The ghost of a boy I once knew sits quietly on my shoulder.
He’s making me self conscious of what I write about him.
I know he can see.
I know he’s watching.
As my eyes flutter to the new him across the room,
I realize how odd it is that he reminds so few of the memories I do.
It’s almost as though I made him up in my mind.

(I probably did)

Though he’s small enough to sit on my shoulder,
I know old him does not mind one bit.
Whispering words of encouragement in my ear.
He always had more faith in me than I ever had in myself.
I know he only made me stronger.
I know he only made me better.
But I cannot help but miss the way he held my hand.
I cannot help but miss the way he made me feel.
I was the best version of myself around him.
I can honestly say he made me very happy.
I wish I had made him happy, too.

(I just hope he’s happy, really)

A Poem For Each Of The Boys I’ve Ever Loved

Ⅰ.
sometimes your scent travels in the wind,
suffocating me like a nasty perfume,
leaving me to wonder if i’ll ever forget your smell.

Ⅱ.
you wore the sweatshirt you let me borrow a few days ago
i mean, i don’t even think you remember i had it at all.
it was just another sweatshirt in your drawer.

Ⅲ.
your handwritten notes sit in neat pile next to my bed.
it has occurred to me that maybe thats the cause of my nightmares.
but really i think you’re the reason for everything and anything.

Ⅳ.
you have the prettiest eyes in the whole entire world.
im satisfied knowing i was once the reason they lit up so bright.
I’ll never let someone take the sparkle in my eyes away again.

Ⅴ.
we used to listen to music together and we’d laugh a lot.
you’d snicker at they way i lip sang to myself.
and id laugh because you really didn’t care i was a ******.

ⅤⅠ.

most of my days are spent wishing you were still here
you never really know how much you love someone
until they don’t love you anymore and thats a sick thought.


(ps, each of these poems are about you and only you and always you. i miss you. love always, the pathetic girl with a big heart and green eyes.)

My skin feels like you kept it.

The missing six

Take the pain killers that make drowsy instantly,

Three times a day with food, every six hours.

What about the missing six?

A compromise?
A midnight last supper, and take three,
All at once.

What? You "like" my midnite poetry?
Part of a plan?

Mmmmm.

How about this?

I get myself addicted to them.
Pills,
Instead of poetry?

How do you like them pills now, baby?
Each one a poem, dying,
By the handful, by the mouthful...

The pain makes me esoteric.
1:42am NYC

He is here.
He is near,
A free floating electron,
Available for children's parties,
When the balloon maker bores.

Cut and paste me,
Drag me to a browser,
For my annual physical check-me-out.

For a silver dime,
He'll make up ten rhymes,
Money back guaranteed.

Not amusing sufficient?
What did you expect?
At three thirty three am
A perfect poem,
A perfect life?

I know not of gossamer,
Of sprites, muse's delights,
I know what I got,
I also know where in the world
NML, a/k/a Nat, be at.

Here be here, up all night,
Reading your poems,
Saying his prayers.
For god only knows,
There are a hell of a lot prayers need saying,
There are a hell of a lot prayers need answering,
Poems that need writing,
And poems of yours that need
Loving....




http://maps.apple.com/?ll=40.766837,-73.952954