*******.
******* for being so far away
******* for making me want you
I can say it certainly is not fair,
What is this, the ******* teacup ride?
I always hated the fair.
Fishing for plastic ducks and shooting impossible targets
Seems like a setup for failure to me.
******* for making me take a look at myself in the mirror
And for making me ask questions
For making me lie
And for making me tell the truth.
Why can't things be easy?
Oh yeah, that's just not how it works around here.
******* for making my imagination run wild.
For casting yourself in the movies my brain constantly films
And ******* for getting the cinematography just right.
I can't look away.
******* because all I have is my imagination.
I can make you whomever I want you to be.
******* for curling your hair and for having those lips
And for being comfortable with yourself around me
**** your small wrists and your quirky characteristics
Your eyeliner and your fingernails
**** your sparkling smile and your hips
And ******* for making me want you so bad.

**** me.
**** me for yearning.
**** me for learning
That it's not that simple,
That nothing is set in stone,
That people are confusing as hell.
**** me for taking the time to write this poem
**** how angry it's making me
And **** the fact that I'm writing it because of you.

Sitting here
Waiting, wishing, wanting,
I can't even focus.
The distraction of you pervades my mind's eye.
Write it down, the eye tells me
As if it were the messenger perched upon my shoulder.
Each breath that crawls in and out of my lungs feels heavy;
Saturated with wishful thoughts and flickering candle light
Like shards of glass
Shining and reflecting the unseen.
The wind blows cold here.
Can you feel it too?
When I was young, the teachers said I had a vivid imagination.
They deemed me "creative"
Because I liked to play pretend.
That 8-letter C word hasn't left me since.
I still like to play pretend, so
Let's make believe we can touch.
Put that scene on repeat please.
Ever since I was young I've had this vivid imagination.
The night I cried a monsoon for lack of you,
Somewhere between each breath lost
I found a realization of epic proportions.
I sat with myself in the dim light,
My arms wrapped around me,
White knuckles,
Cradling this vessel that felt hollow as a canoe,
Pretending the arms weren't mine, but yours.
Wanting.
In bed with the blankets tucked around my silhouette
And your thoughts in words cradled in my hands,
I can imagine your front against my back
And your warm breath on my neck.
I can almost feel… a rush of blood to my heart.
Name that song.
Sorry I have to plagiarize that thought but it comes so easily.
A rush of blood straight to the core.
Pumping, pulsing
Sometimes I just sit alone with my heart.
Close my eyes and listen to what it has to say.
It seems to tell me, hey I'm keeping your engine running, but you have to do the rest.
And I say a prayer for that motor inside my chest that keeps everything flowing
But I know that it won't do it all for me.
Isn't it miraculous to be alive?
Earlier today I thought: my God, do I have trust issues.
I'm confused about what's real and about how to believe.
I've been told plenty of things that aren't true
Like how pluto is a planet...
Just kidding it's only a moon.
But who's to say it's only a moon?
My moon is your moon and that seems pretty swell to me.
People say it's a comfort to look up
And know you see the same moon as someone far away.
Maybe I'll take that for truth.
Might as well.
What've I got to lose?
On second thought I might want to avoid that question.
What have I got to lose?
My head, my heart, my sanity...
It's a question for another day.
But for now I'm sitting here
Wishing, waiting, wanting
For my make-believe to get real already
And for all my distraction fantasy to spring to life.

You won't be a doctor
Because of those paper face masks.
You wont touch your fingertips together
But maybe you'll touch my fingertips -
Touch your fingertips to my aching edges.
Nose knuckles knees and elbows.
I promise my skin is not made of velvet
Or paper towels,
Just wishes and deep pores
Filled up like swimming pools of wonder.
They say curiosity was what killed the cat,
But I know the animal doctors pumped
Drugs into my feline until she slowly slipped away
And I know how long and hard I cried over losing a lifelong pet,
Never having known that type of loss until then.
Didn't matter how cat-elderly she was.
But I know you won't be a doctor because of those paper face masks.
You
With your heart of alabaster plaster,
Paint splatter,
Striped hoodies and rainbows,
Scribble faster.
You're teaching me how to be.
And each day I silently thank you
From my brows down to my feet, down to the soles.
Our souls have shaken hands and enjoyed the fit they found.
Tick tock.
Why wait when the time is now?
I think we know what we think we know.
Don't you know?
Know how you slay me with compliments -
Cut me straight down the middle so my left and right have to find each other again
Before I even have the time to blush.
I asked you your favorite flower
Even though I was pretty sure you had told me already.
I wanted to make sure.
Lilies.
And because of that movie I know the lily means "I dare you to love me"
And I have to wonder
Is it really your favorite or are you sending me a message?
Our world is enveloped in messages
Of the Tumblr Facebook Skype and text varieties
If I sent a carrier pigeon, would it make its way to you?
The past has a funny way of repeating itself
And I've never seen a carrier pigeon
But who knows,
I could put those babies back in business.
Tick tock.
You said ***** the what ifs.
Let's hold dear our future plans.
If it makes you happy, why do anything else?
It feels like I'm on the operating table
Awaiting something too big to comprehend
I think of your hands and the curve of your being fitting with mine
Eyes closed. Chapstick whispers.
Soft lashes that stay where they belong.
The operating table doesn't seem so cold
And I question everything I thought I knew.
But one thing I know for sure
Is that you'll never be a doctor.
Because of those paper face masks.
And that's fine by me
Because I don't think I need an operation
To be me
*For you.