and I want to be this perfect thing that you would want to show off to your friends.
maybeyou wear long sleeves now so you don't have to feel the cold against your arms.
but your arm hair reminded me how sweet you could be. How human. How thrilled by the smallest of things.
I wonder.
Do you still have arm hair under there?
too sad to talk to
sad because no one's talking
Not talking because far away.
While you're busy being busy
I'm thinking about what we'd be doing if we were together.
One drinks and the other sinks.
One's boozing and one's losing.
Mingling,
Praying - for comfort in the form of a hug
From the right someone.
Boring,
That's it.
The condition I'm diseased with.
Think of a complicated excuse
For a simple defect.
I'm that, personified.
Guilt guilt guilt
because you can't handle my wilting.
But your voice is still the same.
(I don't hear the annoyance. So if I close my eyes I can pretend it's not there.)
So why couldn't I be?

I refuse to believe fate and coincidence are the same thing.

Be careful with words.
Don't toss them around.
You may not realize how heavy they are,
And heavy things hit hard.

The past is always relevant; but maybe we ought to ignore it.

If we have 20/20 vision in hindsight, then foresight blinds us.

He's a ghost  now.
His eyes are dull
his touch is feathery
his voice is the wind.
Every time I spoke
he drifted further
away.
So I learned to be silent
and cherish
the time that was left to be spent
until my wallet
was empty.

It seems like flattery
To make someone your everything;
But the thing about that is
It's not healthy.

The cure?
Medicine.
Bed rest.
And a distraction couldn't hurt.

I pull your face up to mine so we can kiss again.
Your mouth mirrors the eagerness of mine.
“Do it,” I plea. “I want you to.”
You press against me, rubbing against the outside until my pleas for mercy are reduced to faint moans.
And when you finally give in my moans are no longer for mercy,
but as a demonstration of my gratitude.

I retreat to numbness a lot. It is an easy thing to be.

I’ll drink a cup of water slowly; imagining that the liquid in the cup is my feelings - and by the time the cup is empty, so am I.

So I didn’t always feel it when he told me he loved me, even though I believed him. And sometimes it was difficult to love him through the void of neutrality.

...sometimes it is.

Proposed, she said.
And I said, congrats.
Because that means a couple wins
And there isn't enough of that.

I missed you.

I'm thinking it,
but withhold from saying the words out loud
to try to seem a little less pathetic than I am.

We lie on our sides,
facing each other
an arm length's apart.

We do not move.
We do not touch.

Your hands are folded  beneath your head.
My hands hold my legs against my chest.

We do not move.
We do not speak.
But I want to touch you.

My thoughts become loud
in the vortex of silence and tension we've created.

No touching.
But I want to.

I'm too aware of your mouth
and how red your lips are,
but not yet aware of how they feel
or taste.

No.*
But I want to.

I want

The start of something reckless.
But recklessness comes in pairs.
So at least someone else would be here.

I lie awake and picture
How I'd like my dreams to play out
When I'm swept up in the cover of sleep.
I forget my loneliness in this dimension.
I forget that I'm average
And that I have nothing to write
Under the sub heading for special skills on my resume.
In my dreams I am not perfect
But no one else knows that.
I'm almost convinced I'm larger than life
Until I wake up.

Writers are schizophrenic
Because in every character we create
there lingers a bit of ourselves
or who we wish we were.

Hi.
Hi.
I can be more interesting.
talking
about
nothing
in
particular.

Bye.
No
Conv­ince me to stay.
My feet are cold.
I'll warm them with mine.
My hands are cold.
Put them in my shirt.
*As long as you return the favor.

You calm me down,
When you
Call me baby.
When you don't disappear.
You excite and delight me
Encourage and nourish

Keep doing those things
That you do to me boo

Why would you love a girl
that needs to lie next to strangers to cope?

I am so sick of trying to make people like me.
There is something to be said about an acquired taste.

I didn't always like mustard.

I drink just enough to make me comfortable
in my own skin.
Just enough to make me warm.

You ask me why I'm crying.
Do I need a reason?

"Because I feel like it."

Calloused to the distance.
Adding sand to the hour glass.
Turning back time.

Call me Mr sand man.
I'm a dream.

you were always far away,
but now you're always gone
and i'm always waiting for my phone to light up with the notification that means you're back.
new email.
missed call.
new updates.
but not you.

the thing about you leaving is
i'm afraid you'll realize you don't have to come back.
and then you won't.
but i'll just keep waiting.
more emails.
more missed calls.
more updates.
but not you.

The dark makes us anxious.
We're recovering from our fear.
The soothing murmur of my breathing
As I coo myself to sleep.
The gentle tossing of your body
A reminder that you're near.

It's okay to be afraid.
I'll be your nightlight.

Part of me doesn't want to belong to anyone.
Part of me won't.
Because I don't want anyone to feel entitled to the things I can't give them.

The things I won't.

I know people
who have monsters in their head
instead of under the bed.

I know people that
spend their love
in order to buy time.

I know people
who use their daddy issues
as an excuse to hold on too tight.

Yeah, I know some people
and they're all a reflection
of me.

It KILLED me.
The way you snuggled together.
You looked so content.
And here I thought your arms were reserved for me.
Pfftt.

I bet it felt good didn't it?
I bet you slept soundly beside each other...
you and your pillow.

He told me he loved me on a Tuesday. I remember because while he said it the thought flitted through my mind that he had chosen one of the most insignificant days to say something so significant. And then my next thought was relief. Because I'd known I loved him for a long time but had restrained from saying so in order to give him the time he needed to decide how he felt about me.

Sorry*
Adj:
feeling remorse or distress, especially regarding the misfortune of another.
Sorry.*

Synonyms:
"I wish you hadn't found out."
"I wish that one thing hadn't happened."
"Please don't be mad at me."
"I feel guilty."
"I don't know what to say."

I've run out of things to say
That don't weigh more than you can lift.

And I missed you
am missing
miss -
you.

Come home
this is your promise land
and I promise to love -
you.

Stay stay
tomorrow and today,
you're the one I want when skies are grey or -
blue.

That's all any of us are trying to do.
With the edge of a blade
the edge of a spliff
or sipping on the edge of a glass filled with a distraction in liquid form.

Let's just hope we don't jump from it.

People die all the time.
Like god mothers
And kids you knew from school but never spoke to.

People you cry for until you die too.
Some who aren't worth a tear.

People who you prayed for and thought would get better.
Some deaths come as no surprise.

I don't need to be what makes you happy
I just need you to be happy.

I'll try my best to be a catalyst.

Life is a series of amendments
To what your idea of love is.

Today love is a habit.
Tomorrow it's a choice.

I don't want your body,
too many people have had you.
You've got the scratches and bruises to prove it.

I don't want your mind
you always say what you're thinking.
Your pictures never look right unless your smiles are sincere.

I wanted your soul
and you didn't resist when I took it.
*"I have no use for it anyway."

I'm sorry I stopped writing.
I think I got scared that once I finished the story
you'd go away.


(Because what reason do you have to stay.)

Love
Is an active choice.
Not
A passive fall.

Things feel sticky.
Soggy.
Itchy.

I feel frayed.
Broken.
Chafed.

I want to fade.
Pause.
Sleep.

He was always restless
and his foundations
never held.
He didn't know how
to love himself the way she did
so he remained wrapped
in the blanket of comfort
she provided
until her fleece
was no longer warm enough
to keep the cold
from engulfing him.

Silly little girls
Waiting permissively for permission.
The world isn't that big.
And you aren't that small.

The fastest way to my heart
Is through my fingertips.
But first my love,
Let's start with a kiss.

It's amazing
That light (or lack thereof) can alter the way you
See something.
In sunlight strands of hair become diamonds.
In the dark
Any face can seem beautiful.
Dawn is the happy medium
Between the beauty of night
And the marvel of the day.

i don't remember the last time you stayed up until five a.m.
but i remember the boy that did.

your curfew may have changed
buy you're still the man i love.

it scares me how deep we can dive
and then in the next instant we're floating on the surface.
all that water in my ears.
all that sand in my mouth.
pffftttttt

let's piece together the continents
so you're not so far away.

it's fun to remember,
i'll list all the things i miss.

number one is you
number two is me
and number three is endless bliss.

This poem is for the man in love with the bottle,
because it's the only thing he can hold onto.
The bottle demonstrates its love by helping him forget.
Because the bottle is filled with magic
he thinks will make him loveable.

This is for the man that can't fall asleep
because the bottle is empty.

I want you.
I’m thinking it, but don’t say it this time.
I’m sure you can tell from the way I’m watching you from over the rim of my wine glass.
We’re sitting in my bed, murdering a bottle of summer red.
I’m tired, but not quite ready to sleep.
“Let’s build a fort,” I suggest.

I'd stay awake if it meant the stars wouldn't go away. I fall asleep next to you if I could. I'd make my home in your heart because it never gets cold there. Your arms could be my foundation. Nevermind walls, your embrace should be what holds me together.

your* poem.
And how it inspired me to write that one poem.
and now this one.

I don't think you believed me when I said it was good.
But it was.
Usually I hate reading other people's work.
I guess that makes me a bit egotistic.
But every once in a while
I stumble upon something wonderful.

I reread it several times.
And probably will again after I finish writing this poem.
It was honest.
Most people are too afraid of what others will think to be honest
and therefore I find most of what I read to be lacking.
I used to be afraid too.

I've always stayed true to the first basic rule of writing,
Write what you know.
So this poem is about you.