MIDNIGHT

I hope you remember me
in the midnights of yourself,
in the ten half moons that
cupped my face and confessed
your love for me on the
last Sunday of April.

How unpleasant it has been,
to only be seen by you when
the Sun has set and Nyx has
stained your vision with her poison.

Even at our best, it was always
with the help of another woman
that you saw my worth,
however temporarily.

I am beautiful too,
you know,
in the vulnerable streams of
daylight, the muted mixture of
sunshine particles and
exhaled pixie dust.

I am magic—
a witch, a deity, and a minx,
yanking oceans with the
center of my own gravity,
undoing the shackles you have
clasped around my ankles
just because I can. 

i wonder

i wonder, how often do you think of me?

is it every time you breathe and my mouth is not there to inhale a small sliver of your soul?

or is it every time you look up and your gaze is not met with my eyelashes brushing gently against your cheek?

or maybe it is every time your lips curl up into a smile and there is no one there to laugh at your crooked teeth.

or perhaps it is every time you furrow your brow in frustration and i am not there to smoothen your forehead with a kiss.

i wonder, do you even notice that i am no longer there?

or if when you breathe now, your lungs flutter with sighs of relief.

or if when you look up, all you see is clarity where mist once clouded your judgment -- your every thought.

or if when every time you smile, it is of release and of the realization that this is what you've always wanted -- to be alone.

or if when you furrow your brow, it is in genuine confusion as to why it took you so long to get here.

i wonder, how often do you regret the life i so terribly miss?

7/18/16, 4:30pm

You loved me like the monsoon loved the insignificant suburban town at mid afternoon in the heart of July. A sudden, steady intensity, a deliberate, blinding love, with thousands of droplets roaring the same simple promise of Forever. Thick with the heat of passion, dense with the sanctity of happy ever after. The world turns white, contained in a violent storm of Now. We are encapsulated in the fervor of Eternity, never wavering under the pillars of thundercloud strength.

I cannot see anything but this moment, you and I, our hearts beating in time to the brutal pitter patter of downpour. Time has stopped as we breathe to the rhythm of the growling grey skies, and of each other. I am suffocated by the humidity of your words, yet I grapple to breathe in more. I struggle to remember a life outside of this propitious, silver whirlwind. I don’t think I want to.

We could have only been evoked by a rain dance, the final resort of a man desperate for love. The universe has worked so hard for us to be, yet in an instant, we are gone—you, are gone. The trees have surrendered their wooden thrones, and the sidewalks guiltily reek of a damp, forgotten romance. Zeus watches, mouth agape, bewildered and inexplicably wounded. When the Sun finally reveals itself again, we dazzle in the specks of flint sparking in the concrete, begging to be remembered. The storm has passed, and nothing is the same.

Replies of Chloride

It makes me wonder

With every bitter word you say to me now

If the love I poured into your soul

Still burns on your tongue

With the pungent aftertaste 

Of defeat and loss and deliberate departure

And if

With every word I say back to you

Snide remarks made of useless blades

Dulled by the numbing pain of goodbye

The hairs still stand on the back of your neck

Like the first time I ever told you I loved you

Or if we’ve gotten rid of it all

and bleached each other out

stains of Love on our white satin solitude

Immune to the harshness of our voices

Raw with anger and the unspoken truth

That this wasn’t how it was supposed to end.

76 Framed

I look through the photographs of you and me

And my soul aches for that time

When I was yours and you were mine

But not for the reasons that you may think

I ache for a time where belief was alive

and Love rang through the air

a poignant blanket draped across the city

tucking our troubles away into a lullaby

warming our chilled hearts with the hum of forever

I ache for a time where all I could grieve

was the thought that we were not doing enough

with the magic that radiated in the spaces between our fingers

meandering through our bloodstreams

nestling its way gently between the tiny gaps of

I 

Love 

You

I ache for when I could see an entire lifetime in your eyes

and every crinkle and grayness was a sign

of strength and the pillars of our everlasting love

Stood tall with certainty and ambition

I ache for the nights where you would hold me

and the darkness would swallow us whole 

summersaulting with passion... and faith.. and trust

and the silences pulled us closer in a solemn hymn of eternity

I look through the photographs of you and me

and I fear that I will never be able to feel that deeply ever again

that I have grown numb to the mysteries of Love

and willingly turn a blind eye to all She has to offer

My soul aches for a time that is trapped in pictures

A time that cannot be replicated with lovers whose hearts are housed in the future

A depth that puts the endless secrets of the oceans to shame

A bountifulness that makes Eve wish she had not fall victim to that moment of fate

There have been fables

and there have been tales
told by our ancestors
and homeless men on the street

warning us not to fall

not to surrender

and feel it all

Because nothing will ever prepare you
for the self destruction

and the pity

and the pain that comes along

with knowing that something 

so overwhelmingly brilliant

can be yours

only to be felt once

and suddenly,
never at all.

It's All Fun and Games

Your NFL team won tonight, and I couldn’t help but smile and congratulate you in my head. Smile about your adamant belief that if you wear their jersey five minutes before the end of the game, you’ll help them win. Smile about how hard you kissed me when they did. Smile about how when I asked you why you root for them when you’ve never even been to Colorado, you replied that as a little kid, you liked the colors of their uniforms: a vibrant orange and a navy blue. And it just stuck. Now you’re theirs forever.

I’ll let you in on a secret: I’m jealous of them.

Because somehow, falling asleep in each other’s arms every Sunday night turned out to be a ritual far too difficult and complicated to follow. Somehow, kissing me with other eyes watching became too strange. Somehow, even though you swore that the color of my boring brown eyes is your favorite, you’ve decided that you’re tired of looking into them. Somehow, it’s easier to commit to a bunch of burly men who have no idea you exist than to a girl who has forgotten what it’s like to exist without you.

Remember When?

Booze, buzz, and sticky floors

You love me but I love you more

Dressed up like the adults we pretend to be,

But we’re just children, you and me.

Darkened room and tortured heat

The last thing I want is to admit defeat 

You say you can’t, so I say I will

That’s what you do for love, yourself you kill

Tiny buttons and silver doors

Who would’ve known what was in store?
I loved you most, that I know

Because it were you, you wouldn’t have let me go.

We had so much more of us ahead,

At least the next four is what you said.

But then you realized that we weren’t that strong,

That a love like this couldn’t last that long

We built a life we thought we’d live together

Silly us, to even think of believing in forever

Now we know to take a closer look

Reality: It never happens like it does in the books.

You were my prince, I thought you knew

But even that was never good enough for you.

You never stopped to think or even second guess

What would become of such a mess.

I thought I lost my lifelong friend,

But you were just a lesson to be learned—a generous lend

And now I’m just left to pretend 

That you are more than just a “Remember when?”

2:30 AM Thoughts

Someday, when all your dreams have come true and you've gotten everything you've ever wanted out of this life, I hope you remember that there was one you left behind, deliberately abandoned in the back alleyways of your mind, like an unfinished sentence or a half-eaten slice of bread. I hope you dig deep within the sandpits of your soul and uncover the entire existence we made together, like opening up a box of distance memories filled with half-ripped, faded photographs. I hope you remember everything we thought we'd be and the life we so naively built together when we were eighteen and didn't know any better. I hope your eyes fill with the same tears I cried every night for months on end, and your lungs cave in from the weight of the regret you've been trying so hard not to feel every day since that crisp November morning when you so wrongly decided which dreams were worth turning into reality.

Where You'll Find Us

You will find us in strange places and tight spaces.

You will find us in between your couch cushions

and behind cartons of freshly bought milk.

You will find us under piles of paper on your messy desk

and the coin compartment of your first self-bought car.

You will find us in the back corner of your medicine cabinet

and beneath the box of winter sweaters in your bedroom closet.

Like gum wrappers that were never thrown out

and spare change that was too heavy for your pocket.

Like a half eaten sandwich re-wrapped for later

and an unfinished cup of earl grey tea.

Like a crumpled up sticky note with a helpful reminder

and an old grocery list for a big family dinner.

This is where you’ll find us.

This is what we’ve become.

The Next Time Around

Maybe it’ll be better the next time around.

Because we’ll have grown into the people were were destined to be—- it’ll be so deeply rooted in our souls that even the strongest wind won’t be able to shake it.

And we’ll have grown into our skin and known what it’s like to fit into it perfectly, all on our own, without having to feel like we’re missing a limb whenever we’re apart.

And we’ll have known what it’s like to breathe without our lungs intertwined in our chests and our legs in the sheets and for the first time we will breathe fresh air that is not polluted by toxic love.

And we’ll have seen ourselves in the mirror for who we really are, and stared at reflections that are only ours, not yours and mine or mine and yours.

We’ll be whole, and we’ll be ready, and we’ll be better.

Because we must find peace as two before we can find peace as one.

At least that’s what I’d like to believe about the next time around. 

Everything He

I.

He was strong in the way that he carried me into his bedroom every night, like a bride and groom on their honeymoon

But he was weak in the way that he didn't know the weight of the words he had spoken much too soon

II.

He kissed me with the taste of forever on his lips and  "I love you" on the tip of his tongue

But he touched me in a way that he wouldn't ask me to stay if I ever decided to run

III.

I wanted so bad to live life knowing that I'd never have to live it without him again

But he wanted so bad to live life on his own, and that was our tragic “The End.”

Maybe

We were the best

Because feet freak me out a lot

And you always made sure to have socks on when we went to bed

Maybe.

We were the best

Because sometimes you forgot to eat breakfast

And I knew that anything and chocolate milk was the way to go

Maybe.

We were the best

Because at night when I cried about the little things

You were there to cup my face and wipe my eyes

Maybe.

We were the best

Because I couldn’t swim to save my life

And you were all but a fish, and a fighter one, at that

Maybe. 

We were the best

Because biology just never made sense to me

And you had a strange love for science that I’ll never understand

Maybe.

It was for the best

Because I don’t know a single country song

And you’re well on your way to becoming the next country star

Maybe.

It was for the best

Because New York City makes you nervous

And I was born in the heart of its busy streets

Maybe.

It was for the best

Because you know you want to go to medical school

And I know that four years is a very, very long time

Maybe. 

It was for the best

Because we both love sleep way too much

And can never get up earlier than noon on any given Sunday

Maybe.

It was for the best

Because you insisted on growing out your beard

And it tickled every time we kissed

Maybe.

It was for the best

Because you hate it when people talk during movies

And I have too many questions spinning around in my mind to keep quiet

But maybe we were the best

And all these bullshit excuses

Are just a way to make it out to ourselves

That maybe, just maybe, it really was for the best

The Problem with Naming Your Theoretical Children on a Drunken Friday Night

The problem with naming your theoretical children on a drunken Friday night isn't that they might not be pretty enough, or that you might not remember how to spell them right on their birth certificates when the time comes, or even that they might be in the Top 5 Most Common Baby Names in America. It's that now, you have full responsibility over those little named rascals, because before, they were just this idea, this possibility, and now, they're the real deal: all six of them. 

And now you both have to pick favorites, and sides, and decide the colors of their bedroom walls and who has to sleep in the same room as who. And who's going to get up at 3am tonight to feed them because you did it last night and he promised, but he's really tired from work and says he'll make up for it tomorrow night. And whether Phil is going to play football like his uncle or swim like his dad, and whether Becca is going to do ballet like she wants to or gymnastics like all the other girls at school. My loves, do what you love because nothing else will make you happier: not money, not fame, not anything at all.

And now you have to teach them how to share and say please and thank you, and that it's not okay to eat in church, but here's a bag of Cheerios Kate, sweetheart, just please stay quiet for the next hour or so, and Matt, please stop pulling on your sister's hair. And how you can only have cookies from the cookie jar after dinner, and even then you can only have one. And how 5 x 2 is 10 but 5 to the power of 2 is a whole 'nother thing, which is 25 by the way. But don't be too hard on yourself, because mistakes are okay and you are so much more than just a test grade.

And before you know it they'll be falling in love just like you two did on an elevator that first day of college way back when, and suddenly they'll be saying they don't need you anymore. And here come the dates and the curfews and the tears-- oh, the tears! And Addie swears she'll never find anyone ever again but honey you will, I promise you, you will, just give it some time.

And then before you know it they'll be getting  married and you'll be giving them away, and then it'll just be you two again. Because everyone has moved to other states to start lives of their own and you'll just be those old folks in some picture frames in their living rooms. And you'll be sitting on the back porch on a Sunday evening watching the sunset with a couple of drinks in hand, thinking to yourselves, "When did this all happen?"

And then you'll remember it was when you decided to name your theoretical children on a drunken Friday night, just the two of you alone in the dark, in your poster-filled dorm room. It was when you were wondering if you'd had too much to drink or if the warm feeling inside your chest was because of the way he was looking at you. It was when he said he loved you for the first time and you believed him, and oh sweetheart, it's okay that you did; I would have too. It was when you didn't know better because you're still learning, still growing, still hurting; but I promise you dear, it's why you're here.

Junior Year

I bit his lip

and filled his mouth

with my girlish laughter

because I was thinking
of the last word I said

before he planted
his boyish kiss on me:

Schizophrenia.

And I thought to myself,

wrapped in the unjustified murky air

of my parents' newly renovated basement,

Could I be schizophrenic?

Or maybe I had multiple personality disorder;

all the crazies melted into one big psychotic mess

on the glossy textbook page anyway.

 

Because this isn't me,

the girl laying
on the one-star quality mattress,

with his fingers
expertly unhooking my bra

and my amateur hand

trailing down the inside of his pants,

his zipper chipping away

at the $10 manicure I got last Wednesday.

This isn't me,

the girl drinking stale beer

in the back of a rundown Irish shack,

watching him empty
his confidence-infused brains

into a garbage can twice his size,

letting him nuzzle my neck

even though he reeked

of last night's home cooked dinner

and today's early lunch.

 

No.

 

No thank you,

this is just a version of me,

a deluded,
affection-hungry one;

the shell that was left
after you pushed me

out of our perfect nest,

with so much haste and fervor

that a few twigs made the trip down with me.