now we're in the backseat,
and my stomachs turning.
maybe i just want people in my life
in an un-romantic way.
i like to get under their skin,
and steal their souls story.
i love how everyone is different,
and i can't hate a single thing,
because it makes them human;
the girls who steal bikes at midnight,
and the guys who offer their apartment
out at night.
i find myself in the wrong crowd,
i find myself in these situations,
in the backseat,
with someone who's speaks a
language far from consent
and it's all desperation.
his hands on my neck,
and there's no attraction,
physically.
mentally he has a way of making
my head spin faster than the
alchohol,
and i'm not sure if i'm
kissing him sober,
or if the night itself is drunk,
and i'm waiting for the sun to shine
a light on my mistakes,
as it always does.
i take their stories, they take mine,
but i'm not sure what part of it's true.
the girl in the backseat,
the girl shaking,
the rigid lips and bites.
maybe we won't speak,
maybe he'll lecture me again,
for using my body as a token
to pay my way.
love is an expensive thing.

never mix a poet and an artist.
he whispered to me, his words mix like
paint in his head to form a beautiful
sunrise.
"two pretentious people can never
get their way,
we're two busy expecting the other
person to make a move".
i'm too scared to let him get close,
i'll write about him,
i won't be able to forget about him,
and all i want to do is act reckless
at night and pretend
i'm good in the morning.
i wonder what games i'm playing this time.
maybe i wanted to kiss him,
maybe i didn't.
my brain can't make it's mind up.
i'm fickle.
all i know is an emotion in the moment,
and i tug on it,
i won't let it go.
if i can feel anything at all,
let me feel it.
so i'll play with his hands and he'll shake
his head and complain i never know
what i want,
and our heads lean in and i tell myself
i won't kiss him,
and something twists in my stomach,
and i tug, i tug.

sometimes alcohol makes my
stomach churn with its lies.
the more i take, the less i feel.

maybe there are addictions worse
than addiction to skin.
i can't understand why you
make me feel so empty
so my glass is always full.

i'm scared of kissing you sober,
i've never kissed a man sober.
i tell you i love you,
hoping you'll blame my
***** veins.

i don't trust smiles that
hide the teeth,
but i'm here now,
cradled in his palms,
tasting his flesh.
i once thought his eyes
reminded me of oceans,
now i realize they remind me
of sharks.

he looks like someone that
could **** me,
that's just my type.
i forget to say no.
the last man i loved put his
fingers inside my mouth
and ripped my tongue out.
my body doesn't know
how to say no anymore.

last time,
this is the last time,
oh i said that last time.

i fell too deep into the rabbit hole,
like alice in wonderland,
except alice is the one
who fell in love with the mad hatter,
and alice is the one
who lost her head.

it's getting darker,
and i'm afraid.
i can't stay, my dear,
i can't stay.
the pen will only run out
and i'll be awake all night
if i don't empty
it of this ink.

At age 19, we talked about how we’d change the world.
We spoke of revolutions, of leading the masses, of burning everything to the ground.

At age 20, we talked about how we’d make it in the world.
We spoke of Bachelor’s degrees, of political discourse, of graduate school.

At age 21, we talked about how we’d survive in the world.
We spoke of refinancing our car loan, of apartments with utilities included, of budgets and personal finance.

At age 40, we’ll talk about how we can’t change the world.
We’ll speak of groceries, of laundry, of parent teacher conferences.

And it will be too late.

Maybe at age 19, our children will change the world.

do you think
cloaks of normalcy

societal smiles
wash away reality -

that screens pulled close
pious veils drawn

means all is well -

that children next door
from 'respectable' homes

aren't used like so much spoil
displayed with polish

to the highest bidder -

what tales do you keep
to sleep at night

in perfumed air -

'it's far away
some hapless child

not where I drive
with tinted glass

they're lower class
don't know the Lord

mere runts down town
where father drinks

can't pay their rent
make decent wage

so sell the kid
for sordid nights -

- n - o -
it happens

to tender buds
in wealthy
suites

and poorer shacks
in any
place

and every age
from dot to
grown

they stay unseen
stare at their
sums

are ***** this night
sob off to
sleep

as mother too
walks right on
by

deaf to the screams
he wants his
due

so he will take
her brother
too

'now be a man'
says worm to
prince

he lies to all
most to his
face

and no one sees
and no one
hears

the silent screams
with veil drawn
close

they look askance
and walk on
by

waves orchestrate
bruised kisses
smack

dazed moon’s
beclouded stare
numb

teal canopy’s
torn sinew
strewn

tidal riposte
homeless debris
scars

shattered fins’
bullied silence
screams        

callous world      
spawns grinding
vice

rabid avarice
fuels dueling
drive

winds stir
shifting sands
gasp

light eclipses
night’s capricious
rule

noon darkness
steep ransom’s
paid

earth salvaged
true Son
stands

I hadn’t thought of my first boyfriend in years.
The way everything was new and he never felt silly when I asked him to dance in the  rain, even though I felt silly. The way he knew I loved when his cologne lingered on my clothes because I crawled into a space between his arm and his body.
I remember crying in the diner by my house late at night,
we were just friends, two years after we broke up but he always made me feel a warm sort of comfort, he always made me laugh when I was mad and he always managed to make me mad on my best of weeks. He was scared of going up to Georgia alone. I, naively confused, asked why would he go to Georgia alone. When I repeated the word army, it left a bitter taste on my mouth, did’t quite roll off the tongue like home. Like our small, loud city was home. Like when he biked to my house in the rain was home. Like going to the Colombian Bakery where worked, was home. Like he was home.
Except, my home was leaving, and when he asked me to go,
I cried, held onto him and said no, said I have a boyfriend who doesn’t love me like home does and my life is just starting.
That was 8 years ago. I’m 23 now. Made the same mistakes repeatedly. Changed my entire life and started over. Reinvented myself every time I rented the heart of a man who was not home. My home lives in Honolulu, has traveled the world, changed into a man who still has that wide smile I loved. My co-worker mentioned how certain smells remind her of certain people and asked if I agreed. I hadn’t thought of that boy, whose Kenneth Cole Reaction still lingers on my old high school uniform, in years. Told her certain smells remind me of a place I always found comfort in. I wonder if he knows he will always have a home here, always have a place to stay in my heart. I will leave the door open and when he picks up to leave again, I will say you are always welcome here, to this little corner of the world, where nothing exciting ever happened, but you will always be loved.

I only pretend with pretenders
And contend with contenders
I'm only giving to the givers
And forgiving to forgivers

I'm only strange with strangers
And dangerous with dangers
I'm only hateful to the haters
And traitorous to traitors

©

How ironic it is
to want something so bad
that the moment you have a chance at it
it suddenly doesn’t mean half as much

It’s as if your purpose
stemmed from your yearning
and all you had to do was have it in reach
for everything to fall in place

So what do you do when
everything is still in pieces
The thing you were dreaming about
ends up different than your fantasies

You end up so focused on the finish line
that you don’t realize
that the path you neglected on the way
might make you happier

Maybe that’s the way we are
Constantly chasing after the next thing
to keep our hearts pumping double speed
Instead of finding the satisfaction
in stability

Or maybe this is me
getting exactly what I asked for
and realizing that I never wanted it
in the first place

Maybe I’m finally realizing
that I’m better off without you
That I can make myself happier
than you ever could
than you ever will

okay so i’m beginning to believe i was born asleep and still haven’t woken up, or caught in a day dream where my name is the answer to all your security questions. okay. a thousand years of wondering and all i can come up with is that you fell in love with me at a picnic in my imagination. the lemonade we always talk about swimming in sugar and tiny handmade sandwiches from my kitchen, your favorite, extra pickle. don’t forget about the pickles. of course the clouds march in stomping out the sunshine, of course. it was dark and there was lightning so much lightning. don’t be scared just now darling don’t be scared. in the middle of the night we only talk about your version of the story. how i’d ask you to stay, asking you to tell me what’s real asking you with my hands asking you with maps, a country called please listen to me, you should know by now that it is an island too far to sail to according to you. i know i know, who dared name an ocean lonely when all the ships are sinking. we can go back we can turn around where the sky is the gentlest shade lavender, we can go back and have a conversation that has never happened before. when everything is the color of day old bruises i won’t let you down. i promise when i get home i will count every freckle every one. when i get home can we open one of those mason jars full of fresh air because i can’t breathe. i remember that day, although i pretend it was more recent than it was. you were there in a swell of green grass in a dress that makes me blush, and there i was blushing. i’m not sure how i made it out alive, skipping the part in the song where you, long gone come busting through a doorway, through the well air conditioned living room and and across the kitchen tile, to the refrigerator where just like in elementary school, my fourth grade heart wrote all your favorite things on flash cards in the blackest magic marker so i could memorize the things that made you happiest. and you turning around in slow motion to see my face, or where my face should be, the only expression i can make anymore, realizing that you realized that i only ever wanted to be something that made you happy. suddenly you’re tired, and i’m tired too, goodnight goodnight, i’m falling asleep because it’s the only thing that doesn’t burn. i’m falling asleep to go back again. everything glitches and i’m underneath your perfect teeth. you say “i would never hurt you” and i say “just like that?” and the layer starts over again, always back to the moment i asked you in my bravest of voices if i could hold your hand. you probably don’t remember that moment, or maybe you do but don’t particularly share the same sentiment over its importance. you see, i’m always fine until the part where i have to say it out loud, and then time stops. i have always wanted to tell you that something happened inside me that night and now i’m not the same me as i was before. so if you ever cross a bridge. if you ever get my voicemail, if you need me, i’ll be sketching up the dramatic parts in my head and they’ll happen just the way i imagined just you wait you wait. the last scene the very last one, the bottom layer, knee deep in mud knee deep in i told you so, you say “i would never hurt you” and instead of saying “just like that” i reach up to kiss you and the room evaporates. so if you want lemonade and bedtime stories, if i can make a believer out of you, if you want bucketfuls of november if you want grace if you want the courage it takes to ask for grace, you’re over the train tracks you’re almost home you’re almost there. what else can you say besides “okay pumpkin okay sweetheart, in my head everything was beautiful" the doorway now filled with people who send you birthday cards saying welcome back welcome home we’ve missed you, hello. hello. the time spent waiting, chorus of rain, i only invited you over so we could make perfect sense. i only gave my hands away because you didn’t want them anymore. and days later a man with a shark tooth necklace asked if i was okay and i lost it i just lost it. all the little red bricks with their little names carved into them, how they don’t feel comfortable under your feet, how there were hundreds of flowers but somehow we took a picture of the same one the very same one, and how we can’t talk about things like that anymore, how i was sitting on a bench and i didn’t hear you call my name, shaking hands on accident with your parents hello sir hello mam, your daughter is my favorite ghost.