When I die
my grave will be
surrounded by cherry red wine stains.
That grass,
once green,
will be red, red red.
Have the weight of Cabernet
The dark mystery of Merlot.
I’ll say goodbye
and that wine will drip drop
Through soil
Under rocks
To six feet under
where I will taste it once again.

As I watch
as he
sits in the corner
drinking grain alcohol
that tastes like regret and pain and general unpleasantry

and he weeps
those tears of solid resignation and misery
the scene unfolds before me
of his early days
of being young like me
but having so much passion and commitment to a bigger idea
that he committed
human atrocity
for something bigger
than himself.

As I watch
I cry my own tears
for this man’s lack of youth
because he had no time to squander
and instead
was forced
to live a life
of the worst kind of sacrifice.

And I cry some more
because I
am a self-aggrandizing
*******
if I think my petulant, schoolgirl drama
is ****
compared to this.

For years, we let suffering gnaw away at our hearts
until we got really good at hiding it.
And instead
indulged in silent suffering
at going to pubs and clubs
and getting drunk
making out with random strangers
and being the life of the party
all the while
taking the label of a martyr
but claiming no glory.
We were instead
so completely devoid and empty inside
that our friends would see us as strangers
if they ever knew
how we really felt.

As the booming music
from the crowded
student center
attempts to
beat my heart
right out of my chest
I retreat
into my own quietness.

Writing poetry
on a neon yellow
Post-It note
as the college kids
around me
talk about
that awesome house party
last night.

I think about how
I cannot have
the love that I want
but I know someday
I'll have
the love that wants me.

And now
the booming music
does indeed
make my heart race
as my quest for love
pauses
to rave out
to electronica music.

I pump a metaphorical fist
not to party
but to proclaim
that I
am a hopeless dreamer.
Deal with it.

Maybe dub step isn't so bad.

From the moment that the last moment has passed and is gone
To the moment that has not yet come to pass
There is a long haul,
A varied in-between
A somber hiatus of all things living and dead.
Where my mind wanders into an eternal state of flux
And where everything that could never be
Is.

And as we swim beneath the sea and then above the stars
And watch galaxies give birth to new stars and light and life
And friendly sea creatures wink at us as they pass us by
We stretch out our arms and let freedom take us.

And it’s there we’ll kiss so long
That we never come up for air.
And make love in the blankets of the Milky Way
Bearing our souls for every spec of dust to witness.

And then I blink
And my feet are back firmly on the ground.
While you stand just yards away from me.
We’ll give each other half smiles, half waves
And pass each other by,
Just like that moment is supposed to pass by.

But I know
Somewhere
In an eternal state of flux
We were the good, and the good is the free
And we were free to love each other the way we aren’t allowed here.

Hold on when you get love.
Let go when you give it.

Sometimes I think
you don’t remember
when we held hands.
When we got wasted together
and had the most fun
in a night of debauchery
and fell asleep
fully clothed
side-by-side.

We both woke up
at 6 a.m.
from the sun streaming in
the sunlight windows.
We both stared
bleary-eyed at the light
then at each other.
You took my left hand in yours
gave me a cheeky half smile
and fell back asleep.
I did too.

I woke up
a few minutes before you
and removed my hand
just in case you were embarrassed
or in case it was just because
we were drunk.

Anyways
Sometimes I think you don’t remember
that time we fell asleep
holding hands.
and it was the nicest sleep I’ve ever had.

But anytime you give me
that mischievous half smile
that just screams
“I know something you don’t know”

Then I think you very much remember.

As I breathed in his clean scent of soap and cologne
and the faint smell of mint coming from the gum he chewed,
I realized our knees were a small way away from touching.
A man that many women around me looked at twice
was looking at me.
He shifted on the uncomfortable folding chair
And there it was—
Our legs were touching.
His skin was soft and warm,
like his dark tan skin kept
Latin heat inside to emanate all year round.

I felt no rush of pleasure;
no smirk appeared at the corner of my mouth.
All I felt was a warm knee on my skin.
and nothing more.

It is this moment I realize just how damaged I am.