’re not in love
because we hurt each other just to prove that the other one
still cared enough for it to sting
because i learned that you’re not real unless you make marks,
so i hope it ******* scars
i hope you can always see the bruises in the shape of my lips
i hope you never forget

you know, i’ve been thinking a lot about comets
i’ve been thinking about whether comets or craters are more important
whether it’s about the way you blaze out or just your ashes
whether it’s about what you do or what you leave behind
i’ve been thinking about why we treat
black holes and supernovas as opposites
when they’re really not that different at all
both catastrophes in their own right, yet one of them seems more poetic
but you don’t get to decide the amount of pain you’ve inflicted,
we are all afflicted with this thinking that we’re the only exception
i think we are all guilty of thinking
we’re supernovas instead of blackholes

you know, i’ve been thinking a lot about comets
i’m a mess and not just metaphorically,
sometimes i kind of think i’d be a lot happier without
all the things that make me myself
i am in a glass jar watching myself implode because
i kind of wish i was born with more serotonin and a different kind of motivation,
like i’m an observer to myself
and i’ve always viewed my own heart breaks
almost as the out-of-body experience, like a third party
investigating the remains of what was or what wasn’t
i am the medical examiner of my heart
and poetry is a lot like dissection
and love is a lot like hate
and living is a lot like dying
but regret is just a waste of emotion and love is just a waste of devotion
and going out with a bang
is much more glamorous than going out with a whimper
and nobody talks about slow burn, only the explosion
if you were a star then you were a shooting one,
and you’re always most popular the day after you die
but i’m done with that ****,
this is not a dead poet’s society
this is a society of poets who wanted to die but didn’t
because i think this might be a sad poem,
but i am not a sad person or at least i've been trying not to be
because we were all born to die, but we were also all born to live
measured by the blaze of our burnout, the trail behind us
i’ve been thinking a lot about comets
i’ve been thinking a lot about comets
i’ve been thinking a lot about comets

If only my dreams
About dreaming
Could instruct
My seemingly green
Concept
Of luck
I could
Interrupt
My seemingly just
Cycle of lust
Say
-Giddy-up,
Buttercup
You want to
Get *****?
-**** Mike,
It's only
5:30.
That's ok,
Just tryin to
Be flirty,
To make ok
The fact that
You'll hurt me,
To make passe
The fact that
My birdy
Flew away
And tried to
Lure me
To fly beside her
But that's behind me
Besides,
She tried
To cure me
But my wings
Were paper,
They broke
Prematurely
So I fell
Like disorderly
Swells
Of frequencies
I yelled pink noise
I could barely
See,
Passing for
Currency
Passing in
Front of me
Passing for
Apathy;
Apathetic empathy
Or sympathetic
Tragedy
For such pathetic
Entities
Who knows?
Who wants to be
One who knows,
To know
Eventually
We all fall,
Plummet
Suddenly
Into
Black holes
Of imperfect
Symmetry,
We will enter
Simultaneously
So I'll see you
Instantly
On the other
End of this
Wormhole's
Energy,
Baby b,
So until then
Plant a
Tree all
Gold and
Green
And name
It 3
Then climb
That ****
And look
For me,
I'll be
Lying
Right where
You *******
Left
Me
Singing
For clarity,
With
Only
Echoes
Returning
Eternally.

Everyday caught
In the labyrinth of mind,
I am,
Where dreams,
And desires
And lust,
From nothing
Conspire something.

Destination: Canada Water.
The next station is Surrey Quays.
Doors will open on the right-hand side.
Exit here for Goldsmith's College.

In the cerebellum
Fragments flash cerebrum bright:
Wheels in tunnels burn,
A neural screech amplified deep,
As waves of electrons churn,
And in multiple places keep.

This stop:
- My birth -
Is in Westminster!

It’s time:

Do you love me?
DO YOU LOVE ME?
          Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

In the space-time continuum,
The labyrinth is forever,
Within a fourth dimension.

It’s time …

You love me, right?
YOU LOVE ME, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

DO-MI-NA-TION
DEATH FREE
DO-MI-NA-TION
ASH FREE

Lost in the labyrinth: a journey to an exit.
The Overground train pulls!
And from floor to ceiling,
Between vertical orange pins,
A medley of languid listless limbs lulls,
       Seated hips,
       Angled legs,
       Dangling feet,
And neck-less heads,
Lost, ghoul-like,
The disconcerted move doggedly on,
Everywhere somewhere; but forever nowhere
Through London's hills and bogs.

From  STOP to STOP,
In the labyrinthine network,
In tubes splayed out on cubes,
Of bright brushed viscose comfort,
Overhead, the ads exhort:

       Top Up Your Soul,
       Fast Forward Your Escape
And
       uSwipe
       uSwitch
       uSave

Like these,
A hundred escalating messages,
Each more insistent than the last,
Compel, enough to distract,
So man’s desire enslaves his heart.

Its time…

         You love, right?
YOU LOVE, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

DO-MI-NA-TION
DEATH FREE
DO-MI-NA-TION
ASH FREE

How? Why?
Has bacterial sludge,
Built these edifices of glass and steel.
This labyrinthian cage,
Whose walls race up at the speed of light,
While the inner commuter flame gutters,
Everywher, in multiverses,
Supernovas explode in showers.
And for a moment, in the moment, The Overground chromatic glows.

New Cross Gate, Canada Water, Southwark.

Lit and digital and LCD:
        
  ALL CHANGE, PLEASE.
  THIS TRAIN TERMINATES HERE

A few automated steps, and:
       Southwark,
       Green Park,
       Then Baker Street,
Appear, fade and disappear.

Now walking down Belsize Road,
On the evening of the
Super Gibbous Moon,
As it rises high over the Ziggurat dimensions of the Alexandra Estate,
And all is blood orange at dusk,
As I, a slinking silhouette,
Make for the event horizon of home,
For surely given, and taken,
A few more bends, another turn,

It’s time, again.

         Love, right?
         LOVE, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

DO-MI-NA-TION
DEATH FREE
DO-MI-NA-TION
FREE ME.

To the event horizon of consciousness,
To that black hole at the core.
In death's star-like eye,
Embrace, pass through,
(Fear not),
On, through the labyrinth northward,
Entering and exiting,
We go awhile, a little longer.

Stars, my Stars,
Again, it's time.

You love me, right?
YOU LOVE ME, RIGHT?
Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
DEATH FREE.
LOVE!
BE,
WINGS FREE:

     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL

One more stop:

       New Bond Street.

GET BEYOND
DESIRE,
BEYOND THE LABYRINTHEAN LIE,
CONSUMER, DIE!
BE
MATERIAL FREE.

Last stop:

       No-name, this one:

BE:

     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL.

SAY IT:

     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
     DEATH FREE.
     LOVE!
     BE,
     WINGS FREE:
    
     WE ARE:
     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL

you know how the song goes:
a stitch away from making it
and a scar away from falling apart.
holding on gets hard when
the light at the end of the tunnel
goes dark.

my friend told me he doesn’t purposely
befriend actively suicidal people anymore.
so when a 14-year old friend
was hospitalized for an attempt,
he was shocked.
I’m not fourteen
and i don’t go to the hospital for anything,
but when i was fifteen i
asked my mom to start taking me to therapy.
she told me,
sweetie,
you can just talk to me about anything.
so i started writing poetry instead.
but poems can’t diagnose me,
poems can’t prescribe me meds to
fix the chemical catastrophe in my head
poems can’t cure me.
but neither can people.

there was a boy that i used to call sunshine,
but he told me that he would
rather be the moon.

i deleted your number from my contacts
once you stopped using mine.
you don’t keep me up at night.
i’ve stopped losing sleep over you.

i haven’t broken the habit of checking
people’s wrists when they move
because of all the girls i knew in grade school.
i have a friend with the first letter of help
permanently scarred on his stomach.
we’ve never talked about it.
i don’t know if either of us know how to,
or if either of us really want to,
or if either of us really need to.

when my brother was 18, he was convinced
that he wanted to go into psychiatry.
i think the closest we’ve ever been
was when i had a mental break over
orange juice at one thirty in the morning,
watching him play GTA on his Xbox 360.
when my brother was 17, he was convinced
that his future was in professional photography.
i’m 17 and i don’t have a ******* clue.
I’m 17 and i don’t think I’ve ever felt so much
like I’m just constantly drowning.

they say a captain goes down with his ship
and I’ve set myself up for losing all my friends.

she’s got year-round summer skin
and winter has never been my friend.

i sleep seven hours a night
and i wake up exhausted.

my cat has all his claws
and when he crashes through my bedroom
when i’m on the brink of extinction
it leaves me haunted, hearing
breathing and footsteps that aren’t really there.
so i’ll put studs in all my jackets
and wrap myself in blankets.

i wish you were here,
i wish i was there.

the first rated R movie
that i saw when i turned 17
was that one that brought back ryan reynolds,
starring a moody teen with
the best superhero name ever,
a CGI man who acted as her mentor,
a pretty girl like a damsel in distress,
and the bad guy called himself ajax
but his real name was francis.
i cried
a lot.
i’m not sure why, really, but when the credits
started rolling and it was everything that i’d
been waiting for in a movie for the anti-hero
that I’ve been in love with since i was 13,
i sat in those velvet seats and started sobbing.

when i was six, my dad took my
9 year old brother and i
to see ‘revenge of the sith’ when it came out
in 2005.
the scene on mustafar, the volcanic planet,
the downfall of anakin skywalker
stuck with me until i was 12 and rewatched
all six of those old movies,
stuck with me until i was 16 and rewatched
all six of those old movies.
when i was a kid those scenes were scary,
now i see a mimic of Shakespearean tragedy.

i pick things apart until i know that they’ll scar,
but scars have always faded for me.
the first mark that ever lasted for
more than a month was when i
burned myself getting a cake out of the oven.
i remember my brother telling me
that he wouldn’t care about the burn
if i ******* up the cake.
we laughed about it because it was a joke.
i still think about it.

i still check to see if you
watch my Snapchat story.

i rip the hems out of all of my clothing
compulsively. I’m sorry.
i’ll pick up all the balled-up threads from
the carpet eventually.

i keep ticket stubs and scraps of notes
hazardously strewn across my bedroom,
because i’m too sentimental for my own good
but organization has never come naturally.

solar systems are borne from my fingertips.
supernovas power my lungs.
stardust glitters in my veins
(i tell myself these things in order to
keep thinking straight)

hey, look at the moon.
see how she reflects the sun for you?
it’s because she’s got nothing
of her own to give away willingly.
i gave you everything willingly
i spent too many nights
shredding notebook paper into pieces
of white birthday party confetti.

i swallowed six painkillers today.
I’m passive like aggressive,
letting my liver slip into uselessness.

it’s really hard to write poetry about bruises.

I wish that I
was filled with stars
intricate, intimate arrays
to guide me to the edge
of myself and beyond

my soul
the brightest
in a unique constellation
of my naming

my love
many-hued nebula
expanding
to fill the void

my losses
supernovas
both beautiful
and tragic

But I am not
celestial
earth-bound
I must navigate

by stroke of skin
whiff of memory
trace of sadness
night vision

rudimentary compasses
in a sea of misunderstanding.

The lights around me aren't as bright
As the light that I have inside
Yet I feel blind...
maybe it's myself I cant find.
Because everything around me is perfect in its flaws
Worn adhesive, I try to stick to life but I fall.
I wish could just disintigerate into ash and be everywhere
With everyone
Whilst simultaneously being nothing at all

My wrists bleed out cosmos
Supernovas and galaxies
Rest in my bones
I’m weighed down by black holes
My scars connect
Like constellations
Mapping out myths on my skin
I have comets
For eyes
And space debris
For a heart
Gravity has long let me go
Now I float
In an empty outer space

Why does a love that does not exist still burn as powerful as the plasmic magnetic fields that boil within the sun?

Maybe one day this fascination will burst into a supernova..
And you may have no where to run..

I do not look at the stars and think of the immensity of the universe.
I see them as quiet selfless guardians, the kind sisters I always wanted.
I am their sister, their daughter.

With eyes like a lunar eclipse, I stare at them and say "did you see that?"
As though the occurrences of my night were
their equivalent of a shooting star.

I hope they see all my smiles the size of galaxies,
Where my dimples have their own gravitational pull.
I hope they smile at the boys I show them
And remark about similar he looks to their dear friend, the man in the moon.
I hope they see the supernovas these boys inspire.

And I hope they see when my tears fall like meteors,
Leaving comet trails on my cheeks,
Or when I feel like there's a black hole developing in my chest
When my supernovas start to collapse.

I tell them the tales that they will connect into my constellations,
They will tell each other the stories that are the reasons for my shapes.

I do not look at the stars and think of the immensity of the universe.
I look at the stars and hope they are amazed by my personal immense universe.

True love, the kind in fairy tales - ya know the ones with witches and knights, strapping princes and tarot-reading witches - is unexpected.

Don't listen to your mother and her love stories, or those cheap dime store romances. Love is not a teenage dream, or the flings on the soap operas (winning your Lucas back from that ***** Sammie, always my grandma's favorite villain in Days of Our Lives). Grandma, the life, love and days i want are different.

Love is fluttering butterflies. The uncertainty of knowing if this moment lasts, seeing a rainbow. The feeling always has an unspoken expiration date. It is rare. So rare that we pay psychics to find it, and whole forests have been lost amidst writing out our collective fantasies.

I guess it's a good thing my ideal love isn't grown on trees then. Supernovas can't be purchased. Trading hearts isn't easy. In fact, it hurts so much that Shakespeare's ghost considers revising Romeo and Juliet any time he thinks of what love has shown me. My love burns like a broken heart might sting if you shoved it full of stardust.

The ancestors knew love is a mystery. The sphinx doesn't know our riddle, and if spells worked I wouldn't be reading this poem. I can't waste anymore hope on tarot cards which have become worn out, bent, and far too familiar since I met you, love. Here let me explain:

The smell of you is a kind of mystic vapor. The oracles at Delphi would trade in their visions for one of yesterday's t-shirts. Don't be embarrassed or confused, I'm not here to play The Fool. I've already proven that we both can be The Magician, High Priestess and The Emperor. The magic of love is bigger than either of us.

My love comes with keys to my kingdom, sit on my throne, direct my armies, and borrow The Chariot. Hell, you can have the castle! You know that's what fairy tale sweethearts do.

This kingdom has known no Empress. That seat sits empty. Think you're man enough for the position? In a future fantasy, you'd inspire the nation, just the way you'll inspire me. We'd leave a legacy. Pyramids, empires, new eras, and new faiths would rise in our names. Pharaohs would envy how the Hierophant pronounces us inseparable. In my fairy-tale, letting down walls is easy. Love knows no labels, no limits, no bounds. Love is fairy dust.

In my 3 part epic, love and romance are no burden. See, this fantasy is one we read through time-to-time and I'm only just learning how to trust wishes made on shooting stars and genies in bottles. No one before has ever made it past the dragons, soldiers and that Minotaur. Believe me when I say, you appeared out of thin air and I trust in fate now. Thank you. I know you aren't the one. I'm learning to let you go.
I hope I do you justice. When you showed up, I prayed to my fairy godmothers for the first time I can recall. The last ******* ran off with Excalibur, the unicorns, and my scepter. "Oh well," you said. "That isn't what counts."

I've been a hermit so long, I forgot how to smile. But when I wake up in this new fairy-tale called life, I don't notice the treasurer, my wars, and problems in the kingdom or even that all my favorite princes still dream of finding their princesses most nights. Even that doesn't scare me. This is all too authentic and the heart gets used to being rejected. Stamped return to sender so many times, I can't count.

My happily-ever-after doesn't have to be perfect. I'm a realist, and besides, we've both gained so much that it feels like we finally landed a spin on the jester's wheel of fortune. Writing poems is something I gave up when I put aside these stories I grew tired of envying. Now I am writing my own. You currently don't fit the part of Prince Charming. Ironic since you inspired him.

Ya see my physical wants are just side effect of the real bliss that I find when I am myself beside you. I don't need ruby rings, or magic slippers to feel at home here. You give me the Strength to fight my own nightmares off. That’s a gift no elves could forge into gold.

It's the way you make the world explode into color that is worth any cost. It’s your honest caring that neutralizes the occasional tragedy. Besides, the drama, which is less dramatic than any of the past “once-upon-a-times” I've fallen into, only makes the story more exciting.

You broke the spell that a Black sorceress and her 3 sister put on you. I first felt like a hero that day at your side. Hearing you renounce your former desire to be the Hanged Man, or to desire Death, is still one of my favorite chapters of the story we wrote.

The love I dream of isn't easy, as I've said. It isn't always epic or fantastical. Sometimes it’s about finding the Temperance not to push potential princes off the balcony too often. There just aren't enough magic carpets these days. I've discovered that learning not to expect change is its own school of challenging wizardry. Luckily, I'm not bad with rare wands.

My love has its risks. I get it, love is usually a surprise! Love like this is easy to deny, fear or resist. I don't want a proposal or their parent's permission for a hand! I just want my prince to be the first person willing to face down The Devil for me, the only one who climbs my Tower and really ruffles the sheets, the one who outshines The Moon.

I don't want to be "that prince." I'm no former-frog; I'm no good with a sword. Honestly, I had given up on magic until you asked me to eclipse the moon. It wasn't hard. If I have to extinguish the Sun, my tears would swell and blacken the sky. I am glad I don't need to shed them anymore.

This love, rare and mystical, is like a leprechaun. Everyone wants it, nobody seems to find it. I got to the end of the rainbow though. It will go something like this, "once upon a drunken, Vegas night..." an Urban fantasy at its finest, if I do say so myself. I just don't want the *** of gold. Give me the dark, mysterious knight. **** the prince. I know it sounds crazy. He and the princess can take the *** of gold, the baby unicorn, and my Judgment too!

My love is risky. It has no chains, guarantees, or Geico lizard to vouch for it. No time-turner to fix it when I **** up, no love potion to make you stay. In my fairy tales, the dragons are our wounded personalities. His shining armor is a defense mechanism, and my damsel-in-distress routine won't work if we let the spark go out.

In my timeless romance, The Lovers learn to enjoy the moment. **** castles, I'd be happy to get a studio. I don't have a unicorn. My chariot looks the same after midnight. I can't promise riches, fame or immortality. And yeap, compared to the princesses, I'd better resemble a toad some mornings.

But I have a love that can put Shakespeare to shame. I'm more complex than Tolkien's Middle Earth, braver than Harry and just as scarred, smarter than Gandalf though I lack his beard, more patient than any of those damsels, and I bet I cook better. No, I know I do. Somehow, this quest has taught me self-confidence.

Unlike those fairy tales, I'm no finished masterpiece. This work in progress has a heart of gold, is on a quest, growing up daily and aims for future royalty. I'm looking for love, ready to leave Neverland, and all i have to offer you are my best effort, this worn deck of cards, myself, and all The World I can bewitch for us.

WANTED: one prince charming who can see themselves in this real-life fairytale.

This lesson learned the hard way is daunting
I live my life solitary lonely and wanting
But this is what happens for trying to trap a star
Let down - their light radiates endlessly far
The balance of things would be too upset
And the other stargazers aren’t going to forget
The pressure would quickly become unstable
It’s like searching for the truth in a fable
You may think you know who a person is
But blinding is the star that you burden like this
It’s bound to become an illusion of what you wish it could be
Hopes deceive - do good and throw it in the sea
Do not drink poison to quench a thirst
In lessons the sad man must become well versed

boy, do I miss
you
everything about
you
when you kissed
me
I felt supernovas
exploding and
you
left bruises staining
my
neck that
I
never want
to heal.

1 A halo of everything from the nothing.
2 Both seeds and grows space and cosmos.
3 Supernovas are but whimpers to the maker.

My friend at Wal-Mart
let me into  the inventory warehouse
where they keep the products
people kept returning
and I found them –
the Quantum Binoculars
beautifully handcrafted
with seamless joinings
glove-soft leather grips
polished to a glisten
with a big red switch at the top.

Switch it left to Bourgeois View
and you see the world
as most people do
through lenses of logic and contradiction
happy and/or sad
right and wrong
young or old
rich and/or poor
but there isn’t enough room
in the field of view
to hold all this conflict
and when you look through it too long
everything goes fuzzy gray
and your eyes start to cross
and you get the headache of the century.
which is why
everybody who used Bourgeois View
wanted a refund for the binoculars
regretting their purchase
terrible product they would say
never having bothered to flip the switch.

Flip right to Quantum View
and your headache disappears
as every person, place and thing
pulsates with vibrant rainbow color
brightening, shading, winking
expanding and contracting rhythmically
in a hypnotic dance
and nobody has to purchase or sell
and the mountainous toy robot displays
and the Special Today Only neon signs
and the shoppers and greeters morph
and the milieu turns glorious.

Then you see
a tiny point of intense blue light
in the center of each object
and it grows and starts to spin
and the next thing you know
you’re being pulled into the viewfinder
first by your eyes
then your cheeks and forehead
and you think uh-oh,
what’s going on here
and you’re reluctant
to let the eyepiece
**** you in any farther
but then you hear angelic music
and the blue lights
crack open like supernovas
revealing the infinite molecular structure
inside everything you see
electrons and neutrinos spinning
atoms racing across the panorama
and you realize
you absolutely must
take this wonderful machine home.

Imagine the quantum universe
hiding inside Wal-Mart’s inventory chaos
calm and rhythmic
instead of razory and cacophonous
soft shapes with vibrating edges
scenes arising and passing away
and you watch entranced
mindful and equanimous
as the view transports you
past the electric sliding glass doors
into the auditory memory
of your mother’s soft lullaby
and the innocent tenderness
of your first kiss
and the smell of the grass
on the last day of school
before summer vacation
and images of big silver trout in clear water
and Jesus and Buddha and Mohammed and Rumi
drinking lattes
in the Wal-Mart coffee shot
and they see you
and wave you over
to come sit down and chat.

So you ask your friend
how much for the binoculars
and he says
you really don’t want them
because if you take them home
you’ll like it so much in there
that one day you’ll let them
**** you all the way in
and you won’t come out
in fact
we don’t know
how many people
are already in there
but Wal-Mart optical department shoppers
have been disappearing for months
and nobody can find them
and you ask
if he takes American Express.

what i said:
"you sound rough this morning."


what i meant:
"your voice is lavender and honey and tea time and supernovas colliding with gentle breezes and if i could wake up to it, just once, cocooned in a tangle of your arms and couch cushions and that blanket you keep in the back of your car, i swear by the stars in my eyes no one on this godforsaken planet would be out of earshot of my singing

i hope that tonight when i dream of you--it is no longer a matter of uncertainty, but anticipation--you speak like you've just overslept your alarm and frantically motored yourself to where i am, like is the case today.

i wish you had chosen me but if i could only listen to you speak to me, about anything--rivers or math homework or football or belonging or music or even your girlfriend--i promise i would listen with the beating urgency of a swimmer in a frozen stream, i would savor each word from your lips, like they were the spring and i was the underground daisy waiting for your kiss.

and in precisely three days i will have an essay to compose about a beautiful topic that would consume me thoroughly were it not for the memory of your groggy morning voice, so full of raspy complacency i can't breathe but instead of fulfilling my obligations i will be hashing out halfway comprehensible poetry about you and crying about how i cannot recreate the sound of your voice with any combination of hollowly clicking keys.

you are so beautiful that i could spend the remainder of my life with a five-subject notebook, scrawling 'your eyes. your smile. your hands. your voice' over and over endlessly and die feeling as though i had lived a thousand years of quiet adventure.

you are so much and too much for me and i have no idea why you see as much in me as you do but i will not question it, for fear that if i were to come too close to you, to run my fingers along the marvel of your face you would shrivel and unfurl into nonexistence, like the leaf in the fire."


and also:
"why can't your voice always sound like this?"

and finally:
"******* you're attractive"

who am i now?

i've been asked "why are you so emotionless?" "why are you so fearless?" many times this past week.
i feel like it's been an infinite amount of times, i lost count.
truth is, i wasn't always like this.

if you were to ask me about my 12-year-old self, oh, you'd think i was the most living, joyful human being on the planet.
always so cheerful. huge smile. with so much desire to live & energy running through my veins, i'd enlighten a whole new world. i'd create supernovas with my laugh & you'd see galaxies in my eyes. a broad & unlimited imagination, i'd take you to new places & worlds you never thought existed. just by my prescence, i'd create an avalanche & turn nightmares into dreams.

if you were to ask me about my 15-year-old self, oh, you'd know that not much changed. just for one thing: that the 12-year-old girl had died. i then was a little older, a little quiter, a little limited.
i wasn't able to create supernovas anymore or to turn nightmares into dreams. dreams turned my life into a nightmare, & the demons i once thought hid under my bed now lived inside me. my prescence was somewhat felt, but you wouldn't be able to see galaxies in my eyes anymore. the galaxies were eaten out by black holes & my life was consumed by the dust.

if you were to ask me about my 18-year-old-present-me self, oh, you'd know that not much has changed. just for one thing: that the 15-year-old me had died. the demons almost took her life, but they did take her soul & her innocence completely.
with no soul, there's no emotion, no desire, no energy, no life. i mean, how could there be life still underneath all the dust & all the darkness?
"why are you so emotionless?"
"why are you so fearless?"
because when you go through so much darkness alone & you drown to the deepest part of the ocean, you learn that the only one who can give you the light & strength you need to swim back up is yourself. because you know it can't get worse when you already had reached bottom low, so you just learn to swim with the weaves. because you learn that it's better to not get attached to temporary feelings that could bring darkness along all again. because life is so much better & simpler when there's nobody pushing you over the edge of the boat. because when you lose everything, there's nothing left to be fearful for. there's nothing left to care for.

i ask myself, "who am i now?"
if i'm not the girl who could enlighten a whole new world, create supernovas with her laugh & had the galaxies in her eyes;
or the girl who wasn't able to turn nightmares into dreams;
or the girl who got her soul & her innocence completely taken away;
who am i now?

if I could be any one of your body parts I’d

be your fingertips.
when you break my gaze on screen, I yearn for it like

a lost child.
keep pushing others out of the way at aquariums so I can
touch the stingrays

and nudge my calves with your nose when you
want to be brushed

I promise to always remember where your car is parked,

if you let me keep that photo of you as a young pilot
in my pocket

in public spaces, we fill the

air between us with supernovas.
you are Sirius
you are the lobster
you are the look across the room at a party;

feel my phantom hands on your shoulders
I’ll crawl into the nape of your neck and make a home

plaster myself across your skin so you can find me

in the grooves of your hands
I’ll sew my words into your sheets so you will never be without them

promise me you’ll comb out your tangled hair if it gets too much

and wait for me by the Whitney
as I walk 341 miles for you.

Rue thy feeble fate.
Fear the day when thine own eyes
Fail to see beyond thy hand.
Requiem for the rest-easies such as Thyself shall not come as welcome
Praise, but as fire and brimstone,
Blood from the grimy grindstones of
The weary working, ready to rise
And crush all unworthy opposition
With their hilts of red-hot rage,
Raising swords of liberty to the heavens and cutting down the opression that has stilted their air.

Weep for this is thy fate:
Thy death means justice for those who Have been defeated countless times,
Under a blooming, burning sky defeats Pile up like stars, simmering, waiting to Become supernovas and take every puny Universe down in their own glorious Descent, like
Icarus to the sun, a sweeter fall could not Exist on this lonely planet,
Into the unforgiving waters of victory.

Justice for those angry folk who by merit Have earned their own place, not by Some system that hands it to them, but By grit and toil alone,
By the fierce madness that is
Existing and not completely
Giving in to the ruin of being human, Following the words that
A wiser man than I spoke, that life is Struggle, that the only constant in this Life is the pain that all of us try to ignore In the futile attempt to block out the Tragedies that haunt us daily.

Face thy fears, coward.
Thou miserable wretch can't look thyself In the mirror, but can claim that we as a Species have hope for peace on Earth and Goodwill for all.
What dost thou know of goodwill? When didst thou give a single moment of thought to the happiness of anyone but thyself and thine selfish  avaricious interests?
Thou shan't claim to know what is holy and just, yet scourge the very pious people that thou imitates; thou shan't slaughter the devout on a temple whose bricks are molded from hypocrisy and deceit.

Rue thy feeble fate,
Because thou deserveth every blow, every cry of mockery, every disgusted eye and every hideous pitiful moan that thy gravestone will inspire, and even Dante himself could not have imagined the flaming of the hellish unredeeming pyre that will be thy afterlife;
rue thy fate for no morals, no intercessions, no pleas or entreaties to be spared from the filth and maggotry that thou hast built thy very house upon canst save thee now.

Lately, I've found myself daydreaming
About swimming through space -
I want to become the Moon, solely
So that I can show you
That you are my world
And my life revolves around you, my love, you -

are my star filled sky.
No city skyline
Shines bright enough
To keep you out of sight.


The first time our orbits intersected,
Our collision created a black hole,
And you pulled me in
With no chance of getting out,
No matter how hard
Any force in the galaxy tries,
Inexplicable by any means,
Except that, just simply-
I need you.

When i gaze into your eyes,
i feel solar flares leaving burn marks on my heart;
As if the sun decided that it would rather
Rise and set with your blinks,
Leaving me blinded by your beauty.
Chain reactions of supernovas are going off in my head
At the mere thought of you,
Unleashing a nest of butterflies
Scrambling in my stomach,
Unsure of how to reach the sky
Except through a passage
Your lips reveal to me.

Every time we touch,
I'm diving headfirst into the Milky Way;
Your smooth skin's mere grazing
Keeps me together,
All the while ripping me apart, because
Im not sure how to deal with,
Someone as amazing as you.

Sometimes, I hope that one day
You will settle down
In the warm home of my heart,
As we cook hot dinner plates
Of affection and perfection,
With love so stellar,
we are steaming spaghetti
In the big dipper,
You get my blood boiling,
My tongue rolling,
Love is unfolding,
Because
if you're in my presence
I might as well unwrap you, right?

Orion's belt is the only thing
Holding me back
When I have you to myself,
Your curves bending and winding
Reminds me of moons
waxing and waning In perfect orbit.

You are an asteroid that hit me hard
with no chance of recovery,
The impact you've made
Is bigger
than any grand canyon sized crater;
Every night I go to sleep
And I recite my normal prayers,
I say, God -
I don't know what i would do
If you didn't create her.

Shooting star sparks fly off of our lips when we kiss,
And this time, I'm wishing
That I will not have to say goodbye,
Because we have become
A complex binary star system
In perfect equilibrium;
We are One in a
Million,
Billion,
Trillion,
Quadrillion,
You take me
To infinity and beyond.

You take me
to a whole new level.

You have me flying higher than comets,
My love will go any distance
Until I fizzle out
To nothing more
Than matter dispersed
Across the universe.
I will traverse galaxies
To reach for your hand.

The once in a lifetime opportunity of meeting you
Is a solar eclipse
Of all the pathetic red giants
Who implode at the sight
Of the smile you put on my face
and put to shame
All the airplanes
With blinking lights
Yearning to catch my eye
And fool me into thinking
That there is a replacement for
the new constellation we have made
Called love;
My love,
You
Are my north star.

Please.. do not ever stop shining.

I look at you
And suddenly
I feel the lump
Of bitterness in
My throat
Swell
And I'm left
Wondering what
Did I do wrong
I gave you
My moon
My stars
All of my
Cosmos and
Galaxies
And just as
I thought you
Would do the
Same
You
*Supernova'd

Exploding flowers—
Maid earth stemming to the skies,
  .  .  .  Insects' point of view.

If my freckles are stars
that make up my galaxy
Then are my eyes
supernovas
black holes
that have pulled you into my universe
and decided not to let you go

As I stare at the face in the mirror I think
It would look good through the window
of a casket

where time and decay can touch it
away from peering eyes

when all the thoughts are

              what she could have been

                                            what she was

and not

                                                               what she failed to be


So many have sealed their fates as legends
by dying
young

Like fireworks
that fly high and burst
as the crowd ooohs and ahhhs


I don't want to be the stars
hung forever
burning

burning
until everyone forgets their beauty

for in a crowd of white dwarfs
so few become supernovas
and there is always the risk
of becoming
a self-destructive
drag others down with you

black hole.