he may say that he loves you
but does he know to be fragile
with your glass bones
and porcelain skin
like i do?
does he know about your
apathetic words
and to trust the look in your eyes
more than the syllables from your lips
anyone can proclaim their love
just because they may be infatuated
by your beauty
but no one can understand the pattern
at which you think
and love you
like i can
Snow Globe
Some people are going to treat you like a snow globe
and keep you on a shelf
and take you down only to shake you up
and watch what falls.
So break your glass
and let yourself pour out
and choose not to be so fragile.
Tip over the aquarium they keep you in
and seep into the ground
and grow flowers.
Evaporate into the clouds—
that high—
you’ll see more than a plastic house
where the snow is just paint
and the white-coated trees don’t grow or breathe—
let yourself fall in drops
and know you’ll be lifted up again.
we’ve never kissed but when we do
it’ll be more than the press of your lips to mine
;
it’ll me showing you all
the nights i’d miss you in my sleep and wake
with drying tracks on my cheeks and my breath
caught in my throat.
i’d let you swallow it all down
along with the breaths you’d
steal from my lips wide open.
Don't panic.
Don’t panic.
Words flow from the fingers
of people who refuse
to believe the world
is flat.
We accept the love we think
we deserve, but only
because we know
nothing else except
false dreams and harsh
realities.
But I refuse to believe that
only the beautiful
people fall in love;
I refuse to believe that
a model is worth
more love than a poet
who will remember the
little details.
So I will wait for the
day that my other half has
finally found me, and
I will continue to write,
hoping that they
know who I am.
High School Didn't Prepare Me for This
I.
Will you miss me
when I leave?
Will you toss and
turn in your sleep?
II.
In your dreams,
you’ll say everything
you were too shy to say,
and in mine,
I fear you’ll push
me away.
III.
I wanted to fall in love,
but I fell into confusion,
and you can’t be a winner
when all you know is losing.
IV.
Please remind yourself
to keep in touch,
because remember
we were supposed
to fall in love.
V.
(Come on, babe,
we’re late.)
One Size Fits Most
We stood shielded by trumpet vines
with orange blossoms
facing the sunset behind the pine trees
of my childhood home—
and no scenery could be more romantic.
But you pull me in
and I pull away
and think of him
and realize I only know my love
by your love.
And he knows his lack of love
by my love.
So I draw on yours for now
and he draws on mine
and we are a chain of those
loved and
unloved.
A vine of flowers and pulled petals:
he loves me,
he loves me not.
We are not shoes with a perfect match—
we are not made in pairs
We are not looking for our other halves.
We wear each other like bracelets—
one size fits most
and carry each other in the links;
a little tighter doesn’t always cut circulation,
a little looser doesn’t always slip off.
Like the Sun Loves the Earth
I used to be okay with loving like the moon
loves the earth
238,900 miles away
around and around.
And then I felt the thousands of telescopes on me
and I thought I needed to be held all the time,
but when I crashed into someone’s arms
I’ve always left craters and rubble.
I never knew my own size—my own weight.
I never knew the impact I left.
I was a meteor but I wasn’t beautiful—
I carried a tail of sparks and destruction
like tin cans on strings hung from my back bumper
without ever looking back
and I always left the wedding leaving him standing alone.
All the stargazers left me narcissistic
and I thought I made my own light—
but I was just rock borrowing sunlight.
Now I want to love like the sun loves the earth
and lend my warmth and light and ask for nothing back again.
I’m okay with feeling the fireflies flitter inside my belly
knowing you feel nothing at all.
I want to feel the heat in my cheeks
even if yours are cool.
I don’t want to revolve around you though.
I can bear this one-sided love of a planet
but I’ll stand still
—no more chasing.
Maybe to shine like the sun you need to be humbled—
and rejected by earth.
All the eyes can admire the moon
that borrows the silent shimmer of the sun—
but no eyes turn to stare down the actual star
—direct sunlight scars.
Ghost Heart
When things end sometimes your heart
doesn’t know to stop climbing
and even when your lips stop kissing it lifts up into your throat,
out your mouth and just keeps going—weightless—empty—
and you walk around like a battle-beaten soldier with a ghost limb.
You forget momentarily
and try to use your heart before remembering it’s not there anymore.
You feel pain coming from empty space.
When someone with flecks of green in his eyes
brushes your hand with his hand,
you expect it to beat faster,
but there is no beat beneath your skin.
When things end sometimes your lips don’t know
there’s no one to speak to anymore.
So you try to bite them down—beat them down,
and suck into your mouth like a suction cup.
You want to swallow them whole
because there’s no one left to listen to your I miss you’s or I’m sorry’s.
When things end sometimes your mind slips
and forgets you can’t just call and hear their voice.
You want to tell them they were wrong and stupid
and then you want to tell them
that you saw the first fireflies of the season
driving down a back road belting out Avicii beats because you had no words
but still everything felt magical
and the pancakes you made caught fire on the skillet
and you blew and blew like you had to blow out a million birthday candles
all for just one wish
and you got a new nail polish color—“New Money”—it’s bright green—
you want to tell them that you want them to see it on you
and you want to tell them to look out the window
and ask them if the sky looks just as beautiful where they are
as it does where you are
and you want to tell them you hate them
and you want to tell them you love them
and then you try to feel it
and remember your heart’s way up in space.
And you feel the emptiness
and you feel the gravity that your heart doesn’t.
It just drifts
helplessly, unreachably
like a lost astronaut.
So you hope the sun pulls it in—
you hope it catches fire—
that it becomes its own star.
So when you feel your ghost heart—you feel brighter.
You feel weighted—powerful enough to emit your own gravitational pull
and reel it back into you
with hook and fishing wire.
