She feels like a limb I didn’t know I was missing; she feels like home.

the worst part about discovering your missing limb is learning how to live without it again.

In Orbit

i am a mess
of words. they float
within me like space
debris, and i am
running in place– trying
to grab them before
i lose them forever.

Home

You are the
Kermit the Frog doll
I used to carry
under my arm.
The one
I’d never go anywhere without–
the one that smells like
my grandmother’s perfume and blooming
Michigan summers.

You are
my favorite pair of shoes–
the ones
that have my footprints
molded into the soles, and
creases where they bend at
the toes.

You are
the way my pillowcase smells
a week after I wash it–
a cocktail of
dryer sheets and shampoo.

You are hot tea,
a warm blanket, and
a book
while watching the
snow fall.

You are binge watching
my favorite episodes of
Friends in sweatpants
after a long day
at work.

You are every poem
in every piece of my heart,
the home button
on my GPS.

Apology to Myself

i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry

the words throw themselves off
my lips to become the ground
you walk on.

i’m sorry i wasn’t the one
you wanted to squeeze
into your daily planner in
slanted, sloppy script.

i’m sorry i fell so hard
so fast because i am
scraped up and
don’t know what to do.
i made you my
emergency contact.

i’m sorry i confused
us for love because
it hurts to see you laugh
while I am trying
to ignore the fact that
i am still on fire.

i’m sorry all I can seem to remember
are your eyes and lips and
laughter instead of the words
that hit me like
lit cigarette butts or
the humid silences or the hours
i spent worrying about someone
whose only mark on
my heart is a burn.

Summer Morning Symphony

sleepy skies and morning dew
play pianissimo, slowly
crescendoing as the
sun strains
to peek through
my window.
a quarter rest– just to stretch–
and the percussion of
socks smacking
wood.

a high C,
sung softly in vibrato
to the twin toddlers
sleeping
three doors down.
xylophone keys
falling
into
the toilet bowl.
quiet, frantic
glissando down
the stairs.
the
smash of the cymbals slamming
shut.
the final note,
the delicate
click of the key.
the applause.

Nectar

When she wilted on the wooden 
floor and allowed herself the blows,
I couldn’t see the love 
was gone, but I knew
I couldn’t save her.
When I found myself
cornered in the eyes of her
 hurricanes, helpless
to the venom she spit,
I didn’t realize I needed to
save myself.

You are my sun; your body against mine is the only warmth I need.

without you it is dark and cold

Biotechnology

I am swimming in a sea
of crippling uncertainty,
and it is my life’s greatest fear
that paralyzed, I’ll drown in here.
I’m struggling to stay afloat
while anxious tears constrict my throat.
Afraid there’s nothing I can do,
a merciless god I’m praying to.

No matter how I push and kick,
the sea ignores me and
I sink.

Your intelligence isn’t measured by what you know, but by the questions you ask.

something I learned by observing my friend.

Impossible Equation

in physics class
i learned
the further you fall,
the harder the landing:
F=ma.

i fell
for you at
90 miles per hour
without a parachute.

if the force of your lips
saying you do not love me
is like a thousand hammers
pounding at my heart,
what is the mass of
the empty shell
that remains?