the last time i saw you my backyard was an orange carpet, and we danced like the air wasn't crisp or cold, and we laughed until our breath swirled in a single plume right into the sky.
now my backyard is white and my bare feet turn swollen(more) and red when i try to dance and my skin turns blue at the thought that the last time i saw you the world was different, i was different, we were different.
if you came back we could swing on bare branches and pretend it isn't cold and laugh the seasons away until everything is green and new again. and i want you here but i don't know what i'd say if i saw you. maybe we could just dance. maybe we could just pretend nothing has changed even though everything has. (less)
i never told you i love you. but i think about you every day. your voice paints my dreams. i can still feel your fingers between mine. if i close my eyes i can pretend you're sitting right beside me. it's been awhile. i can hardly(more) remember what your smile was like, only that it lit me up from the inside. i can barely remember how soft your lips were. but i remember they were mine.
but i know, deep down, in the darkest parts of my bones, that you are like sunshine and i am the cheap light that children use to read underneath their covers, you are like the sky and i sunk to the bottom of the ocean long before you first whispered my name, you are like gold and i am leaving green smudges on clean patches of skin
i will hover close and pretend i'm yours and when you want me to leave, i'll leave, i'm ready, just ask (less)
your heart has a vacancy between your parents and your college roommate. your best friend and your sister make up your aorta, your right atrium is a series of high school acquaintances, your inferior vena cava is permanently reserved for your younger brother. when your high school sweetheart left(more) she tore a hole through your left ventricle and nearly bled you dry. when i meet you there is hardly a scar left. so i find an empty space between your tricuspids and make myself at home and hope that when i leave you i slip through your arteries as easily as erythrocytes. leaving nothing behind. (less)
i can never tell if i love you
my mom asks if its happened yet, if i've found the one, if i'm finally happy, and i stare at my hands and pretend they're yours
every time you touch me i wonder if you want more, if there's som(more)e meaning in the way you pull your fingers through my hair
is it love or is it that i'm addicted to the way you talk to me, the way you pay attention, the way you seem to like that i'm next to you even when i'm a hundred thousand miles away on the moonlit plain of my subconscious
am i overthinking things when you text me at three a.m. like i'm the only one that matters
am i overthinking things when you smile in my direction and there's no one behind me, there's no else around for miles,
and i don't know if i like girls, if i like boys, if i like the way you touch me, if i want to be touched there, again and again, in the circadian rhythm of our fucked up generation
all i know for sure is that we take pictures and
i'm smiling in them
and that when i'm with you all i ever seem to want to do is
i haven't written poetry since i was seven
when my mom told me that nothing i wrote
that my words were clunky, like puzzle pieces that
(more) quite fit.
so i stopped writing poetry, and i stopped
hearing my thoughts in stanzas, and i stopped
trying to translate my emotions into iambic
i stopped singing when i was thirteen, when
my mom laughed, told me that if i ever wanted a boy
to love me, to never let him hear my voice.
i stopped singing in the shower, i stopped singing
in the car, i stopped singing on the walk home from
i'd get off the bus and run to my front door like wolves
were chasing me, shouting all the things i was bad at.
and the list piled up: poetry, singing, dancing.
i was even bad at
i was bad at getting someone to love me. i was bad at
i think too much for my thoughts to make sense and
i when i try to write them down, make them fit
into neat stanzas, i'm fourteen years out of practice.
and when i try to sing? i don't remember how to
raise my voice.
and when i have my own kids i'll probably tell them
to give up on the things they're bad at because one
day they'll sit down, and remember they loved to write,
and realize all they could have had if they had ever
he says "i'm going to kill you slowly" and you don't ask questions. he says "i want us to fall in love" and you know there's hardly a difference. he says "why are you crying" and you tell him to look at his hands.
it starts in the basement. that's where you found the apple slices: the cores missing, the skins in soft piles, the stems swallowed. when i look back i'll always remember the look on your face as you opened the furnace. the pilot was still on, the flames licked the(more) open air, and all you cared about was the apple pie, roasting to perfection. there's something about pie that makes you think it will last forever. but it never made it upstairs.
i wondered how it tasted so i kissed you. that wasn't my first mistake. (less)
Let me tell you a story. There were two boys and they had nobody else and they loved each other. These are facts. These are indisputable. One of the boys would break with a stiff wind, but his mind was tough and wiry like an old elastic band. One(more) of the boys was beautiful, he shone like the sun, his smile was like snow melting on hot metal. The first boy sat next to the second, day after day, wanting but never saying. The second boy was afraid. He died early.
The first boy could not live without the second. Not really. He died too, but later. First he saved the world.
my fingers move across your skin, one by one, like spiders limbs, and you don't turn to look at me, you don't glance up from the t.v., and i'm the spider fast and sleek, with deadly eyes, too many feet, but the web i'm in is not my own,(more) you don't even want your silver throne, (less)
love is a grander thing than like. its plunging into the winter ocean. its peeling your muscle from your bones. its eating wasabi. pure and raw and painful, patient, honest, and i am not capable of baring my soul.
i stand here a shadow of a person, a reflection of your starlight, and you smile and i smile and we're all trying to pretend we're better than we are.