What does it take
To have a joyful cheer?
What is it at stake
To smile; that's unclear.
When our gaze meets,
And a smile, it is spread,
And I announce myself a greet,
It is unreturned instead.
For this reason, I am unsold,
I need your reasons why.
A smile unreturned is cold.
Don't say I didn't try.

she was like
        a wilting flower
drained of all things
that kept the others upright

he was like
        a rushing brook
who saw her crumpled and tired,
crowded by overgrown weeds,
and wanted nothing more
than to clear the earth around her
and see her bloom again

so he took all he had
        and poured it into her
and when finally the pinkness
had returned to her cheeks
        she looked back at him
        and saw that

he was now like
        a withering shrub
frail and planted in dry clay

and despite the deep conviction
she had in her heart to restore him
        like he had restored her
all of her best efforts
left her with with exposed roots
and dirt beneath her fingernails

he wouldn’t let her stay
        to continue to try
        to quench his thirst
so she left him with a watering can
and promised he’d soon find relief

Oh, I know not!
I see not, and master not!
Why t'is caprice - t'is tender whim, is unwilling
to unveil my soul, conquering it with
mounds and plates of rapturous
yet canonical attention. How I dread
such falsehood! Strong, strong falsehood!
What an inconsiderate urgency! A matter, matter of the heart -
as mighty as it probably is, of its own accord! How serious
t'is would be! I am suffrage; and akin to its vigour areth my laugh,
and joy - I would be hatred if none cameth to stop my pace;
my frosty haze; and t'is gruesome maze! Yes, I would but be,
in th' length of some furt'er days!
I shalt no more be of t'is delight, and clustered inside my gloom,
pressed to th' walls of dainty loom; from which I shalt never
be comely enough to be granted an escape.
How terrifying t'ose scenes areth, to me! A poet as I am,
unenviable is my littleness, and humility; to t'ose who glare with jealousy
at pangs of my laughter, and childlike demands - as how t'ey always
chastised during t'eir coincidental encounters. But I am blessed!
I am blessed by my words - and t'ese cheerful, yet unending poems -
as unlike t'em I am, ungrateful and vile beings, flocking to th' church
only for th' sake of brand-new dowry, and enforced blessings.
Murderers of peace! Sons and daughters of vice! But I am convinced
t'at virtue shalt forever tower over t'em; and in th' right time t'ey shalt
be pulled off t'eir horses, and unedifying pleasantry. And goodness
shalt t'en win! For truth never bears t'eir unfaithful boasts, just like
it hates t'eir dishonesty; which so insistingly frosts me
with atrocity within 'tis lungs, and so soon as doth it start to cling stronger -
abashed shalt I be! Incarcerated shalt be my front, and dutiful
countenance - in t'at gross conflagration with secular flatness,
hesitations, and worldly doubts, in which yon grotesque salutation, corroborating
'tis assailed countenance, gouty and drained by rightful mockery;
comes but to avenge my love, my wondrous love -
which yesterday was dazzling and dripping fast
but contentiously, like a ripe cherry. Like a small burst of wine
craved by scholarly epicures, t'is feeling but anonymously grips
my lips, trembles my heart, and distracts my limbs;
should I be to think of thee, I shan't but be away
from t'is nauseatedness, of regrets, again! My thee, my thee,
areth thou truly gazing at me from afar? With fascination in thy stares,
wilt thou bestow me such destiny I hath been so desirous of - my dear?
And with thy serene, bulbous eyes - t'at sea of blackness
basked in marred turmoil - ah, a sign but of peace after such fire! - wilt thou
mould thy mind, thy stony mind, like a black-painted rose,
to throw at my being, just one, voluntary glance?
I am but anxious, my love, how I shake all over
with unreturned passion like t'is, my blood is circling
in distorting, yet irrepressible agitation.
How I wish t'at thou could be here, and rendereth me safe, in solely
but thy arms, my love! And shalt thou be my giddy knight - I entreat!
In my unmothered dreams, and t'eir precocious brambles - on t'ose journeys
of loom, doth I fear not, for thou shalt be t'ere to mirthfully comfort me.
And off shalt I fly again, to greet th' thoughtful morning!
But ought I to leaveth my dreams now; for thou canst be here to celebrate
t'is snowy day, and lift me onto triumph! And how I wisheth to cast away
t'is imprisonment, how I longeth for but thee here - just thee, remember t'at,
o but hark to my swift whisper, t'at calls only for thy name, my love!
How aggravated, and corrupted my conscience wilt be -
within th' membranes of my brain; t'eir hardship is severed by thy unpresence.
My love, o my restrained - single love, t'is ode that lights my soul
shalt illuminate thine; and 'tis long words - threads woven along
an abstracted lullaby, and vanquished by silent accusations, from thy, thy mouth!
A well t'at is perilous in its standing - standing like a torch, unruptured
albeit neglected, innocent in 'tis acute forlornness. Poor misery!
Hark, hark, my love - how t'ose dames, irresolute in t'eir volatility, and
charms of miraculous beauty - but tumultous inside, entranced by fear
of losing which, as so graciously raved and ranted all over th' year!
Th' dreary years - which th' above phrase caused me to be well-reminded,
and duly recall how t'eir sickening remorse tossed me around; and decreed
my jests of dread, sickness, and disdain - surges, and waves of animosity
wert but all about me. But how they areth happening again! Amongst th' snow -
running about as t'ey art, t'ose heartless, indignant creatures -
blind to th' tenderness of nature, bland and untouched by its shrieks, and
flickering toil! How I wish to save it, but incapable as I am - a minuscule shadow
of early womanhood t'at I own, I choose to stay distant,
and pray for t'eir impossible atonement, somehow, before t'ey entereth
t'eir silent graves. How t'ose ghosts of malice areth in no way acquainted
with th' woes of th' churchyard, and th' grimness of death - I declare!
How unafraid t'ey are, sacrificing t'is coherent life for such courses
of abomination. Victories upon th' misery of others,
dances to mourning songs, how evil! But I wish for t'eir salvation,
for t'ey art unable to even salve t'eir poor selves. I shalt be fervent
in my generosity, for 'tis th' most rewarding part of humanity;
I shalt be but a faithful servant to my innocuous nature. I adoreth my nature
just the way 'tis, and I shalt build its madly-scarred way back; with tons
of brightness, care, and hearty bliss! Yes, my love, my bliss - which inhabits
th' entire space of my maturity and unmolested passion. Inapprehensible as it is,
I am but to win its grace, and t'erefore thee - just as I hath so ardently dreameth of -
as heretofore, and shalt thou but be saluted and fended for
by my, my sincere and unbinding, affection.

Rejection

There is a tightness in my chest,
because repeatedly I've been put to the same test.

Torturing me over and over again,
I'm longing now for emissary vein.

How much longer should I maintain optimism,
it just wants to carry on to pessimism.

It's a wound that won't stop bleeding,
but still showing gratitude and I'm still breathing,
for how longer should I except defeating.

I've been tested to love, but she won't love me back.
I've been tested to be shoved,
but thereafter I can't remain in place for walking upright on that track.

I've been tested counting down the list of all Woman whose affection
was unreturned.
But this list is yet far from having a cut to be undeterred.

Thereof I'm asking myself again"
Does true love really exist ?
Today I still would say yes, cause I've been able norishing my list.

I borrowed the book you have been yearning to read, for you, on your birthday. I never returned it in the end, just to give it to you, that you may read it forever.

I bet you have been wanting to hear the lines of that famous book being said to you out loud, by the person you love.

Little did you know that everything in that same book, are the ones which I wanted to read out and say to you.

Seven years. It has been seven years since that day.

And now here they were in the alfresco of that overrated café, with the man sitting across the lady: he was sipping his black coffee and she, her jasmine tea. The scenario almost seemed impossible in the past, but for someone with her tenacious personality, something ‘impossible’ just meant ‘a little later’ than ‘never at all.’ This moment played by fate was comparable to the persistent rainstorm that forced them to stay together a little longer in the coffee shop than planned.

“I’ve been thinking,” he sighed into his coffee mug, “About leaving this place and heading to the States. Study more on film and acting from the professionals themselves. Get into showbiz of the global standard. Be a real director. What do you think?”

She straightened her posture and settled her cup down on the table, nodding in acquiescence at his idea of endeavors that appeared promising for his future.

“Well… Why not? I say go for it. I support you in that decision.”
He diverted his eyes to hers, trying to read the gaze behind those wide eyes. Though wide and nonchalant they may seem to be, only a few can notice and genuinely understand what swims in those dark depths. Their staring game ended as her voice surfaced once again through the sound of rainfall.

“I support you. If you’re ever wondering why, it’s because I had to make a decision just like that—seven years ago.”

This time it was his eyes that widened, and he placed his mug alongside hers.

“What kind of decision was it? You definitely weren’t aiming to be an actor like me, considering you’re a licensed interior designer, not to mention writer, right now,” he chuckled, leaning back onto his chair.

A soft smile of nostalgia emerged on her lips as she remembered what she wrote on the night of the sixteenth, a day before the significant seventeenth.

April 16, 2017; 11:15 P.M. — I’m satisfied of this unrequited love. I’m happy this is all one-sided. I’m glad everything is ending before it can even truly begin. It would be easier for me to leave him who doesn’t even have the slightest knowledge of my existence, who doesn’t even know my sentiments, who doesn’t even miss me, yet alone think of me. It’s all good; perfect, even. A broken heart is better than two. At least there will be some times when I might let him and his strong hands put my weak heart back together and restore it to me. I’d rather have that than us both losing and scattering the pieces of our mutually shattered hearts. He must never be broken; I need to protect him from being so—I will take myself away from him. I’ve never been any happier to be in a love that’s unknown and unreturned. He will be happy, and I will be too. In the end, his happiness will always be mine.

“I had to leave the places and people I love, to be where I am and who I am today,” she exhaled. “It was tough, but thinking of those moments and people I held onto and appreciated… all of that kept me going.”

“Was it a happy one? I mean, did you find the happiness or ending you were looking for?”

“If I were to be dead honest, yes. More than happy, actually. I’m not just relieved, or satisfied; I’m overwhelmingly grateful. I earned the careers and lifestyle I aimed for. I managed to travel all over the world and see the places and people I’ve wanted to see. My soul roams free, finding home in the many corners of this earth. I’ve finally come home, and this time I know I’m not alone.”

The man was a grown man in a smart-casual attire, but he sure maintained the curious eyes of the child that he furtively kept in himself. Being under his scrutinizing eyes, she reminisced of the same intensity he gave back when they were still twenty-one and on the verge of growing up.

“But what about ‘him’ whom you left behind? Did you come to know him this time, maybe love him too, again?”

She picked up her teacup, providing a little wall between them both, and swallowed the remaining aromatic drops along with the thoughts she wanted to tell him ever since then.

I came to know him—you—but I don’t love him ‘again’. The feelings, which I harbored for you for all these years, never left me even when I left you back then. I know I was told to reach for the moon that I may land among the stars even if I failed to reach it. But I realized I had to reach beyond the moon—the sun, the Milky Way, the entire universe—because I wanted and needed to be worthy of my existence. I wanted and needed to prove myself to myself, to you and to everyone else.

“I did. And I’m happy with how we are right now, even if it seems like we’re back to zero this time round.  Though I’m not sure how my feelings are for him now, if I seek him as a friend or as a potential love interest.”

He seemed doubtful of her response hence did he hesitantly express his last thoughts: “So you’re happy now because you left him previously. But what if he’s the one who leaves this time? Would you still be happy?”

The clouds were emptying now as the pouring rain concluded to a light shower; likewise the people they were surrounded with under the alfresco umbrellas. She knew that she was prepared to answer this question. For the past years, concerned individuals would ask her the very same thing, and for this was she thankful. She herself would recite the words to her reflection every day, much like a prayerful mantra.

He caught a faint twinkle in her eye, a proof of which her answer would be echoing with conviction and it made him realize that those particular words to be said would be one of those things that would remind him of her.

“It won’t matter if he learns how I feel then or now, and yet doesn’t feel the same way. If leaving me would direct him to his happiness, then so be it. Perhaps we aren’t meant to love each other in this lifetime, any other lifetime, or even in parallel worlds, but I still am and would be happy about it. What’s greater than this feeling of being able to love someone so much? Like I said: in the end, his happiness will always be mine.”

we long for what we can't give. (title for now) I long to converse with you without our words turning to anger, but still we find ourselves standing at opposite ends of a verbal battle. I long to spend time with you, without it turning into a confrontation, but we still stand at opposite ends of the chessboard. I have longed to hold you, even close, but you kept me at arms length; both physically and mentally. I try to do right by you but I always seem to fail, like a child blindfolded in a dark room who was asked to distinguish between colors. You ask for passion, almost like that of two star crossed lovers who have stolen a single night for themselves. But the many times I've tried to express it, the passion was unreturned like a lover waiting under the stars for a soul that seems will never arrive. I've waited for the happiness that is supposed to come from two hearts joined as one, and yet I'm filled with a sadness that comes from a pain of a solitary beating vessel. I have asked you for affection, that of a caring mate that says "I love you" without words, and here I find myself unknowing of a speechless love, for when I'm in pain I can't feel you there holding me. I hope for a strong open mind, one that can not only stand up for her beliefs, but also admit to the mistakes that befall all human beings. Yet, for you to see your errors would mean for you to admit your faults and imperfections, which your pride may never accept. I simply ask for a companion that would take the time to understand me and love me for my imperfections; for I know I carry many with me. However that effort and understanding has not been received from you. And even though I've had all these obstacles in the way, I've tried to love you with every drop of blood that pumps through my veins, but no longer can I shed tears for your sorrows, or bleed for your pain, for it is as if my heart has pumped its last drop of my pain.

You held me between barbed wire teeth
With ******'s tongue
You knew I couldn't leave
To the collected dust that was my former being
You told me so each day
When my eyes seemed to wander to the person I could've been
Could be?
Unreturned calls of friends
Forgotten faces
Lost and found you
Radio static numbness
I am yours
Forever

I sit on a droopy windowsill and gaze out
at the stars above me in the stately sky of coal.
I let the smoke fill me, pollute my corrupted lungs,
‘til it plugs me, completely consumes my sticky soul,
and midnight sorrow blanket hugs the heart in my hole.

I sit and I consider the sky
with its million-and-one jewels
that adorn the vast carpet of night
and its one, lone cloud that slowly drools
fat, drippy drops of deep fed'ral blues.

The ashy, burnt taste is still in my throat;
it lingers- a dull, cloying candy cane.
The muted flavour chokes and jabs and pecks
persistently, in the back of my brain
and leaves a steel blue/gray trailing stain.

Vague memories of fourth-grade English lessons
take me with a deep sigh to forgotten thoughts
of Roger McGough and unrequited love-
dazed recollections of school poetry taught
in obscure slate-blue classrooms, littered with blots.

It seems feeling unreturned affection
isn't quite as great as I’d thought after all.
I must've been wrong, all those hazed years ago,
when I yearned to feel unrequited love’s fall,
convinced it would be a wondrous, dazzling ball

Instead, I'm just ******* in the pale-ing sky
that seems to be growing into lighter hues-
the navy’s turned to electric, to powder,
matching the sapphire in my soul of glue.
I'm suppose I'm feeling somewhat, slightly blue.

.

Beauty in pain,
Such a sorry sight.
Love unreturned,
Such a forlorn feeling.
Helplessness,
A despairing disease.
Time passes by,
But nothing changes.
Routine,
Such a boring comfort.
Meaning becomes meaningless.
Meaning is rare,
Found in hidden corners,
Unseen doors.
It must be sought out,
It can never be
Discovered.
Because no moment has meaning.
Meaning is not intrinsic.
It is given,
Awarded.
To a time,
A place,
A memory.
Meaning,
Is nothing more than
A human construct.

I watch two lovers alone in a crowd,
Their breath holds each other softly.

One exhale,
Cool on the skin of my lips.

Your words melt in my hands,
And water the grass at my feet,

That grows green with the thought of you.
For we long for the memory of your touch.

I would die each night beside you,
To see tears stain your parchment cheeks,

Each tear luminous and fleeting,
Never will anything so valuable fall for me.

I breath life in,
Hoping for nothing more than a chance.

And only wishing I could offer you more
Than such a little death

i loved you, right

a love unreturned,

unrequited

but alas, still

stoked by little miners with

hearts of brass their

iron faces grimacing at the task,

little beads of lots of sweat

dripping down their

taut frowns.

so what i meant to say is that

i love you, right,

and it’s a love that still

burns, bright, enough

to bring the boys home but

let’s be honest

it wouldn’t best the sun, but

****, it’s a terrible light,

it throws everything into a soft relief

where pretty, soft voiced sheep say

pretty, soft voiced things like

‘it’s okay to feel this way’

‘i want you to be happy’

‘she sounds amazing’

and other things that normal people

tell me mean that either

i don’t love you

or i’m moving on.

they don’t understand though,

i mean,

i love you, right,

though all that sheep **** makes it

sound as if

i’m waving you off,

smashing the celebratory champagne on your bow,

waving you off into the distance with a lacy hanky,

joyful tears cascading down my powdered cheekbones,

i’m greedy

maybe even,

needy,

a disgusting word and

even if i make pacts with myself

to the order of

‘he can do so much better’

‘i am damaged goods’

and other associated half truths

i’d be a liar if i said that

i would kick you out of bed

or even rebuke the slightest of

advances, no i’d take my chances

and i cannot bear it, really

i’d touch you and whatever wholeness

whatever someone else would

parse as clean or pure or holy

wouldn’t disintegrate, no

wouldn’t tarnish, no

would most probably just implode

under the combined pressure

of emotionally-mentally-******-in-the-head-doe

(where the **** do you think the miners got all that coal)

so, yes… wait. no?

i love you, right

but just ignore it

enjoy the lights

please remember them

tell your friends and

cherish them until

they are taken by

death, drink, dementia

but i’m sure your mum,

teacher,

or television

long ago informed you that

bright lights are detrimental to vision

so think of your future and

forget now

if you’re tempted by how i look at you

remember how

sunburn seems innocuous

until you see your skin

and sunscreen pretty useless

‘til you learn the sun will win

and the best way to avoid

dainty melanoma

is

to

go

inside

and

lock

your

door

and act like you don’t know her.

Everytime I see you-
I feel a sharp pang surge through my body,
I feel my heart hit over-drive and I break out in a nervous sweat.
It's a pity you don't see me too.

Everytime I talk to you -
I feel my tongue twisting into an uncomprehensible jabber,
I feel my mind begin to yabber;                 my legs they seem to stagger.
It's a pity your don't talk to me too.

Everytime I think of you -
I feel my whole body melt in awe
I feel warmth straight down to my core and I can't ever stop...
It's a pity you don't think of me too.

I wish I was as invisible as you make me out to be, because then, maybe then I won't see you, I won't talk to you, I won't think of you...and then, only then I'll know for sure -
that you won't think of me too.

Feeling so strongly about someone who won't ever feel the same way...is destroying me, it's killing me...it's pushing me away from all the joys of life, the beauty and kindness...
It's turned me into something ugly, something I'm not.

It's a pity I ever saw you, it's a pity I even talk....it's my heart's own silly fault I guess, to think I even had a chance.
With you, the perfect friend and lover,       I should never have given a second glance.

You were mine, just for awhile,
although you never knew it;
you could always make me smile,
but somehow, we didn't fit.

A one-sided love was all it was,
you didn't know just how I felt;
a brief encounter, a short-lived buzz,
you never saw the way my heart did melt.

I could have loved you, if you let me,
but you had someone else in mind;
you never realized, you let me be,
somebody you would never find.

But love unreturned, is no love at all,
and so I went, my unhurried way;
you weren't around to see me fall,
I just slowly vanished from your day.

You were mine, for just a little while,
although you never spoke a word to me;
funny, how you always made me smile,
and never knew the day you set me free.

There is no love that hurts so much,
As one that goes unknown,
Despite bereft of nurturing,
Immensely it has grown.

There is no love as hurts so much,
As one that's unreturned,
A passion so intense, confined,
It's owner simply burned.

Your gaze on someone else
while mine's always been yours
Numb my feelings, mute my heart
I don't want to feel for you anymore.

Do you realize how much you can wreck a persons mind?
Your words and actions can do so much.
Your words can be as soft as a pillow, but then muffle the cries of terror.
Your actions can cause that girl to blush ever so gently, but then cause those same cheeks to have a waterfall of tears coursing down.
It's not fair.
The same person you expected so much from caused you so much pain.
But then like a fool you take them back.
Your love makes you see past the mistakes.
Any rational thoughts disappear and each night you contemplate waiting forever for your love to be wholly returned.

Clumsy Love

It was clumsy the day they first met

A hot day in New York City, photography at a baseball game, purple hair, and overpriced lemonade. There was a 15 year-old girl and her friend, and there was a slight fangirl moment when meeting a 17 year old boy who was famous school-wide for his singing and acting. There was an exchange of names, a photograph, and a friendship.

It was clumsy the second day, too.

Persistently bought coffee from the little round shop with way too many sugar packets, a misguided museum employee, too much root beer, and pigeons that were startled by the boy yelling “44!”

The third day was no less clumsy.

There was a broadway show in Shubert Alley, an unknown desire, and a sleepless night for the boy, though the girl remained ignorant of his new-found crush. If only the girl knew that a year from now, a promposal would be reenacted, a first kiss would be given and taken, and “I love you” would be said. If only the boy knew that his “immature” desire would be replaced with love, and passion, and, well, her. If only they knew what would happen in the next 365 days.

It was clumsy that one night in the pool.

A sticky, humid heat in the air, string lights hung over head, four friends swimming in the girls pool, stars in the sky, and the boy, throwing the girl into the pool simply because he could. The girl loved him then, though she wouldn’t allow herself to think about it, so they remained as they were: friends.

It was clumsy that day in Hershey Park.

There were sharp turn on the Wild Mouse, a stranger met and then lost again, and the boy, who kept telling the girl of other boys who were staring at her. Maybe it was his secret way of telling her that he thinks she’s beautiful, but she never knew.

It was clumsy in the movie theater.

There was crab rangoon and smuggled sushi, an 11:00 movie about superheroes, and a returned wish to hold a girl’s hand, though the girl, somehow, remained oblivious still.

It was clumsy in September and November.

There was a girl with a broken heart, betrayal from the friends from New York, a different boy who was never meant to be, and the boy who was meant to be, listening to every word, watching every tear, and slowly, unknowingly, fixing her heart. Through three hourlong video calls, text messages, and abandoned lunch periods he loved her still, though he remained the friend that he knew she needed.

It was clumsy in December.

There was a realization of how much he meant to her, a lot of poems, a revelation of jealousy of the girl who was flirting with him, and a lot of tears. There was a still 15 year old girl and a now 18 year old boy, and she allowed herself to fall, in the clumsiest way possible, into him.

If was clumsy on Valentine's day.

There was a singing Valentine, as well as one with a bad pun, there was a comparison to a sister, there was a"Crazy Little Thing Called Love" and there was a hug. A question was asked that day "Does he like her?", But was disregarded with a shrug "He said she was like a sister, so I guess not". It stung her her heart just a little, but she accepted the hit that was unintentionally given. And clumsily, once again, she laughed and smiled, after all, he and to her.

If was clumsy at the cabaret Cafe.

There was some pie and ice cream, a song sung to her, though she only wished he meant it that way, a slippery cafeteria for and tights, a confession, and two questions. The confession being to him, that she was happy to know him, a question to her, does she like him, to which she lied "no", and when the question was returned, the boy avoided an answer when the girl returned a question.

It was clumsy the Monday afterwards.

It was clumsy when he wouldn't meet her eyes. She still can't explain how much that hurt her, it stabbed at her heart and caught in her throat. After all: her best friend didn't even want to look at her. Her heart was slippery and clumsy as it sunk towards her stomach. There were tears during first period, and a text after school from the girl who apologized for lying because she liked him after all, and was too afraid of rejection to tell him before, yet no confirmation came from him.

It was clumsy on March 3rd.

There were poems, missing heart beats, and grammar mistakes. There was relief and there was fear. There was nervousness for the next day, knees shaking, heart racing as she turned every corner, waiting to see his face.

It was clumsy on March 16th.

When she fell to the ground. There are six pink roses, a stuffed turtle named Cleopatra, and a PowerPoint slide with a pun. There was an expectation he had wished to live up to and there was success. She fell to the ground and feel into his arms and they both cried of happiness and shock.

It was clumsy on March 18th.

There were silent cellos, empty risers, a dark room and racing heartbeats. There were seven kisses before saying goodbye, they were her first. There were two definitions of perfect, coincidentally, there were also two names. There was a broken water bottle and a boy in a parking lot. There was a girl, now sixteen, and a boy, now eighteen, and they were talking in love in the dark.

It was clumsy on April 3rd.

There was a stairwell, a thought, a confession, and an "I love you" returned in the same breath of air held between them.

It was clumsy in the hammock.

There was an unbalanced swaying, a list of questions and answers, and a metaphor about falling.

It was clumsy at lunch.

There was an attempted hug, an accidental tackle, and a girl who tripped over her own feet.

It was clumsy yesterday, it is clumsy today, and it will be clumsy tomorrow.

There was New York City, coffee, Broadway in Shubert Alley, root beer, Hershey Park and movie theaters. There was a broken heart, video calls, realizations, poems, songs, and apple pie with ice cream. There were grammar mistakes, pink roses, turtles, teddy bears, silent cellos, risers, absent heartbeats, and stairwells. There was love unreturned from fear of rejection born from the roots of doubt. And then, there was love, and memories, and secrets. And they became them, and "us" was their new favorite word.

I either care too much
Or I don't care enough
It's like I'm playing a never ending
Tug of war against myself
Too much pushing and pulling
Wondering and waiting
Is it worth the time
Or am I going insane yet?
And even after taking steps back
To see things more clearly
My perspective remains the same
And the image is blurry
I can't decide what's right
And I'm running out of time
To finally make up
My ever changing mind

Drop the mask and façade
I need to see the truth
What is actually there?
What is actually you?
And what have you done
To try to make me stay
Even when it seems
Like I'm pushing you away
I miss the way it used to be
When you actually tried
Now I'm falling for you harder
And I'm scarring my pride
But what is actually hurt
Isn't the fact that you're fading
But the fact that I was wrong
When I thought I could change it

And maybe after this
I'll finally learn
How to point out the liars
Before I get hurt
But mistakes are inevitable
Even for me
I'm not the perfect person
I wish I could be
But I'll remember the past
When I'm living every day
I won't let people trick me
Won't listen when they say
That they can give me the world
But they have their fingers crossed
Because I can't lose my head
Or ever get lost
For the fear of unreturned love
Is something to hate
Because it's bound to happen sometime
Despite your effort to delay it

And well the seasons change
And memories fade
But the lesson will always
Remain the same
You'll have to face lies
Disappointment and heartbreak
But hold onto yourself
It's the only thing you'll take
Because most everything eventually
Crumbles and falls
But if you're still there
Standing up tall
You'll be able to start over
Get a fresh start
To reopen the wounds
You've sealed on your heart

You broke my heart before you even had the chance to hold it
This is why I'm always so scared
because you broke my heart when I finally got the courage
To tell you that I cared

What song did the sirens sing, Ulysses?
What tune could break your will,
cause you to lose your way?

Were you strung by the sound of a harpy's harp?
Lured by the lies of hideous creatures
singing songs of fabled falsehoods?
Like empty eggshells holding none
of the nutrients they promised.

Was their melody flooded with the bitter truth of love unreturned?

Did they sing of release?
Release from the turmoil the journey was and would continue to bring?
Were the dissonant harmonics of a watery end,
the chance to be one with the sea
what made you beg for your bindings to be cut?

Perhaps the sirens sang the greatest songs of all.
Perchance they sung
of passion sweeter than nectar,
of love stronger than ambrosia,
waiting to be given to the sailor
that could traverse
death itself
and make his way to them.

my misery
  doesn't particularly like company
but sometimes it likes tequila

tequila makes me sleepy
  at least then i can take a break
from thinking

what i want
  no one will give me

i need someone else to acknowledge
the reality and horror of this construction

i found a cure
  for unrelenting
and unreturned
desire
and friendship

it is misery and hopelessness.

i used to be self-righteous and holy
until i knew better
i listened and heard silence
i'm on my own

where i was hesitant
   i want to be bold
self-conscious
   i want to be free

but i'm hot
  my ankle is chained
    i'm rejected
      i'm miserable

and i just want to lay on the floor
for a year or two
with a thimbleful of tequila
and straighten things out.

I'm talking fast
Breathing slow
Exiled from life
Why you left do not know
Your absence stabs like a knife

Because too much time on my hands
Don't go to church or the bar
Stare at the wall trying to understand
How I have made it this far

It bugs me you are fine on your own
I am only half getting burned
Tell me to hit you up on your phone
My messages go unreturned

My tongue itches with irritation
Sentences I dare not say
Can't blame you for infuriation
I kissed you back that day

I suspected you'd never ring my cell
I'm wrapped around your finger
You put my heart through hell
Lasting loyalty lingers

Supportive of you no matter what
Liberated or in chains
Too deep down in this rut
To evict from my brain

All I know
I am tired
Yearning to rise above
Adoration has expired
Why can't my love?

I puzzle you as I try to avoid stepping on the cracks of the

cobble stone streets of Paris and raise my camera to my eye to

frame a picture of the Pont de l’Archevêché and catch

lovers eating each other’s faces out in the left third of my shot.

-

Can you say “très dégoûtant”?

-

I harass my family for days about how we need to purchase a lock

from the vendors of Paris and eternally inscribe our family love onto it

with a black Sharpie from America, that would mean the world to me

and they shook their heads, not understanding why I was so enthralled with this

notion of love.

-

They didn’t know I was falling out of love in the city of love and locking my

nineteen-year-old heart’s impressions onto a bridge, but with our family name on it like a mask to cover up the unreturned love that burned in my chest each day

for two months while I wrote poems to forget him.

-

It is not until my parents leave my brother and I to wander about the Musée d’Orsay

on our own tick tock desire and dollar, where we take in the sun set and clock frame

I can recognize from a black and white photograph my mother took when she came

and I almost trip over the rope that protects a Monet—

-

“Excusez-moi!” I almost scream—

-

that I instigate a scheme to leave my mark upon Paris.

By the second to last day of our trip here, I find myself

finally sure that lover’s pain is all too real but

family blood is the only thing that escapes that scrape.

I want our name on the locks of this city, where people write

the dates that they have placed their love on the bridge

and occasionally admit a second date onto the lock

when they come back with their continued lovers.

And it is the most wonderful, lovely secret ever shared with me,

I think, as I peruse the sea of locks on either side of me, later that night,

my brother and I take the lock and key purchased for three Euros and write

our names and date on one side, leaving room for my mother and father and

other brother to find themselves and their love and put it on the lock too one day.

-

Then, we threw our key into the River Seine and I walked away

with my mark left on Paris.

I am your product,
But not your likeness.
I borrowed from you,
You borrowed me.

There is an evenness to our bargain
As long as it stops now.

You laid the cards and instilled my empathy.
To never say no because I couldn't, you needed me.
To listen to your explanations of family,
But you stopped protecting me.

Always saying it wasn't enough.
That you worked hard,
That you worked long,
That I had no excuses,
Because It's true, I didn't.
I had facts of my reality;
Fact of otherness,
Fact of alone.
Of ostracism,
Of wondering if a crowd would bring me companionship.
Of thinking a man was the only way to happiness,
Because you seemed to think so.
Of cursing your talk of family when you left to find your missing pieces in another's bed.
You needing me to be strong because we were all we had;
Shutting my mouth,
Pressing words back into feelings.
That you used me just like they claimed you'd done to them.
Baring their children, not caring for their say, not asking for more.
But you wanted more from me
You told me often and over.
Leaving me to be the milk-less maid.
The child mother to her mothers children,
Your sweet little children;
The ones I fiercely love,
The ones I fear you'll let break,
Like you have broken me.
My sweet little sisters.

You were my first love,
My first true hate.
The woman who bore me,
The woman who cast me out.
The wisdom in my head,
And the fool before my eyes.
My mother, the bringer, the borrower.
The one person I thought would never betray my trust;
The deserter in my time of need.

You may have borrowed my childhood;
Forever unreturned.
You may have taught me kindness in your selfishness,
You may have been my hero,
I thought you were one...
Someone to aspire to be...
But it's so simple and straight who you are now,
Now that you aren't seen through the rosy cast of my child love.

I play my hand, laying them down
Forthright and coming.
To let you know that I am no longer yours,
No longer yours to borrow.
I am my own,
You can no longer claim me.

A hundred emails never read
From years ago, but still I dread
To take a look at this old book
Of all my cold detachment.
"Subject: FW: FWD: FWD: FW..."
I never even checked
And that is why they left me behind
And our relationships are wrecked.

Twenty texts I didn't answer
And you got the idea
I didn't want to be there for you
That's not true.
I wanted to be, but I failed.

Five messages I never saw,
But here they are, and still
I'll say nothing - I'll only watch,
And as I do, I ****
The friendship that we had.

Three calls went unreturned
Though I recognized the number.
I knew who you were, I just forget,
And I let this all go under.

Two performances I missed,
And two of you were there.
They ask you how it went
While I ask you "when and where?"

One letter I have failed to send,
It's the one I regret most:
I still have that letter in childish handwriting,
And to loneliness I am host.

Zero people left
Who have any reason to trust me
One person left
To remind me it's my fault
Two people left
To remind me of their trust
Three people left
To tell me I'm forgiven
Five people here
To be there even though I wasn't
Twenty people out there
Who've already forgotten
A hundred people beyond
To prove that life goes on.

“-----, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep pretending. I love you and I care about you and even though I’m trying to play it cool and act like I don’t care, you are everything to me. And the worst part is, I think you know that. I think you know that you can change my mood in one sentence, in one unreturned call. Yet you still don’t give a ****. And you know what, ----- I deserve more. I deserve more than spending my nights in a puddle of blood on the bathroom floor because you hurt me so much I had to hurt myself for my body to understand it. And I used to know that I deserve more, but somewhere between you being a stranger and you being my all, I forgot that I deserve better.
I know I told you I could handle it. I know you think I can be okay with always being your second choice. And I know you think I’m cynical and that I don’t believe in white horses and princes and fairytale endings. But I do, -----, I do. I know you think because of all the **** I’ve been through I’ve learned that nothing ever turns out okay, there is never a happy ending. But I haven’t, -----, I haven’t given up. I still have hope and I know it’s naïve and I know it’s stupid, but I still have hope that maybe, just maybe, someday you will choose me and you will keep choosing me for the rest of our lives.”

-the drunken, “just saying hi,” message left on the answering machine at 2am

Do you know,
Every time i go on facebook,
Im looking for traces of you?
Every time i go on instagram,
Im looking for a picture,
that shows your life.
Im looking ,
Searching for evidence.
I know i will see you tomorrow,
But tomorrow can never come slower.
Its like getting homesick,
An emptiness,
A void i need to fill.
And i feel that sometimes
i don't know what i should do.
Should i look for you to fill me,
Or stitch myself up?
Because its never certain,
I feel like im always guessing.
Did i say the right thing?
Did i look okay?
Did i scare him off yet?
Because so many have already left,
But they weren't even mine.
So instead of embarrassing myself,
Humiliated,
By the unreturned feelings,
I will remain in the corner.
I will stay in the safety of silence.
Not the sound of silence,
Because i talk a lot,
But the feeling.
Words with no meaning behind them.
A present,
wrapped in pretty pink paper,
And when you open it,
It's empty.
Even though you may try to pull me out,
You may try to give me that gift,
I may never try to open it.
Not because i didn't want to.
Its because i didn't know it was there.
And i see the other girls.
They swoon to you.
Its like when you feed pidgins in a park,
And your holding the seed.
I don't know why your still here.
I don't know why,
you chose the one pidgin,
Who cant fly.
So thats why i hide.
Thats why i stare at screens,
Instead of into your eyes.
Im scared.
Im scared you will find some flaw,
Find one of my many imperfections.
Yet you treat me,
With the sweetest of words.
And don't know how to react.
And those words fill me.
Yet the satisfaction leaves.
It runs scared,
just like i imagine you will,
Because of my reaction.
My stupid blurted out response.
It doesn't compare.
You are a much kinder,
Gentler,
Beautiful,
Creature.
Inside and out.
I paint on my beauty.
My response,
doesn't reflect my affection towards you,
I want to show it.
Desperately.
But i have put up this armor for so long,
Its hard for me to break it down.
But i want to.
Desperately.
And one day,
I hope i will.

It's a rain cocktail on a grey beach
and not a bikini as far as the eye can see.
A lone surfer paddles into a breaker fifty yards away
never acknowledging my presence.
In my diluted ***-banana daiquiri, a cherry floats
wishing she would show to tie it's stem with her tongue;
a talent she once was so fond of showing off.
Gone are the silly days we'd spend here in the sun,
laughing for hours that passed too fast, digging moats
for our castles in the sand.
I guess she'd grown up with the coming of autumn.
My calls went unreturned but
I thought she'd meet me at least one last time.
Now I sit alone on this towel wishing I'd brought an umbrella
as water pelts my shoulders and head like wet bullets.
In a land of perpetual summer,
a day in Malibu never seemed so long.