when the wind comes around again and catches you,
knocks you off guard so you fall,
you can't remember why you're surprised.
things always go the same way.

you will be what you have always been,
what you've always been set to become:
your father.

it's all gravy
perched on steps so long your knees don't bend, shivering under the
icy calculations of relatives that don't even remember
your name.

you whisper incantations into your cup, stirring the air with your pinkie
and focusing on being thankful
you're thankful people put up with you -- even if they don't
share things
or even acknowledge your existence.

two turkeys in one day and you feel stuffed, stuffed with apprehensions and realizing
no one wants to talk to you

There was more that I never got to say.

The dance where you were jealous - well
So was I
And in the dim light of a middle school cafeteria, I wished vehemently that I
Was yours.

I'm never surprised, anymore; I even
Welcome the silence,
And the solace it brings.
Though I dreamed of a spiderweb of bruises
trickling like a drizzle down your neck
turn pale to purple in an instant --
It wasn't you I craved; it was your
Forgiveness.

there's a certain elegant aesthetic in the discoloration
of a bruise on pale skin
of knowing that yes, higher up means you are in big trouble
but higher up also means
the world can see
that she is
yours

I don't deserve to cry.
Not the first time, not now.
But here I am, a revolting collision of
Salt and wetness and blankets.
I don't deserve your explanation.
I was wrong about a few things - I know that,
But that was one day,
And you didn't ask so I didn't tell,
            Even though I knew instantly that I was wrong.
And nothing I say now is going to change
Anything.

I'm grasping at straws that don't exist
I'm losing something I needed
Something that must have seemed
           less important than it was.

I was wrong. And now everyone's paying the price.

I want to softly whisper
incomplete poems
on your collar bones
that don't rhyme with anything
but your heavy breathing.

I want to bury my face
in the curves of your neck
because you smell like the winter clouds
and I've been gazing at the sky
since you left.

if there are infinite universes, than in one i must
be something of more substance to you than just lust.

if there are infinite realities, than it must be so
that we have already jumped without looking out below.

if there are infinite possibilities, you can’t honestly say
that it will always be ‘not now’ or ‘maybe another day’

and if there are infinite universes, it must be true
that in one, openly and freely would i love you.