keys

in

Remember when you lost your keys?
I wouldn’t look for the damn things
and your frustration honed in on me.

It wasn’t about the keys,
the first on today’s list of annoyances.
Yet somehow, it’s always about everything.

I don’t know where you dropped your keys.
I don’t know why she took your dog.
I don’t know why she chose her dreams.
I might know why you’re falling apart,
but that isn’t only because of me.

Do you expect me to solve everything?

Resigned and out of time,
you stormed out and slammed the door
before a quiet sunshine trickled through.

I found the answer
in the unchecked pocket of your favorite jacket,
the one you rarely wore,
afraid you might ruin it too.

Nothing I do will ever erase that fear embedded in you.

apartment windows

in

You got a text,
she'd be up in a few.
We’re friends, right?
She’s met me before,
why didn’t you want her to see me too?  

You said it’d be quick,
your closed curtains concealed me on your balcony.

I count the cars that drive by,
instead of passing seconds.
I look for animals in the clouds,
avoiding highlights of your conversation. 

I am naïve.

You still want her messes,
a desperate performance
juggling your loyalty and desperation. 

Apartment windows watch me.

Should I wait for a cue?
Should I make a grand entrance and declare you the fool?
If she believes you,
she's one too.  

I rush in onto an empty stage,
we avoid each other’s eyes,
spotlights of our burning shame.

I shouldn’t have stayed.
I shouldn’t have come.
I shouldn’t have been so dumb.  

We aren’t friends,
but neither are the two of you.

halloween

in

Halloween.
Perfect for pretending like I’m not
heartbroken and
dramatic and
sad.  

I’ll even wear a garbage bag.
If anyone asks,
I’m trash—ed.  

It’s funnier when I’m drunk.

At your party,
filled with strangers, your friends,
we pretend we’re already friends.
That’s why I’m here, right?
Because we’re friends?  

Drink secured in my hand,
I pretend your misplaced hand
doesn’t guide your intentions.
I drink in the festivities.
I join in the revelry.
I lie to myself a little more.  

Morning comes.

Your friends discard their costumes,
then me along with your candy wrappers.
My plastic wrap still intact.

Done with masks and charades,
you admit you wanted something more,
while being less than friends.

Your honesty should have stung,
but your dismissal is close to my truth.
I would have given something more,
just to feel less.

All you had to do was ask.

sun shine

in

No one volunteers to hold up the sky,
to drag the sun from east to west,
to catch the moon in webs of starlight,
to hurl planets across the universe’s expanse.

Tasks to humble arrogant gods,
but far too much for our mortal husks. 

No man alone can make the earth spin,
so why am I tasked with making your sun shine?

girl of my dreams

in

There once was a girl in my dreams,
a pretty, nimble, little thing.
No matter how fast or far,
she always slipped away from me.  

I followed her melodious laugh,
longing to respond.
Her eyes echoed moonlight,
like ripples in a pond.
She glided past so airily,
all the way to dawn. 

I haven’t seen her since something changed in you.

When she tiptoed across our pillow
and into our room,
did the girl of my dreams become yours too?

phoenix curse

in

Would you approve of my choices,
whenever you were?
Never mind,
I knew you didn’t. 

Yet,
I silently pled for permission.
I spun countless lies of omission.
The truth never made a difference.
You slipped in and out of focus,
Your disapproval haunts me from a distance.

When I asked for your company,
for you to abandon your monotony,
you said no every time.
When smoke slips from your lips,
I fade away before your next hit.  

When we occupy space and time
in the same sober frame of mind,
we fight and I cry and you turn into stone.
Incensed by my damp eyes,
you light your matches for our funeral pyre.

I pray that this fire would be our demise
so you can chase your precious highs
so I can stop weaving flimsy lies. 

When the fire dies from our tears or lack of fuel,
we resurrect ourselves from the ashes,
our phoenix curse renewed.

the world isn’t awake

in

The world isn’t awake yet,
just us.
No clinking cups or muffled steps,
only our beating hearts and even breaths.

Come a little closer.
These borrowed sheets aren’t big enough.
I’ll wrap you up in my arms
and let your hands slip into mine.
I’ll share my warmth with you,
even if your feet are cold. 

I don’t mind.

Let’s watch the clouds hide the sun,
extending our precious night.

Windows wide open,
morning creeps in,
colors swirl on your sheets,
transforming from lilac to pink. 

Let’s make our way to the door slowly,
squeeze a few more seconds from this in-between space,
before it’s time for me to leave. 

The morning is different.

A gentle kiss on my forehead
a deeper one on my lips.
You won’t ask me to stay,
but you won’t let me go.

Please.
Ask me to stay.

I won’t ask for anything more.

these three words

in

These three words
are thick
and sweet
and foreign.

I roll them in my mouth,
trying to separate this strange syrup from myself.

They trap my tongue
seize control of my lips.
I whisper them,
hoping to release their pressure,
but they never give.

I swallow them before they stain my face with a smile.

My body heaves,
I let this sweetness eat my insides,
too much to keep in,
too terrible to let out. 

I’m not ready to say it
I’m not ready to mean it…
                                         and yet?

curtains

in

Your curtains guard us against the approaching day.
Hold me in that warm and tentative silence
while our magic fades with the night.

Let’s wait for clicking coffee cups and
the creaking doors of a rising house. 
If I stifle my laughter,
they won’t know you’re awake.

If anyone comes in,
I’ll be an anonymous back,
a secret hidden in your sheets.

They don’t know I’m here,
they’ll never guess it was me. 

This morning is slipping away
and we’re breaking with it.
Will you think of me?
Even as the empty space in your bed? 

I already know the answer to that,
but will you be kind to me in your goodbye?
Please?

I won’t ask for anything more.

restlessness, recklessness

in

Your restlessness.
My recklessness.
Stormy nights and mountain drives? 

Perfect.

We trade questions about our quirks,
I tease your serial forgetfulness.
Thunder shakes the car,
our laughter is stronger.

A sputtering soon joins us.

Is it the transmission?
Maybe the engine?
It’s a poorly timed joke
halfway up any mountain. 

We can’t stop now.

You chuckle.
One hand tightly clutches the stick shift,
the other grips the wheel.
I sense your worry
as we travel the line
between danger and death. 

Our adventure meets an unexpected end
in a valley filled with temples and dead men.

Please,
don’t apologize while you call your friend
to rescue us from our failed attempt
to combat your loneliness.

Silence,
punctuated by hardened rain,
reveals the source of your dilemma:

A battle between the guilt of joy
and the burden of surviving.

girl of your dreams

in

Between morning-after kisses,
a bare-faced confession:

You’re the girl of my dreams. 

I craved those words. 
They made me
better than the other girls.
I’d do anything to get my fix of it
to keep them from the rest of you. 

Come over before midnight,
leave before mid-morn.
Anything to hear them again,
anything for my fill of you.

I should have known,
those words came with a caveat.
A crushing realization
that sent me crashing to the earth,
before shackling me to the ground. 

When you said those words,
you meant I shouldn’t have any.

mother’s day

in

I woke up with you on Mother’s Day,
all I could think was, “What would mine say?”
Yours?

An ocean away.

I laughed at you in this queen-sized bed,
basking in the glow of our sins,
watching the sunlight trickle in,
tickling your feet dangling over its ledge. 

Your phone rang:
Mom 

“Why didn’t you call, it’s almost noon.”
I watched you shrink from six feet to two,
your feet frozen over the ledge,
her baby boy’s tanned skin burning red. 

This bed is too small for the two of us.
This room is too cramped with the three of us.
She knows why you didn’t call before noon,
but your conversation has nothing to do with us. 

I tried to sneak out
but you grabbed my hand.
You kissed it,
then asked,
“Could I see you again?” 

I’m sure my mom would have lots to say,
if she knew where I woke up today.

can we talk

in

can we talk

no period?
no urgency
all lowercase
casual
like you and me 

if this is about switching shifts,
just say that
if it’s about the other night
i promise i’ll pay you back
we aren’t an us
so this isn’t that kind of talk

unless

you want something else,
something more, not less
i’m not sure want that
but
i could be convinced 

i like to read
but never between the lines
seriously.
who sends a text like that? 

but worse,
how do i answer it?


 

first hint to drop

in

We spend nights in your room waiting for the first hint
                                                                                          to
                                                                                              drop.

phone
glasses
dress
jeans 

my guard.
your reservations.

My fingers wound up in your curls.
Tell me what you want,
breathless,
I’ll whisper my own desire.  

Our mouths, greedy,
Our hands, greedier. 

My skin, raw from stubble and teeth.
Yours, marked where my nails sank in.

A secret passed between our hips.
A secret sealed by our swollen lips.
A secret held as we fell asleep,
surrounded by the soft scent of your lavender shampoo.