kiss me like i never left;
kiss me like you never sinned;
kiss me if you love me;
i'll kiss you with my heart.
a set of six word poems.
overwhelming wordsthere's a lot you can do with words
but sometimes i forget how to do any.
and sometimes i look at a keyboard
and see so many words that come together
from just some of those letters
and there's so much to write
that i don't write at all.
and sometimes i think
i drank deeply from the elixir of life
when i was too young
and when i drank i only drank the words
and i spilled them out in the morning
because the night was too silent to break it.
i wonder if the silence i've kept
is as big as the words i've written.
i'm not writing to be censored
it's not like i do that to myself
when the words come rolling
and i don't let them out,
when i'm running down the street
but don't make a sound,
it's not like i'm afraid to be loud.
i hope you can tell by the heat in my eyes
that my gaze turns steady as soon as i lie.
i hope you know that when i write
and my diction turns from eloquent and quaint
to fucking filthy and raging
that i'm finding myself,
even if that takes years off my life
by looking at
in the gardenyou are breath in my bones,
buoyant in the blue bay
outside of your house.
you are in the garden
and i am watching from the window
as you watch me back.
i am wearing nothing
but a long strand of pearls
and pink underwear,
and you cannot keep your mouth closed.
i like it better that way
when we kiss.
i like to feel your body
forget how it is to take in air
at a regular pace,
i like to feel its
it makes me feel like
your soul is dancing
when it meets mine.
sext: this is for yousext: you are underwater. you are my head swimming as i hold my breath, you are the currents that make my heart beat, you are the waves that sway my hips. the salt of your lips is my favourite taste.
sext: if i am a hurricane, i hope you are the eye of my storm (deep inside of me, at my core).
sext: when you sleep, you are bent; bent, not broken. i will protect you from everything that threatens to shatter you. you are not made of glass, but i will bend (not break) to strengthen you.
sext: i look down and you are between my legs. you kiss me with those lips, before and after, and still there is love.
sext: if i promise you a good morning, i'll send you a poem for when you wake. if i promise you your favourite things, i'll get you strawberries (with the hats cut off), pokemon (always mewtwo), and a puppy (a blue-eyed husky). if i promise to be open, i'll take off my clothes and we can watch as the close falls to the floor. if i promise you smiles, i'll give you a thousand. if i promise
a real breakupi am going to be sad when you see me.
i want you to take my vulnerability
from my lips
and tell me how it tastes;
find the salt of my tears
from my face
and feel them on your tongue;
let my rawness
become more raw
by your unshaven lip-
i want you to kiss my sadness
10 ways depression can say i don't love you1. "i'm sorry
i don't want to
come over today."
the clock reads 4pm
and i roll over in my bed
2. "i forgot it was your
i'd forgotten my own
3. "i promise i won't
the ER doesn't believe
it's an accident
4. you asked if i loved you.
i had to sneeze and it
i think you took that
as a no.
5. we haven't had sex in a month.
6. we don't see
we don't see
i even have any.
7. i never answered your text.
it asked if i was okay.
8. "i need you to open yourself
up for me," you said.
i stopped talking.
9. "what do you want from me,
apparently you didn't.
10. tonight i will sleep alone
but not really.
depression will hold me
and stroke my hair,
telling me everything
will never be
if i could just get it out, it will all be betterthere it is,
looking like the monster i pull from the drain
after every shower;
there it is,
in its unending and bending and melancholy folds,
strumming like guitar strings
pricking at my fingers.
there's a certain beauty in thorns,
unless you are the rabbit caught in them.
i am inside most days,
counting food i can-eat-can't-eat-just-threw-up
and sitting in front of a tv.
i speak to no one other than the rhythm in my heart-
sometimes i touch his hand.
it's been too long
since i've felt inspired;
it's been too long
since i've been able to say in honesty entire
that i have smiled less
to distract from questions than out of happiness.
if the moon were to turn round
and show its dark side,
full in the sky like a cinema screen,
that is where i'd be.
and if i could just get it out, it will all be better.
i'll say that until my lips turn blue-
if i could just get it out, it will all be better.
but i don't write i don't paint i don't
talk about it, there is nothing to fucking talk about, leav
old love begets new lovei shut myself in
with the walls of nighttime
and a razor
that i'm not where i want to be.
you don't pick up your phone
but you don't look happy either-
what you do look like
is someone in need of a reminder
that you're still young.
i haven't seen carnival lights
since i saw you;
i haven't had sex on another
pull out couch.
i spend nights in my bed
or my lover's,
and still i think of
times i've hurt you
and times that pass me by
when i'm still trying to sleep.
when i break my loneliness
just to be lonely with a friend
and a six pack of good beer,
you're what i'm pouring down my throat,
you and every time i remember
learning to kiss a boy
the way he liked;
how no nightmarish hands touched me
when you were around;
that i stopped acting
like the girl you
and only when the morning comes,
raking her fingers over
the rawness of my skin,
do i know i've found more love
than i've lost.
eulogy for a boyhis name was eric. he was a mess, he was never slow, he was always high- high strung, high energy, high above the clouds as the smoke spiraled upward to make clouds of their own.
his name was eric. everything he loved, he sold online to pay for his flop house because the money he made from his two jobs went to his habit- and being a creature of habit, this was just his routine.
his name was eric. he kept a hundred lists in his pocket. of dealers (pete, kyle, nicole); of hookers (jenny, honey, tara); of therapists (dr. finch, sarah chan, ms. lyle at the community college); of friends (this one was blank).
his name was eric. he tattooed himself because he didn't have the money to get it done. he had everything from detailed scrawls of monsters and beautiful lettering, to scraggly reminders that he is a piece of shit, the names of girls he thought he loved (emma cross out, jackie cross out, liv cross out, liv(e), liv(e), liv(e)), the date his mother ki
for those who want to be in loveyou want to fall in love
hard enough to break your bones and
lighten your feet
lighten your heart
so softly that the butterflies you feel
pattering with their gossamer wings
beneath the cage of your ribs
and the breath,
blue in the summer,
can kiss you and the monarchs
as sweetly as your love
and her lips.
you dream of them at night.
silken like clean bedsheets,
familiar as your favourite chair
when you curl up with
a mug of herbal tea.
you feel at home
with her body curled in yours,
only able to sleep
with her skin under your fingers
scenting the blankets
with something no perfume
could ever mirror.
you write love letters
you dream emptily
unless she is there.
you want to fall in love
the way the gods drink ambrosia,
you want to treat her
better than their nectar,
sweeter than honeybees
and their summer-sticky feet.
you want a love beyond poetry,
from winter flurries
to springtime rosebuds
to summer sweet lemonade
to autumnal red leaves u
weighted down1. I am sixteen, suddenly.
I have grown up without anyone
telling me. My car keys rest heavily in
my palm. Each new college I hear about
rests heavily on my shoulders. I am
not sure how much longer I can take this,
all this extra weight of responsibilities, of choices,
of the future I’m not sure I want to have.
My skin feels stretched across my body
in places that don’t really make sense.
I still feel too big in every bad way—I’m
afraid I always will.
2. My first boyfriend tells me he
thinks I must have bits of the
universe inside of me. I try not
to get offended: I know he means to say
that kissing me is like kissing stars,
and that I hold the secrets of creation
inside my soul, but all I can think about
is how huge the universe is.
3. He breaks up with me at night.
For hours, I lean against my truck in
the driveway and look at the sky.
Stars are cold and distant,
I realize. The universe is big
4. Someone in my philosophy class tries to tell me
a study in absolutionyou kiss my fingers like you don’t know what
these hands have done, who these hands have done:
i am always afraid you will get tired of me, grow disgusted at
these scars, at these traces of other people dusting my skin
like a bruise that’s permanently tender, but right
when i think you will leave, you find another
part of my body to forgive.
Cliches I Have Datedi.
Anna collected stardust
like pennies, except
pennies are worth something.
Claire had ink
running through her veins; dead,
from an unsterilized needle.
Robin had birdbones
strung together on windchimes.
Sarah’s eyes were always
to the sky, and never
Lizbeth took my breath away
with every punch to the stomach.
Rosalie had too many things
in her ribcage; emotional adrenaline
triggered her arrhythmia.
Emily left me
for a boy with starrier freckles.
I am one cat away
from a stereotype, or one girl
closer to a happy ending.
what i know about love, a list1. It hurts. Goddamn, it hurts like hell. It hurts like a dull, constant ache you can’t shake. It hurts when he’s sitting next to her and listening to what she has to say or tying her shoes or playing with her binder because you know that’ll never be you. It hurts when he’s sitting next to you and smiling and listening to what you say because you know it’ll never be more than that. It hurts when he’s sitting across the room with his friends and he’s laughing because look how smoothly his life flows without you in it.
2. If you’re in a room with fifty other people who are talking to each other, you’ll still be able to pick out his laugh.
3. There are lots of different kinds of love, and lots of times people mistake something as love when it’s really not. That’s okay, because a lot of people think that you can’t really name love and it’s beyond any mere word or definition or something. I think it’s easy t
i don't have a dog1. i get up at ten.
this is an accomplishment.
by eleven, i’m awake enough to miss you.
to be honest, that part never goes away—
but eleven is when the typewriter grows fangs
and threatens to swallow everything i am
if i don’t put a name to the feeling. even the dog’s
tail does not wag. he keeps watching the door.
he will not even touch his food until the sun has
set as deep as possible. he is giving you every
chance to come back.
i try to tell him there’s no use,
that you will never come back.
but dogs don’t understand things like that,
don’t believe in the concept of ‘never come back’.
they believe in the sound of a key turning a lock
and the inevitable stomping of feet on the welcome mat
no matter how many times they’ve heard
the car engine start and the crunch of gravel as it pulls away.
2. this must be what missing you feels like.
i have lived lifetimes in the minutes i keep breathing.
i keep breathing. this is an accompl
a litany of things better left unknownI wonder if we had a time machine, how many people
would go back in time and how many people would go forward,
and if that would say anything about us or not. I know
some people are afraid of the butterfly effect: when I was
eight, a girl named Alexis stopped me from a catching
a monarch, told me I wouldn’t like the way I looked
if I had its colors dusting my skin.
I wonder if God ever stands in front of a mirror
and realizes how amazing it is that He can see Himself
when millions of people would kill to be able to.
I wonder if vampires ever get lonely when
they’re sleeping and if they ever get
self-conscious because they can’t see themselves
in a mirror. I wonder if vampires ever ask people if they’re
pretty. I wonder if God thinks He’s pretty
or if pretty’s just a human-made concept and Moses has never
had to look God in the face and say, “People love You—
that’s all that matters.”
I wonder if you can lie in heaven. I wonder
violatedsaying no applies to
drugs: never boys. do not
say no to boys, they will tear out
your heart and leave your rib cage
jagged and broken, a gaping mouth
screaming its violation. they
will take your tongue, too, take away
your voice until all they can read
is yes in your actions.
this is not
this is a simple fact: do not say no to boys.
it is not in your right to deny them.
let them see the ocean of your body, let
them widen the cracks in your sidewalks,
let them warm themselves over the fire in your eyes,
until they decide to suffocate it.
do not say no, even when you are so destroyed that
your hands shake at night, holding your car keys between
your fingers like a gun with an unclear target.
even when you cannot go outside of your room:
the grass between your toes feels too much like
hades’ hands reaching for persephone, the sun’s shadow
haunting you across the concrete feels too much
like apollo relentlessly chasing after daphne.
do not say no, even when y
.i know an angel
tired of holding
up his halo, says
he's thinking of
trading it in for
(and i'd do the same but the boss says, you're not goin' anywhere bitch)
exit stage leftif this were a movie, this would be the moment
i break down crying in your arms and i tell you
every little thing about myself that i’ve learned
to hate at four in the morning when i wake up
and ask myself why i’m still alone and you would piece my world
back together with your hands and a simple phrase and i would
no longer want to cry all the damn time and i would
want to leave the house and actually end up leaving the house
and if this were a movie that would be the climax and
that would be the ending scene, us
falling to the ground, me in your arms,
me with my make up running, me thanking god
that i met you, you holding me, you pressing your face to my
hair, you thanking god that you were able to get to me in time
and if this were a movie you would hold my hand
through turning off ovens and locking
the backdoor at night and you would cook dinner on the nights that
i can’t get out of the bedroom and you would eventually figure
out not to worry about me when i
I’ve always wanted a boyfriend
I could watch porn with
and drink straight vodka with
until we’re too drunk to know
who took who
I’ve always wanted a boyfriend
I could ride
without feeling embarrassed
that there’s a freckle on my breast;
a boyfriend who could make me fall in love
with his eyelashes
when they’re wet with tears,
with his breakdowns and daydreams
and every honest, vulnerable little thing.
I’ve always wanted a boyfriend
who could make me believe in God
because miracles were real
and I didn’t need evolution anymore
I didn’t need to believe
that things were destined
to change –
that I didn't want them to change.
(I just wanted it to be perfect.)
You called me heroin
because you were addicted.
“You ruined my life,” you’d say,
drinking straight out the bottle.
You never drank with me,
so I always knew it was you
who was too drunk
to get my je
sempiternali saw you today, for the first time in months.
i admit, it took me a few seconds to remember
all the words to the song you played on repeat in
your car, the one you couldn’t sing with open eyes.
the music used to come so easily to me,
but when i saw you today, i could only remember
the chorus, and it stuttered its way through my head
over and over again. for the life of me, i don’t know
what comes next.
i have spent years picking up the pieces of you
that you left behind, years spent memorizing
the echo of your heartbeat and the rhythm of
your breaths. your favorite color is purple.
you like sunflowers, autumn, and the creek
that flows behind your house. you like movies
and popcorn, you like ferris wheels and candy apples.
you love your mother and miss your father. you’re
afraid of alcohol and terrified of yourself. there
was a point in my life when i thought maybe i’d
be able to grow old next to you.
i know it’s stupid, but i’m afraid of not knowing
suicidal.it’s like she’s toeing the edge of a cliff and
she’s smiling and she’s deadly
and you’re standing too far back to save her
and it’s just too late because she’s about
if you want a list of reasons not to commit suicide,
here it is.
1. you have two dogs that will miss you.
they were wagging their tails and smiling
last night when they took you to the hospital
and i couldn’t find the words to tell them
that they should be quiet.
2. you have a car that you cried when you got
and you roll the windows down and blast music
whenever you pick me up from school
and i’m sorry i never sang along, but this is just to say
that you have things that still make you feel alive.
3. you have a sister that is nice about fifteen percent of the time
and loves you the rest of it. trust me, she does.
she does not remember the last time she hugged you
but she wrote about you when her teacher asked her
who her hero was.
4. mom should