I want to love a thunderstorm -
an angry boy with thunder in his eyes,
cut glass teeth and a lightning bolt tongue
that sparks a fire in my veins
with every tumultuous kiss.
Or perhaps a boy with wildfire
flickering in his eyes. With smoke that billows
from the corners of his smirk,
and spills into the capacity
of my unassuming lungs.
Or maybe he’ll be a hurricane -
gentle at first, then crashing
and engulfing,
and capturing my seashell heart
in all his saltwater love.
(d.s.)
Between You and Me.
I.
“Is your name spelled with one n or two?”
We collided while climbing the
stairs at the same
time.
“Do you want one of my beers?”
Two chairs turned to face
each other, your hands on your
thighs, fingers tapping.
“Do you want to sleep out here, or in my room?”
The first kiss, your tongue was
curious, and your breath was
warm.
“Did you know William S. Burroughs shot his wife
while playing William Tell?”
We were walking into a restaurant and
you accidentally kicked my shin
when we sat down.
“Can I fuck you here?”
We were wet and the hot water was
running out and you came without
telling me first.
“Just calm down, I love you, okay?”
Taxis passed and the rain slapped
your face and I wanted to run
but I held your hand instead.
“I wish you’d stop acting so fucking crazy.”
I ripped every shirt off every hanger and
swung the front door wide open when
I left.
“I’d give anything for you to come back.”
I came back I came back I came back and
nothing changed at all except your hands
on me were never so soft.
II.
“Two n’s.”
Wobbly knees and shaking hands
and a smirk or two in
your direction.
“Do you like Brand New?”
I sipped on your cheap beer
and wondered what color
your eyes were exactly.
“Give me some blanket.”
I did not sleep that entire night
because I was afraid of closing my
eyes.
“Did you know Sylvia Plath killed herself with her
children asleep in the next room?”
You didn’t order anything and picked
all of the fries off of my
plate.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
You paid for the morning after pill
but I had to catch three buses
to get it.
“What did you say?”
I should have said I love you I love you
I love you and I should have kept
loving you.
“I wish you actually gave a fuck about me.”
I know where I went that night and I
know what I did and I don’t know
if I’d change it if I could.
“If I leave this time, I can’t come back.”
There are 842 miles between us
but the distance is not what
keeps us apart.
You can have my lazy afternoons,
My sips of tea,
The steam curling from my mug.
You can have a few laughs,
A hug that lasts
Longer than necessary,
A kiss
Or two
Or four.
Take my early mornings,
When I am still
Rubbing the sleep
From my eyes.
Lay with me on sun-burnt grass,
You can have those days
Where the sun is so bright
I think it will never set.
You can have my fingers
In your hair.
You can have my spine
In your hands.
Here, I will give you
The way I smile
With both sides of my mouth
When you make me
Especially happy.
You can have my mix-tapes,
The bucket of shells
I collected one summer
When I was young,
My favorite books
With the important parts highlighted.
You can have every song
I ever cried to,
Every star
I ever wished on,
Every daisy I ever
Wove into a bracelet
Around my wrist.
You can have me.
You can have almost
All of me.
But you can not have
My two AM’s,
My shaking nights,
My scary dreams.
Because, dear,
I am saving those
For someone
Who loves me back.
How to be Alone
1.
Forget about his hands.
Yes, they are beautiful.
Yes, they are large and strong
and full of callus.
Yes, they made mincemeat
out of you.
2.
Put your bitterness away.
You have carried it around so long
your eyes have turned to brine.
3.
When he tries to welcome himself
into your new apartment, lock the door.
When he tries to welcome himself
into your liquor cabinet, send him home.
When he tries to welcome himself
into your body, call the police.
Tell them this is not his first offense.
4.
Call your mother.
She coughs and sputters and
talks over you. Call her anyway.
Use the telephone connection
like an umbilical cord.
Remember that you are the
only person who knows what her
heart sounds like from the inside.
5.
Go outside.
Eat a picnic of mango
and Dr Pepper.
Allow the heat to melt your
hardness into jelly.
6.
When the shy boy from Apartment B
asks you out to dinner, say yes.
Order anything but salad.
Kiss him goodnight.
Say thank you.
7.
Read the books on the living room
shelf, and the ones in the closet,
and the ones under your bed.
Lose yourself in things other than
a stranger’s mouth.
8.
Adopt a cat.
9.
When your friends complain
that you are anti-social,
draw the blinds, put your phone
on silent, cocoon yourself in
blankets and drink hot chocolate.
Enjoy every minute of it.
10.
Sleep in as long as you want,
but still leave time for painting.
Leave time for being productive.
11.
Learn to love yourself
like it is the hardest math equation
you’ve ever been asked to solve.
12.
Learn to love yourself like
no one will ever do it any better.
No one will.
Lately, I’ve been breathless.
I spend my time somewhere
between suffocation and
“This should suffice…”
My lungs are not quite full,
Yet not quite hollow, still
Contracting, still expanding,
Still trying, desperately,
to filter through the haze of
smoke and mirrors surrounding
my heart. Save me
from this spool of yarn,
knotted, twisted, unnatural,
before they stand in line
to tighten the noose
that I’ve placed upon my neck.
I simply forgot that jewelry
is seldom made of rope.
reasons why I am a shitty best friend:
I haven’t told my best friend
about all the boys I’ve slept with
or how much her boyfriend bothers me
and I think she deserves so much better than him
and she doesn’t know that my scars aren’t fading
but growing
she doesn’t know I went to the hospital because I stopped eating
and I keep my cigarette stash a secret from her
because her father is a smoker
and I know she disapproves
and sometimes I don’t reply to her text messages
because I know she’ll know something is wrong
but she’s still my best friend
and I know she’d still be my best friend if I told her all of this
but sometimes it’s easier to keep things a secret
