Steal a glance in the mirror.
Tear stains are evident, plain as day.
Pain sits in dark circles under your expressionless eyes.
You're the definition of "pathetic".
...Do you think she didn't notice?
You're wearing last night on your face.

And now I fight the battle of
removing your melodic voice
from my aching head.

I washed my bed sheets before you came over
in hopes that if they were clean,
your scent would linger once you left.

And now that you've gone?

They smell like sunlight on a spring day.

They smell like love in the morning.

So I burrow myself next to your heart and count the time that's passed.
Wonderful...
They smell like
*you.

My poetry is the product of a fool
in love.

Dearest Juan,

How ya been, kid?
The Big Man Upstairs treating you well?
I hope so.
--
First off, a big thanks to your parents.
It was kind of them to go to the counselor about my note to you.
I know they had the best intentions at heart.
--
I actually saw your family at church on Sunday.
They looked alright...
No, I'm totally lying.
They still look wrecked.
It's only been two weeks, right?
It's obviously been a rough time for them...
Your younger siblings looked weak.
Your older sister looked thinner.
Your parents looked haunted.
I cried when I saw them walking up the aisle.
Wonder if they realized that the song being played at mass was
one that was played at your funeral...
--
Everyone at school is still thinking of you, ya know.
I see you in the blank faces of your friends.
They cringe every time they walk into Freeman's classroom.
They never stay long.
Guess it makes them think of you.
--
I'm gonna say goodbye now, Juan.
Just wrote this to get some thoughts out.
Take care of yourself.
Watch over your family.
Tell John Lennon that Leigh Fresina said, "You're a swine".

See ya, kid.

**
Leigh

Breathe.

I submerged myself in nature and felt
love
around me.

You say that I can't help you...

*I'll die trying.

Trying means nothing
My happiness is short-lived
The dark thoughts are back

It's taken a long time to let myself freely love.
For a while, I didn't believe love even existed...

But my God, do I love you.

I could go on and on and on,
but words could never be enough.

I've only been able to come up with a single sentence:

**Your name pulses as steady as a heartbeat in my thoughts.

"Ooh, you look happy today!"

I tell him he's seeing things.

"Alright, sunshine. Who is he?"

I laugh. Really, I can't hold it back.

"Don't laugh! I know the signs!"

I laugh again. How can he tell?

"You're laughing, but those gold eyes are telling me I'm right! Who is he?"

I give up. I describe you, of course, but leaving out... minor details.

I tell him that you're one of the most intelligent people I know.
I tell him that you're beautiful (that should have tipped him off).
I tell him that I care about you more than I ever thought possible.

"He sounds like a great guy. You like him a lot, don'tcha?
He better not hurt you. Let me know if I have to beat him up for you."

I double over in laughter. He's a fool.

"But you still didn't tell me his name, sunshine. What is it?"*

I lean in close and grab his tie, which smells like the alcoholic drinks he mixes.

**"Her name is Rachel."

I wouldn't use the word "bisexual" to describe me.

I'm not gay.
I'm not straight.

I don't like girls.
I don't like guys.

I don't even see gender.

I see the person -- everything that they are.
The body doesn't affect the way I see someone...
(though the physical aspect is definitely a bonus).
Personality attracts me.
The person themself is attractive to me.
I could fall in love with anyone.
I've found many guys attractive.
I've found one girl attractive.
End of story.

You think of me as a walking libido,
as a person who only wishes to be touched...
A person without a heart.

How could you think that?

The audacity sickens me.

Do you not understand that I have a heart?
That I have the ability
to feel
to cherish
to love?

No, it isn't always on my sleeve...
I know that --
It's constantly shielded by my mind and the logic I so desperately cling to.

But you know me, don't you?

You should.

**By no means am I "heartless".

Pansexuality-
****** attraction, ****** desire, romantic love, or emotional attraction toward people of all gender identities and biological sexes.

--

I wonder if my parents would understand.

My father is practically a homophobe...
I'm his little girl.
It would break his fragile heart.

My mother is a different story...
I think she'd shrug and say "Ok".
After all, her favorite musician is gay.

But they could never trust me.*

I'd have to keep the bedroom door open when ANY of my friends come over.

I will not be subjected to that.

So for now, I'll just keep it between friends, the people I trust.

Can you keep a secret?

My dad doesn't seem to notice that I've zoned out.
I wonder if the preacher noticed -- he sure did give me an odd look when I received the Eucharist...
I don't even know why I keep coming here.
Then again, it's not like I have a choice.
I'm dragged here every Sunday and I hate this place.
It makes me question what little faith I have...

Who are you to tell me what to believe?

Who says I won't get into heaven or whatever that "palace in the sky" is?

Maybe I'm already redeemed by my own intellect... ever think of that?

So here I am,
sitting in the House of God with a head full of sin.
**Surely I've been ****** to hell.

Is love the yellow roses you gave me for my birthday?
Is love the way my heart stops when you say my name?
Is love the smile you flash when I wink at you?
Is love the heartfelt letter you wrote me?
Is love the cheesy valentines from tumblr that we send?
Is love the way you curled around me in the night?
Is love the midnight FaceTime calls we've had?
Is love the heart shaped papers covering the school hallways?
Is love the thrill I get whenever you call me "baby"?
*Is love what I'm feeling?

The people I work with are unique in every possible way.
They're all like little divided pieces of myself...
and when I told them that, not one of them even blinked.

"That's deep, man. I know what you mean... I feel the same way."

Finally, acceptance.

They don't judge the way I speak or act or think.
They even enjoy the poems I write and leave on the board.
They accept each other for everything that they are.

--
Jourdan is living in anxiety and takes ten minute smoke breaks to smooth
that rough edge.
("I really should quit, but it reminds me of my dad.")

Chris is a dancer and dances in the bus station when no one can see
that elegant movement.
("Yes, I'm gay, in case you were wondering.")

Myranda is intelligent and I tell her that everyday just to make her smile
that beautiful smile.
("Can I leave my textbooks up here?")

Becky is a singer and sings with me whenever good music plays over
that old speaker.
("Hi I'm Becky and I can sing your order for you if you'd like!")

Danny is practically a comedian and the jokes he throws around are
that ******* funny.
("Stuuuu? Why are you making chocolate pudding?")

Brandon is a flirt and he's constantly coming up with reasons to come to
that front lobby.
("Hey Leigh! Can you put this tip in my waistband?")
--

All of these people are so different, yet so alike.
We get along just fine.
I couldn't ask for anyone better.