falling through an infinity of
void after void after void after
a day of screaming into a screamless
tryst that can only end in an all
consuming blankness that puts us
right back where we began

pain from within is like a shot of lightning to the chest
that no one sees
but everyone hears

how were we to know that just because we see light
doesn't mean that
better times are coming

light stands for good but connotates putting the bad
out of our heads when
it just gives us a better view

blood isn't effective
because someday you'll run out.
we know this.

soak up sun instead
drench yourself in salt water
kick up dirt under your heels
let blades of grass slice open your back

then slice open your mind
it you let your pain come from elsewhere,
you'll have time to produce your own happiness

good can always come from bad
call me a hypocrite, but drowning causes life
and thinking causes death
let the water fill your head and void your
recesses of any toxicity that resides there

better to drown in the new than
to stay stuck in the old
and while rain waters can convert to
toxic waste, sometimes a weekly purge
is more than necessary

for shaking hands, i find a prudent remedy
is a rainy day
doctors recommend laying on the pavement
with your back pressed to the ground and
eyes closed, mouth open,
drinking in all the purity the sky
offers you

it is only then, in drowning,
that you will remember how to feel
alive

sometimes i find it's easier to stop trying to find
that specific blueprint in the back
of a drawer

and create a completely new one based on the
pieces i'm working on and think
outside the box

what are issues if not explosions?
i know most, myself included, prefer a slow burn, a quiet scorch,
but explosions are inevitable.
it's figuring out what to do with them and how to navigate them
that is the fun part
you can build so many things
from that amount of pieces

fire doesn't always burn out.
once it's there, it is always there.
it may not still be roaring, but embers have a way of incinerating you, just at a slower pace.
that's why i always keep a canister of gasoline handy-
you never know when you need to douse yourself to feel alive.

it doesn't hurt to lose skin against skin sensations?
maybe i'm extraordinary, but
aching hurts
and i ache constantly

that temptation for me didn't come in the form of drugs or alcohol but the intoxication of others
i admit i found solace in their lips and their hips and everything inbetween
but is it wrong to want lust when love has ****** you?

sometimes i leave my icebox open on accident and
it makes my house absolutely freezing
how come we have to pay
to turn down the heat

but the rust still remains.
between your fingers, in your hair, cracking across your lips and the birds you admire from your broken window.
did you ever stop to think that it made you appreciate being clean?
it's not as beautiful as silver, not as strong as titanium, not as effervescent as chrome.
it covers you head to toe and still you insist that you've moved on.
i see your true colors, and right now they're all varying shades of red.
what happened to you, what did you lose?
and what did you think i turned to?
drugs and ******* money, i can hear the birds sing
maybe it's deliberate if it's lacking substance
somehow that's not where i ended up but the birds are still tarnished and that honestly just makes me thankful for the temptations that gave me more than the color red
did you scrub yourself raw trying to burn the memories away?
can you still hear the birds?

and i thought they were safe from you
that him being a smoker and her being immunocompromised
were nothing but the way of the world, untouched
by your reach and unperturbed by your body count

your lust for my family has reached its peak
and you've found them all at once
and i'm too far away to shield them from you
or to take the hits with my own body

who are you to choose the weak when it
would be more impressive for you to prey on the strong?

if i can ever peel myself off the ground,
i'm coming for you.

and the wandering continues through abandoned boathouses where we hung up our words at night
soaked to the bone in emotion and despair yet clinging to the hope that tomorrow would bring smoother tides
how could we have known that silver only lasts for so long before it tarnished, and inspiration is nothing if not fleeting?
the wood of the docks is decaying now, along with dreams had in years past that got tangled up in our lines before we ceased trying to cast them anywhere anymore.
but I still watch the sunset every night and wonder what would’ve happened if we had gotten into our boats and never looked back.

you're the rarest emerald i've ever seen
but i prefer pearls

the animosity to which you attach me
is nothing but the mirrored
presence of your
fantasies

it raises up to meet me
and unfurls its flag
i should've known the warning signs
but it's hardest to see the things
that are right in front of you

Lace your words through my fingertips
You’ve got to tie me down somehow

i miss writing hearts into my eyes
and drawing bombs over my heart
and dipping it all in silver,
claiming it came from my tongue
instead of from a paint can

did you ever think about
how we could have been as famous
as those burn outs that write
songs for girl groups with lyrics
talking about *** and heartbreak
when what we wrote about was
more real than the goosebumps
i got each time i pressed "post"?

i miss the vagueness, the inspiration
that flowed through me without
my even needing to try, just
sitting down at a keyboard and slamming
it against my forehead until songs
spilled out of it like silver

we were the best of poetry pen pals
that only looked to each other for
the words to say that guarded us
against the words said against us
when we got off our computers

write to me again?

And I always thought it was funny
That the first letters in “hello”
Spell “hell”

15+ elderly relatives
States away
Parents and sister
States away
Friends from college
Hundreds of miles away
And me?
Stuck in my dorm alone
Watching for the sun

this is just to say that i'm sorry

sorry for holding my coffee cup that way, and not your hands

sorry for letting the rain kiss my cheeks, but not your lips

sorry for wearing my perfume, instead of your jacket

it's just that i feel more alone

when we are together

your eyes make my heart want to speed
unfortunately, it's out of gas

i never realized how hard it would be to write
when i am being asked to
words flow like water when i'm writing for me
but unfortunately for her,
now they're moving like mud
sorry if my poetry seems messy?

his hands ran down my cheeks like tears
until they were just that

And he smells of the lavender that presses into his back
Each time he presses his hand against my waist

he threw fistfuls of stars at the sky
and they sprinkled back down onto his hair
how could he have known that to be in love
first you have to fall

Why did you weigh me down
If you wanted me to swim to you

touch me and i make beautiful music
even though you're just playing me

They’ll tell you nothing tastes sweeter than life
When all they’ve tasted is defeat

If your glances were breaths,
My lungs would burst
I see you

you've worn my pages down so that i'll always open up to the same place unbidden
and that my book of 140 pages ends on page 39
everyone thinks that's how my story finishes
but in reality it's because you've ripped out the last chapters

you burned me then were surprised when you choked on my smoke

You stopped picking up the phone
And starting picking up cigars

One day I swear I’ll figure out
If I was who you were writing about

I love the feeling of your words tracing my skin
so why don’t your hands feel the same

after you pull the tubes from my throat
I hope you dredge up some inspiration

chlorine is toxic
hindsight is 20/20,
but i never should have kissed you

i flatter myself, thinking every word you ever wrote was inspired by me
i know they weren't
but i can't stop rereading and wondering
hoping
i'm not crying

I really hope you're happy.
Seeing you makes my heart ache, and I don't understand it. You know me, I like for things to fit into tiny little boxes. And we don't fit in any.
Part of me wants to hate you for being so selfish. Friendship only hurts the weak of heart. Yet you have one of the strongest hearts of anyone I have ever been blessed enough to know. I really want to pass this hurt off for anger. It makes me feel better about the situation.
I did nothing wrong. We both know it. But walls were still erected and I just can't seem to wrap my mind around why. Why you kept dating someone else when your feelings for me were stronger. Why pushing me out of your life was what would make your relationship better. Why you don't answer anymore. Why you're not here when I need you.
I may not have wanted you in the same way that you wanted me, but you have to admit that we had-arguably, still have- a bond. There's something about our relationship that is so comforting, so *****, so real. I felt like from the moment that I met you that I could tell you anything. Your support is sorely missed.
I'm sorry I've messaged you. I can't help it. When a piece of you is missing, it's hard not to reach out. And not to guilt you, but I've needed you in your absence.
I've been growing so much. In fact, I wonder at times if you ever come back to me if we will even meld the same way because I'm not the person I was when we last spoke. Hell, I'm not the same person I was six months ago. You'd be amazed, and proud I hope.
I miss our conversations about philosophy and car rides where we shared music no one else listens to. I miss our essay text conversations and musings about a better world. I can't have those conversations with anyone else. No one else quite gets me like you do.
Maybe this is all coming out because I'm grieving. Did you know my grandpa was sick? It's been so long since we really talked that I can't honestly remember. He died last week. I feel so empty. My friends keep trying to help me through the process and keep asking me what I need, what they can do for me. I honestly have no idea. No one understands me enough to help me through- not even myself. It's been rough.
And to top it all off, today I saw you. Of all days. Coming fresh from a seven hour shift, with a test tomorrow, not having slept well the past week, and grieving like a *******, I saw you. With her. The reason why. My heart doesn't feel like it's beating. I just feel cold.
But I kept walking. It's not her fault, it's not mine, it's not yours. That's what I have to keep telling myself. If not I'll go insane. But I want someone to blame.
My boyfriend sees you and talks to you more than I do. Do you have any idea how much that stings, for us to walk past each other and for you to greet him and not me? I don't think I deserve this treatment, I don't know if we were ever friends. Friends don't alienate each other over someone else's feelings. Friends don't hurt each other. Not for two long years, not by saying "well, contact me if you need anything but other than that let's just not stay in touch."
Do you know my mom still asks about you? Tells me I should reach out and that "he's such a good guy and was such a good friend-more than that at one point- to you, of course he'll respond!" But you haven't. Not once. I respect it, of course. Maybe the you I remember is slowly becoming an idealization because we haven't talked in so long. But I couldn't be any more lost.
This is the part where I feel like I need to update you on how I'm doing and assure you I'm great and tell you you don't need to reply or even finish reading this, but I'm done apologizing. I've done nothing wrong. The strength it would take to even send this to you isn't in me right now. I don't think I could take another disappointment of seeing "read" on a screen again.
So I really hope you're happy, and I mean it. Last we talked you weren't- far from it. And you know I worry much too much for my own good. Imagine how badly I worry about you when we haven't spoken in two years.
Stay happy. Keep filming. And stay smiling. That's ultimately all I can ask.

if words were actions i'd be dead
or, perhaps, living inside a bright yellow tulip
with an acorn for my cup and a walnut shell for my bed and a full heart in my chest
or, maybe, i'd be sailing the seas on a lily pad
with nothing to sustain myself but dreams of what each wave hides
or, possibly, i'd be sitting on an old front porch
nestled in a rocker and watching steam rise off my tea into the morning fog
or, perchance, i'd be weaving roses into the village girls' hair
while they sing to me of their dreams of love and i respond in kind
or, potentially, i'd be sitting in the nook of a high up cliff home
writing a book at the window seat while lightning storms outside
but, more believably, i'd be where i am.
because words are words, and actions are actions.
and i am me.

and i'll never understand why you choose to give your homegrown roses to someone
who would let them die

you've changed things- location is gone, all personality is gone.
no, we haven't talked in six months.
yes, i miss your company; does it have to be more complicated than that? i don't think so.
i'm worried.
are you overseas somewhere bound up after your last trip there for christmas?
are you at a completely different school and every time i walk past your classrooms i get anxious for no reason at all?
have you changed your hair, changed your major, changed the way you walk?
i can't find you, and i know deep down i don't need to.
but i wonder, and i worry.
where are you?

i reread every single piece i wrote about you. it was painful.
i don’t think either of us ever realized how much i cared about you. or that you probably never read them or cared or reciprocated or will even read this one. but that’s completely okay.
it just makes me wonder. if i has been more mature, if i had had myself together, if i hadn’t been anxious, if i hadn’t been a victim...where would i be now?
that was my starting point when i reached the insurmountable amount of pain that is college. and it’s where i needed to be.
going back is like going on a trip your parents decided to take you on and you have no choice but to be strapped into the backseat for the ride. once i started reading i couldn’t stop.
these words mean nothing, but the words i wrote years ago don’t. they meant more than just a mere something.
they were all i had.
and now it’s so enlightening to look at myself and see so much more.

I hate how that quintessential part of me is gone
that I can appreciate a harmony or a triad
but don't make them anymore
who am I, really, without that part of me?
there's so much I'm missing
and I don't have the courage to hit the keys again
but I just want to be part of your symphony
and I'll do whatever it takes
to feel that again

It's funny. They say with progression comes ease of life. However, this has not proved to be true.
Straight A's? Check. But a 97 on a test tanks my average since it's currently at 100.
Working out every day? Covered. But now that I've lost so much weight my clothes don't fit.
Internships? Got them. But the work they're taking leaves me exhausted and unable to maintain the idea of finding a job right now because I haven't the time.

Success is great. But don't ever let them tell you that there isn't a bad side. Even relatively.

I just want an 85 to feel like a victory again, one day of working out to be enough to go out and get ice cream for, to be able to make money for myself.

But god, why does swimming feel like drowning?

just because i've finally got a handle on life doesn't mean i can go back and redeem what i've lost.
but just so you know, i'm a different person.
whoever you are. even if you're just the void. someone has to know.
i know now what it feels like to talk to someone to victimizes herself in every situation, who pushes off her pain onto someone else, who looks to you to make decisions then blames you for them later.
i know that girl, now.
it's an out of body experience.
and hell, i get it now.
*******.
i can't believe you were able to stand me.
and good on you for not.
so void, black hole of nothingness, ask them. ask me.
i've ******* changed.
and you know what's even better? i don't need your validation, and not in a rude way.
i'm just finally here to validate myself instead of stealing it from your bruised lips.
because i'm me and i'm strong and i'm here if you need me.
but if not?
i'll be okay.
and it feels so ******* good to say that i don't need to worry anymore.
so call if you need me. hang up if you don't.

my roommate told me i was talking in my sleep
again
when i woke up i checked my phone and was surprised to see that the messages we had exchanged weren't actually there
i had a ******* dream about you last night
it felt so real i could almost feel your eyes on me as i laid in bed wondering what the hell could have caused it
for the first time in a while i have my **** together
and now i just keep waiting for that dream to be reality
don't blame me for checking
i've got nothing to lose

it's no small wonder, watching birds learn to fly.

there's a small nest on the ledge outside my dorm window, and the chirping of the mothers wakes me up on the earliest of days. i'd be lying if i said i was overjoyed at the occurence, especially on the days when i have early class.
but then came the babies.

like me, they were cold and afraid in a completely new environment.
like me, they were scared to death of every person walking by.
like me, they had no clue how to fly.
but like me, they learned.

i live somewhere else now, and still get woken up by the birds. i can't help but wonder sometimes if they're the babies that learned to fly on the ledge outside my room around the same time that i did, stroke by wobbly stroke through the turbulent air. it's amazing how much they've grown. i'm so proud of them.

likewise, i'm proud of myself. i made it through the first year of college-bad grades, no friends, drama, and adjusting to being by myself a lot was a really hard transition. once i left the nest, that was it. and it was terrifying. but i've learned to fly since those days, and despite a badly paying job, no friends in the area, and being down on myself, i'm still hovering above the ground. that's no small accomplishment.

it's no small wonder, watching birds learn how to fly.

we all just hide behind the facade of a screen when reality
you're just down the road, really

did you ever stop to wonder what could've become if i hadn't been an idiot, if situations hadn't arisen, if we had all been stronger?

you never realize how crazy growing up is until it slaps you in the face and i wish someone had taught me how to before i had to learn myself
and i wish you had been here to help me through it and so that i could help prepare you so that you didn't have to go through what i did

i still wish i could protect you, even though i know you don't need protection
it's funny, really, how things have changed so much that they've come full circle
and we're back to the people that we were before
and back here

but really, who's to say we haven't been shrews this whole time, who's to say that you haven't totally forgotten? everything was forgiven anyways

but even though i forgive i never forget. not the good times, nor the bad. not the smiles, not the panic attacks, none of it.

so perhaps i'm the most gilded shrew out of all of us
trying to convince myself that i'm gold covered
when i'm really not