I know a girl or two.

There's the girl that will dance.
She will mend your withering bones,
and deduct the sticks from the stones
But the teal and black
will always bring memories back.

There's the girl that will lie.
Your adolescent hand
held tighter by a broken rubber band.
The queen of "would-be"
indifferently using your insecurity
as a blunt tool of jealousy.

There's a girl who will give you hope.
Indirectly teaching you everything
while transforming your dreams
into bits of meaningless string.
The apathy with every rainy night,
the cracked fingernails and
every hollowed-out fight.

There's a girl who will actually care.
She'll  waltz and she'll swing
and her open wounds will sing.
A hand to help open the cocoon-
the glowsticks that lit up
the unyielding light of the moon.

There's a girl that will tease.
Opening her scabby heart,
taking a hit,
and a forgetting the broken part.
She won't care if you're there;
she'll show her bruises anywhere.

But most importantly,
there's a girl you haven't met yet.
She's tethered in between
your adolescent regret
and everything unseen.
Your journey towards finding her light
is only slightly out of sight.

I know a girl or two.
But the one I haven't meant yet
is the one who will give my life
it's dormant, yet effervescent hue.

I still wonder how to calm my thoughts.
They sprint the tightrope with closed eyes,
remind me of every note screamed,
and bring me back to size.

Her passive-aggressive nerve.
How did I never swerve
and fill the forest
with my blood and good intentions?

I'd come home with a red rose,
or maybe a few.
The only sentence she could compose
was how my hands smelt
of feta and bleach.
There was no closure,
but I had no composure.
The secret is that I still don't.

I have no regrets.
But I still wonder pensively
why I haven't wrapped myself
around that alluring oak tree.

It's around 2:30 now
and a few years have passed,
but I still reek of feta and bleach.

I am thankful for media chips,
and memories of lips;
of still mornings,
and warm warnings.

I am thankful for lightning,
for every bit of string,
a feeling of self-autonomy,
and the stars I see.

I am thankful for the hope,
college and all its dope;
for your hand there,
and the wear and tear.

I am thankful for this noose,
and my ability to tie it loose.

Depression? Sure, that's tough.
But honestly,
all I ever wanted was to be enough.

Each moment recalled.
Each late night, computer-installed,
with stunning fireworks,
and a missed train, stalled.
She was just always so
appalled.

And when I do recall,
some stupid trip to the mall
or the seventieth missed call,
I just can't think
of anything else
but how I hate
your vicious attempt to assimilate,
your inevitable success,
and that honeybee yellow dress.

How I lost all of those years
wiping away all of her livid tears.

A knife,
or just another unwashed dish.
The leftover fish
had her looking more
like a side dish.

And watching me
slowly disappear
with a conscious clear.

Even the malicious robins will find rest
as the kindest worms hope for the best.
But to be eaten up and tossed back down,
leaves any earthworm broken,
anxiously wishing to drown.

I'll take mind and matter
to erase the glass that will shatter.
It's not about what he or she said,
or the dollar sign on your forehead.

It’s care.
It's in there.
Somewhere.

It's somewhere in between
my best friends
and our fifty inch flat screen.
It's Always Sunny or Halo?

It's somewhere right beneath
this broken layer of myelin sheath.
You are enough. Never forget that.

It's somewhere above, up there
where your pensive graze
meets her passionate stare.
Don't ever change. I love you for who you are.

And well, it's somewhere in here,
when the blisters on my fingers
match the ringing in my ear.
I am not the imaginary enemy.

Before you close your eyes,
remember that what you see
is not what actually appears.
This is not solipsistic;
this is the passion
that will illuminate your years.

Understand that where there is the tenebrific,
there is the lambent.
Their comorbidity is rampant.
But if you think luminosity is dead and gone,
we'll show you the love to go on.