sometimes i’ll hear a sound
or a song
and have a quick flashback
to our first kiss;
in a room full of people who
became my friends and then
and the way that we were so quiet
in the middle of a noisy fall.
no one even noticed when we
escaped to the outside for hours
holding hands and already apologizing,
but you held on to me like nobody else
and in these days of
i have never forgotten.
i’m not sure how many nights
i felt i had to save you
or how many nights
you convinced me i was the
only one who could help;
until i realized i was the only one
and i couldn’t do any more
for you and your ways.
now i hold nothing but apathy for
because i loved you so,
and can no longer love one who
cannot even begin to love himself.
i am not your saving grace,
your guardian angel.
i only turned you into something more to hate,
you begged me to make it worse
begged me to make it harder
and i always should have begged
for it to stop.
and now it has stopped.
and the phone no longer rings at
i used to think that i was like you
but i confused that because i loved you,
with every day that passed
we grew closer and further apart
until we were sewn and tied
and three winters had shown their whiteness.
we’ve been dead now
longer than we’ve been alive,
over one thousand days longer;
sympathy overshadowing a love
that forever went
like light into your eyes
like a whisper into your ears
stinging like an old lover’s kiss…
i won’t talk of where i’ve been
if you don’t tell me where you’re going
and we can both be silent for a while,
with nothing but big eyes
and soft spots.
there’s an itch behind my ear that tells me you’re talking about me,
the way a complete stranger’s peeled you back
and kept you awake nights.
a mix of imagined hands and some sort of quiet agreement..
i have nothing to offer here
except for a beating heart and a skeleton,
the way i’ve pictured my bones holding me up infront of you
on display, bareskinned.
there’s a rope around my wrists
and a finger to my lips,
and all i can hear is the sound of a hundred birds flying off somewhere.
its ok to breathe,
no one is going to decifer your code.
close the window and come lay down next to me.
i will not forget those things i thought
while on your mattress;
body and arms already covered in years of artwork and mistakes,
your mouth was wet and warm with accidental lies,
your hands were delicate and thick-skinned
as they moved inside of me quietly—
unfinished thoughts and words unsaid
an ocean of future lost by present loss .
i wasn’t prepared for you,
for fear so strong i couldn’t breathe;
because you would’ve inhaled all of me
and while i wasn’t looking, you did.
its too hard to fight when you’re down.
but i knew my name would never
fit on your tongue with so many nicknames
you’d given me on the first day.
and when the sun hit our skin in the morning
i could see all the spaces in between;
the outlines of our bodies carved into the sheets
crumpled linen smelling of sweat and smoke—
new bodies, & porcelain hearts.
old wounds, new words.
easy to fall behind.
easy to hide faces in shoulders of maybes—
without i’m sorrys or
i belong heres.
shaking hands trying so hard, pleading faces &
the end of another night.
in & out with
i hold back my cards, scared of showing more than i should.
scared of hurting again
built slowly in a fast forward situation.
i want to keep him
& i want to change his mind—
i was never
i feel like an adorned harlequin clown
doing this awkward dance
& no one’s laughing:
bright crimson red X Stop—
pale blue arrow Refresh.
(i’m no small child
so, stop treating me like one
& i can make my own decisions
& this can be important to me
if i look at you with those eyes.)
i’ve never wanted to
be without love,
its just that everyone settles for sex
the way i used to settle
for a drink:
i feel half full. half empty?
do you love me, quiet night
evaporation, possibilities dissipate
& i’m losing my ability
for those words—
answer then but does it matter?
theres so much beauty in her eyes when she looks at you, that it makes it hard to look away. but the beauty disappears when she thinks of you, in the way she remembers every little piece of sadness in you. and the beauty disappears the longer she stares at her phone, waiting for it to ring - the unprogrammed number that she can’t forget, by heart. it doesn’t matter if its a sunny summer day or the grey-est and rainy-est of october nights, because even when she is sure that she has lost you in her memory, you’re there; creeping up like the most terrible lonliness. and it can eat away at her from the inside out, almost in the same way she would desire you night after night in her bed. but you are not here in body, and her phone does not ring, and she is beautiful, and you are sad. it isnt you that brings her to tears anymore like before, it is the sorrow in the way she fights them back. no one has ever told her its ok to cry. certainly once you told her that you had never known anyone quite like her before, while pulling her hips in close. she’ll never tell you how many times she’s shyed away since you, tending to her body like a long lost riddle. she’ll give her heart away if necessary, but please let her keep the one thing that’s still hers. please let her remind you that there were days once when all it took was a whisper; she would like to tell you that she never loved you, but you would know the lie. in these months, it’s not that - it is the way she feels as though she lives side by side with ghosts. ghosts with your face, voice, smell. the way she walks down the street and you’re everywhere around her, pulling at her hair and saying softly into her ear, “you don’t remember it the way that i do. you have it all wrong, beautiful little one. you have it all wrong.” theres so much beauty in her eyes when she looks at you, in the way she rememebers every little piece of sadness in you, creeping up like the most terribly lonliness, no one has ever told her its ok to cry. she has your number memorized and its always on the tip of her tongue - just like, “i take off all of my clothes at night and wrap myself in a blanket and think of you, and the way i have left you completely, but its becoming impossible to step outside of myself.” you gave me this sadness, i keep it for you tucked in the tiny valley of each collar bone. it has given me what no one has ever been able to.
if it could be brought back.
the feeling of complete inner peace.
the knowledge that hope would form into a sweet reality to exist in.
that love was waiting just around the corner,
that god woke up, from a much needed sleep,
and he apologized for everything and promised,
to keep his eyes on you.
and i was able to see you, in every little thing again.
and none of it was real at all.
but it felt very nice knowing
things were going to get worse,
far away from it.
worn down and tired, heart in a thousand ugly dirty pieces,
everything will be okay.
“how did it feel back then?”
i don’t know. it’s still blurry for whatever reasons. i was always very sad, but i don’t remember much of it.
“what about the love?”
the love was there, but it was more inside of me, i kept trying to take my love and find it, insert it even into anything i could. tried to make people beleive in my love. i kissed them and thought it to be true, but the next morning i woke up more hungover, alone.
“you were very passionate about some things back then?”
yes, there were times i would sit and listen to the same record for hours. lying on my floor dreaming of all the spaces i longed to fill. there were people i knew i had to meet, love i had to find, beauty to be held, i just wasn’t sure where to go, i was young then, and couldn’t really go anywhere too far, so that kept the dream alive.
“but some things did happen right?”
we don’t talk anymore.
“that must be hard?”
“so what did you do with all this passion?”
well i started writing a lot. there were a few special people who i looked up to. i mean they wrote such beautiful stories that i wanted to live in, so i believed in them. i can’t say i still beleive in stories too much.
“and the music?”
the music was always there. sweet shadows through the harder days. i would walk around disastified singing to myself in my head. i hate not being able to do things on my own and having to rely on other people. i scream into the air but nothing comes out. i don’t really want to talk about it.
“okay so what happened to the dream and the love?”
i dont know. there was a boy. i loved him. then he died, but was really always dead. that’s not really it. i don’t know, i just kept living and kept getting disappointed in others mostly, myself too, i was sure there was something wrong with me.
oh i dont know. i wanted to save him maybe i wanted us to save each other, a type of desperate love, but things like that don’t quite work out, it’s like a timebomb, time’s running out.
“and how did he die?”
well, he never really died, he’s just gone in a lot of ways.
“and he’s dead to you.”
i try to think so.
“so where are you now?”
i don’t know. i’m in my room, thinking, lazy. spent the past two years working and being tired and got nothing to show for it. it’s very sad, but i try not to think about it. i’m calm. i know in time it will pass.
“haven’t you made progress?”
yes and no. i do better things, more exciting things.
“so are you better now than you were?”
no way, i’m not as sad, but i miss being sad, i miss feeling so lonely, i miss knowing there was something to save me. there was always something i believed in to save me. a boy or a poem or a record.
“and how do you feel right now?”
old. i want to believe in something. have a crush on someone. want to kiss their lips and touch their face more than anything else in the entire world. have my life depend on something. i feel like i should write a book, but i’m tired. i’m tired.
“and what comes next?”
i suppose i’ll drown myself in whatever comes next.
joy or sadness or neither.
i’ll fall into it, as if i hadn’t been there before.
this will be the fall: sitting on the corner of your bed. it’s 4pm. leaves blow. snow waits. legs crossed. head in your lap. wondering where you’re going. and if it’s worth going there at all.
and it’s like you can compare your heart to the big
hunks of scrap metal that fly through the air. like
crazy birds but not so beautiful. but once your
heart is in the air. you pick a destination. and it
seems beautiful. more than anything. and that person
or thing becomes everything. and you fuel up your
engines and give it one last shot.
but sometimes they put the wrong metal with the wrong
metal. sometimes it snows and the view gets shitty.
and you’re alone up there in the clouds. you can go
through. but you can’t touch. they disaspear. just
like when we try to touch love. and so after all you’ve
done. the fuel begins to run out. the snow continues.
you just stare at the light and playback the sound.
the destination is gone. you have nowhere to land.
you decide to leave this metal and rusty heart.
anywhere. maybe in the bottom of the ocean. or maybe
into a building with really bright lights.
life is ironic. in the sense that there is a million beautiful people you could fall in love with tonight. and all you want is one. he said “you remind me of one of those movies. the beautiful ones. where no one wins in the end” oh, this is how you lose a heart.
he was 100% perfect on a warm august night. they sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. they were not lonely anymore.. but they had to part, she to the east, and he to the west.
every night we spend together leaves my insides completely empty, but my head so complicated. i’ll take this crush to my grave and leave the hollow shell youve made. go on, prove me wrong. what you are is on the clock and the time you require is breaking records, shattering stop watches and making songs skip. know that i’m not waiting. i’m making vows to myself that i know i cant keep up with. i dont have the coping power to handle it. i will learn to live with the fact that you’re not in love. i fell through the asphault and now i rely on ambulances filled with superglue and duct tape for support. i will stop being so weak and i will stop putting all of myself into anything because when it falls apart, which all things eventually do, i do too. there is no hidden meaning.
one beautiful august morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east; while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, both along the same narrow street in the neighbourhood. they passed each other in the very center of the street. the faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moments. each felt a rumbling in their chest and they knew.
i cannot stop this craving: to be reduced to a swirl of limbs, kicking and screaming beneath a lover, fingernails hinged into the skin of a strong back. it is desire that creates and cradles this dream, the desire to be bitten and held beneath some warm weight. a tall man’s overbearing hands or a delicate boy’s seducing eyes. a man tells me that he loves my mind and wants to challenge it, and it makes me want him. i can no longer differentiate between desire and need, between passion and longevity. no, i am only looking to scramble myself somewhere under a seduction, to lick my lips dry and leave breath against a cheek. and there you are again, caught somewhere between an idea and a physicality; a shadow i can never quite touch that grows taller in the right angle of light, and you are beautiful. but you cannot tell me you didn’t know that already. it has been drilled into that mind of yours, it has been pressed into your palms by my inky fingertips.
we may be old souls with fresh faces, but the last thing either of us needs is this.
and i’m not looking forward to the end of summer, because you will know the difference between my blushing and the sun burning my skin. i’m exhaling sharply over your words, because isnt that how we got started to begin with?: misinterpreted poetry. you’re still gorgeous to me, you’re habit forming and we could decide to be so much more than we are. i could kiss a thousand strangers and still have the photograph of your mouth uttering words in the back of my mind. the ground outside shakes with rain and a passing train travelling down the tracks down by the ocean, my feet are gliding over the floor, familiar music blaring from my speakers, my voice echoing off of the whitewashed walls. there are no more pages of my journal filled than there were two weeks ago, there is no more money in my pocket than there has ever been. i have fallen short of so many things,you see, and i live for random scraps of attention and affection. and you cannot see the way that my body writhes with the thought of your skin; i do not have half of the nerve i should and i will help you pack your bags. you have a month to forget all about me - just as quickly as we met. because it seems we have both made choices, ones that lead in seemingly different directions with ends that will not meet, though choices do not change a craving. i’ve grown tired of explaining and all i’ve ever wanted was to say that there is someone else. there are so many standing in line to get a glimpse of me, so many with their hearts tucked tight and their eyes wide and their hands ready; but lately all i have wanted is you.