first,
they are soft: a feather
grazing the inside of my
wrist. then they dance
with mine, two bodies pressed
closely together,
swaying in synchronization.
then,
they are a blanket: light
but warm, hugging
me close, keeping me safe,
blowing air into my
lungs, singing quietly
of an adoration i can
feel. a nibble
of a desire to taste
my entire being.
i savor
the way your hunger feels
on my tongue.
it’s so cold out here,
my bones are vibrating.
my thumb seems to have forgotten
how to flick a lighter,
but i don’t feel the icy tongue
of the wind on my skin.
i am half-cooked: well done
on the outside, but raw
in the core. perhaps
all i need is a cigarette
to light me. but i know fires
never last on the coldest nights;
even the brightest flames
eventually die.
i can’t hold this
damn bogie still enough
for it to
kiss the flame; the moons
of my fingers are turning purple
and the rawness is
creeping to the surface.
i know he is
secure and safe.
your mother will not shudder
when you bring him to
dinner dressed
in a suit and tie, and
he will know how to start a fire
in the fireplace without looking
it up on yahoo answers.
you can marry him
in a church and not feel
God glaring
down at you.but please know that
i will always laugh
at that video you love of
the guy with the cup feet
no matter how many times you
replay it.
my future already has
your name in it.
we are so much alike that
i sometimes wonder what
part of me doesn’t have a piece
to match up with you.everything i am is another
heart on my sleeve:
my biggest weaknesses,
because they are everything
he is not, and
he has you.
you smell different
when you’re awake: slightly less
of dewy dreams, slightly more
of espresso machines
behind the counter where
our hands touch when you give me
my change
and call me ‘Sir.’
I sit at my table from
noon till two while you bus tables,
thinking of all the poems
I could write about just your eyes:
so goddamn
wide, with the whole world
still in ‘em.it’s Tuesday– your shift ends at four,
and i think about how you will
take the bus to your apartment
downtown; how you’ll put your
stocking feet
up on the coffee table while you
drink wine and watch
Gilmore Girls reruns on the CW.
How you’ll fall asleep, empty
glass in hand, dreaming of
versions of a future life in
a world i do not exist in.i will go home and drink
malt liquor with my dinner
while listening to NPR,
and fall
asleep to the
smell of dew and you
saying my name as our
hands brush together when you
reach for mine.the smell of burnt
espresso and
the sound of your voice
(it always seems
so much softer in my dreams)
in the morning
will wake me up
to the continents in
your eyes
and i will only be able to smile
as you
hand me my change.
1. If their eyes ever falter as you walk into a room, walk away. You may not believe it, but you deserve to be reflected in their irises.
2. If you’re sitting in your bed with their voice echoing in your head, using your sheets to wipe your nose, and can think of sixteen reasons to go and one to stay, you should go. You will find someone better for you, I promise.
3. If you go into it hoping you can get them to smoke less weed or stop saying ‘fuck’ so damn much, don’t go further. Old habits die hard, if at all; make sure you can live with their quirks.
4. If they hold their glass of vodka closer than your waist, let them go. You do not deserve to come in second to their vices.
5. If they pinch your love handles and tell you your curls look better straightened, leave. The way you were created deserves to be adored.
6. Know you are worth millions of atoms, of stardust and spiraling staircases of double helixes, and do not accept anything less than love.
you’re too young to be hiding
in the closet
full of clothes your
mother bought you.you’re too young to
hate yourself so much
that you dream of hiding
in there forever, just so you
never again have to wear a dress
on Easter.you’re too old
to be living as anything but
what paints your stomach lining.
project it in color on city walls.
scream it drunkenly off of rooftops
to the whole world, a reminder:your tiny planet will
never stop spinning as long as you
continue to push it.
Even before it hits
it is there, building up
in the depths of my ocean;
churning and ruminating
in my darkness.When it crashes within me
this time, I gasp for breath; for hope
that I can do this alone.
For the first time you are not here
to help me float.
For the first time I must learn
to swim on my own.
It would be a joke
to think I could ever forget
what this day is.This will always be
your day.For the rest of my life, I will
fight hard daily
not to miss you, but today
I will. Today you will
flood my mind as the rain
outside my window
engulfs the worms.Today I will
wallow in the regret
I have been bottling
in jars and collecting in my closet.
I will tilt my head back and
empty
every single one until
I am drunk with self-hatred,
projecting black-and-white images
of you on the inside of my forehead
when I close my eyes.Today I will
finally take the unopened gift
sitting on top of the fridge
I bought for your birthday
last year and
throw it away
alongside the wilted
beets
I never cooked.I see you sitting in
the grass blowing
out the candles and I hope
I am a psychic; but how
contradictory it is
to wish
your loved ones well and
hope they are missing you,
too.
i am sea bones, born
swaying to the
duple meter of
undulations rocking
my skeletal ship.
where waves melt
together into stillness
and skies become clear
with stars.
my heart hangs
from the ceiling fan; a kite
i never really learned
how to fly.
a bloody carousel
i paid too much
to ride.
an exhibit
to be displayed for the rest
of my life, my remains sit
behind plastic wrap walls
that
leave no handprints,
eternally orbiting
emptiness.
Silenticel 