I        people easily.
  lose

they have stayed friends
with all the people who
have ever hurt me,
******* stick
together I
guess.

Lately I have wondered
where my life has gotten
to while I spent my time
worrying about the sand
on the beach or the hair
on my head.

have you ever asked
people to promise you
the impossible because
you want reassurance
that they will not hate
you if things ever came
down to choosing?

I think it was the spring
before sophomore year in
high school, a prelude to the
best and worst but I missed
that footnote. The previous
night was nice where romance
had intervened if at all possible
for 14 year olds. I should have
understood that devils come
at all ages in all seasons but
the stars beckoned summer
and your parents didn't know
and this was the first time I'd
ever been so secretive. Wasn't
until now I'd realized you have
always been a limit pusher, I
didn't understand then, when
you asked to stick your hand
down my shirt. I cannot call
myself stupid for being young,
but let's call it a lapse in morality.
you frowned, pulled back and
told me there was nothing there.
It has always been the smallest
things said that have injured me
the greatest.

i want to
see you too.

I am sick today
with a headache
and weak arms
this morning is
a day away and
all I want is for
someone to take
care of me.

"You don't understand,
I'm not strong enough
to let go of these people
who don't even care for
me."

what will i do
when you find
a girl who loves
you and what
if I am still alone
will i be okay
with that
by then?

am i to think
i am the only
one who finds
sharing bodies
to be sacred or
was that lost
am I just

dreaming.

it may seem like
nothing, but the
boys used to call
me bush and this
girl named Sierra
would lie about
our friendship,
i've been ugly
more times than
I can count and
because I never
forgave them I
still spend every
day trying so
hard to be

loved

Late at night
I petition God
for happiness

I want to apologize for all
the times I walked in front
of you, all the times I could
see you about to cry, and I
could do nothing but laugh
nervously, I'm so sorry, for
lacking the compassion to
cope, to be someone good.
Will you ever forgive me
for being so selfish?

who can say
that they have
ever gone home?

If it is true that for every closed door
there is one that is open, then I have
closed every door to look for cracks
in the windows, slivers of light near
the rugs, waiting by the slot for the
mail to arrive, never blind-peeking
because I place weight on the hope
that this house will break apart and
all dust will fly from the rafters above
me, who might finally breathe the
foreign air and taste the new day

I used to say I love you in
dim, flushed moments as
if I might have an epiphany
but the sheets rustled and
you always hesitated

I once wrote about an independent life
in a reality where I supported myself on
letters from the cute mailman, salad and
eggs, where although time was constricted
my heart wasn't, and I could be happy on
a diet of keen understanding and wisdom.

It takes a while
to settle into new
choices, i would
tell you that you
will always be my
my
my
but you aren't mine
to call my, my, my
but you were my
Link.