Me Finding You.
this is nothing more than the silly fluttering of an equally silly heart.
this is my tongue tripping on the truth and my trembling fingers clawing at my arm trying to get rid of the heart bleeding on it. this is my teeth clacking together and my emotions knockknockknocking against my ribs so i might please let them out to play.
this is my words getting abandoned in the silences and the pauses swallowing the tension whole. this is using your moss green eyes as a northern star when i’m getting lost in possibilities, using your smile as the curve i rest in when the world’s too much to bear.
this is fighting my own spine to stand up straight when your voice is unwinding my nerves and using my vertebrae as your personal game of jenga. this is allowing you to take small pieces at a time, eroding at my walls until i’m crumpling like origami on your front porch, unwinding to lay helplessly at your feet.
this is day dreaming about nights with you and instead spending them painting your laughter on my ceiling. this is wondering what your mouth tastes like and how your arms feel and if my pulse will pattern yours or if together ours will make a brand new symphony to dance to.
this is burning my past to make room for our future, finally finding something worth believing in. this is waiting for years and being rewarded with your salty kisses at dawn, your calloused fingers on my shoulders, your cheek leaning against mine.
this is hope bleeding into faith.
this is wishes turning into reality.
this is me finally finding you.
Don’t Drag Me Into Love.
i keep choking on saltwater.
with every breath, i’m dragging the seaweed and lies deeper into my lungs. every insecurity is swelling and dancing before me, every flaw magnifying until i can’t see around it. i’m crawling on hands and knees up the beach and coughing up my mistakes, but i can’t stop myself from making another one. i’m sitting with trembling hands, a spinning head and i can’t stop, i just can’t seem to fucking stop.
i’d like to say i’m beautiful, i’d like to say i’m strong, but we know it’s a lie. i’d like to say my mistakes make me endearing, my idiosyncrasies make me charming, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. in reality, i’m insecure and shaking, i’m crashing down the stairs and sobbing against the bloody carpet. i’m trembling and biting my lip, throwing fists against the wall, screaming at the stars as if they have some answer to offer me. i’m begging the moon for salvation as if it’s hidden somewhere beneath the scarred surface.
can’t you see? i’m lost, i’m confused. i’m crumpling against the wall, sliding bonelessly to the floor and not bothering to stand again. i’m disconnecting my head because i can’t bear to look truth in the eye any longer; i’m severing my nerves because i can’t stand to feel this way without reprieve.
my wires are crossed and smoking, my ears are ringing with the echo of a thousand shattered promises. i’ve traveled this road before and i’m still getting lost. i’m still hitting dead ends. sometimes, i see a ray of sunshine before i drown in it. sometimes, i see a pathway before it’s flooded, before the undercurrent drags me straight into the pitch-black.
so, please, take pity; have mercy on this waterlogged heart.
don’t drag me into the undertow just because you know you can.
I Can Fight Gravity.
do you really want to know how i’m feeling?
i’m breathing his name across my pillow every night. i’m sleeping with trembling hands uncurled, wishing only for them to be held against his. my mouth is swollen from biting my lip, the words caged inside, moth-wings fluttering against the back of my throat.
i’m tearing apart dictionaries because none of them have the definition that describes this. i’m throwing the radio through the window because none of the music feels right. my teeth are on edge and i’m on a wire. i’m hanging three hundred feet over a giant ‘x’ that’ll bruise like hell when i swan dive towards it.
and i’m courting dreams that don’t make sense, kicking them down the stairs in the morning and watching them crumple on the floor. because they’re only useful when they’re broken, feeble and silent.
i’m running as fast as i can with blistered feet. if i don’t let this catch me then i can pretend it doesn’t exist.
i’m driving into the night without my headlights on. if i tear off the rearview mirror, then i can close my eyes and pretend i am alone.
i already know that it’s too late for me to outrun it. i can feel it breathing down my neck, i can feel it right behind me. i’m denying its existence with bated breath but i’m fighting a losing battle and my lungs are already deflated.
no matter how hard i bite my tongue, the truth is right there lurking.
no matter how far i run, i’m right where i began.
i can only fight gravity so long.
Selfish Desires.
this isn’t right, but it’s true; this isn’t fair, but it’s honest.
i’ll tell you “i love you” when suns are exploding in our fingertips and the last of the nectar is dripping down the wells of our throats. i’ll whisper it under the covers when our breath is mingling and our skin is a tapestry we’ve been painting all night long.
i’ll find a hundred different ways to let you know. whether it be scrawled on fogged-glass shower walls or sung across hushed, golden car cabins or whispered reverently into your curls late at night. i’ll warm you from the inside out, until fires are burning in your intercostal muscles and galaxies are caught in the fishnet of your lungs.
and you’ll be so caught in the words that you’ll miss the tune. you’ll be so tangled in the sounds and shapes of the confessions that you’ll forget the sinner’s tongue they came from.
i’ll tell you “i love you,” but it will be a lie.
what i won’t say is “i want you,” which is what the truth will be. oh, because you’d much prefer the romantic smear of the lie on the skyline and the oceanic poem washed up on your shore. it’ll be dreamy and starry and the fact that stars burn the palms that try to hold them won’t bother you at all, but, it will bother me.
late at night when you’re sleepy-smiled and curled against me, i will think of the injustice of it all. i will ponder the taste of your heart between my molars and the honey of your innocence binding my tongue. looking down upon you, i’ll want you. i’ll want your drugged kisses and enthusiastic touches. i’ll want your body wrapped around my corpse until i can mimic life again.
i’ll lay two fingers against my breast and mourn the silence of my ribcage. i’ll think of where my love has crawled and died, of the time when i beat the ground with bloody fists and choked up my naivety into cold hands. i’ll stroke your stubbled jaw, trace your lax mouth and wish i had something to give you. wish i wasn’t hollow, echoing the cries of years past. i’ll wish i could reclaim what’s long been given away so you might protect it as i know you would. i’ll wish in vain.
and when you wake, i’ll lie against your lips and whisper “i love you.”
and when you sleep, i’ll lie to myself and say someday i will.
I’d Hate Her If I Could.
anastasia is beautiful in the way of twilight on the rio grande and doves flying from caged fingers.
anastasia is lovely with smoke-grey eyes, black-pearl-hair and a laugh that unfurls like fog. she is cunning with a witty tongue and spends her afternoons pirouetting across sunstruck-wooden-floors. she has a horizon-mouth that’s molded into curved lines around piano-teeth and can make a violin weep with clever fingers.
and i am running late with a coffee stain on my wrinkled shirt and a scar on my bottom lip from putting my nose where it didn’t belong. i am tripping over my own feet and dropping my purse and shoving back my wildly curling hair with dry, calloused hands.
i am here with my too-large mouth asking too many questions and painting the world with just enough cynical humor to make the romanticism shrivel in the corner. i am sitting on the pier but when i’m watching the ocean, i’m not thinking about how it’s turning into rain to splatter on orchids. you used to tease me that under the tough-skin i’m a romantic but we both know my heart bleeds numbers not poetry.
you see it’s true because when i see the ocean, i just see pollution.
and this is the point in time i’d like to remind you that anastasia has a heart as black as her perfect ballet shoes, that her eyes are nothing but smoke and ash and that while she is beautiful, she is cold. but it’s a lie and we both know it.
so when i say ‘may the best woman win your heart,’ i already know who should and who has. she is humble and i am arrogant, she is sweet and i am cursing explicatives under my breath. she is loving you generously while we both know i could never be anything but selfish.
so when i say ‘i deserve you,’ what i mean is ‘i wish i did’ and when i say ‘i could change’ what i mean is ‘but we both know i never will.’ because she is cradling your hand and looking at you with soft-glow-love and i’d be dragging you behind me, beating you senseless with insensitive demands.
because you see, i have a poe-heart and a dickinson-soul.
and anastasia has an austen-heart and a yeats-soul.
and at the end of the day, that’s what you need.
I’m Injecting This Love Song.
dear ribs,
thank you for protecting what i hold most precious. thank you for blocking the bigger blows, absorbing the momentum with a shock and a shudder. i know it isn’t easy to stand guard, but i breathe easy knowing you’re there to shield me. maybe someday i’ll unlock you at the clavicle and open you up, but for now: stay strong.
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dear fingers,
thank you for never complaining when i shove you into all my messes. thank you for working through the worst of the damage, straightening up my mistakes with surgical precision. i know it’s hard working solo but i have such confidence in you. maybe someday we’ll find someone that’ll fill up your empty spaces, but for now: keep the faith.
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dear spine,
thank you for being there when i’m carving apologies between your vertebrae. thank you for stiffening when i want nothing more than to melt to the ground. i know you’d rather go limp instead of working all the time, but when i can’t trust myself, i’m leaning on you. maybe someday we’ll find someone who’ll help you hold me up, but for now: stay strong.
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dear knees,
thank you for taking the abuse without a word. thank you for ignoring the grass stains and carpet burn when i fall to you. i know it’s hard to be the first thing to crash when i collapse, but you’re so brave to never turn away from it. maybe someday we’ll find someone who’ll help you catch me when i fall, but for now: keep the faith.
Consider This Just One More.
i need you to stop needing me.
you don’t know, but you’re living a lie. you’re closing your eyes and pretending i’m something i’m not. you’re pretending i’m lovely and stable and precious. you’re pretending i’m returning this kiss.
you’re breathing down my neck and twisting my hair between your fingers, saying we could be something beautiful if i would just slow down. you’re swearing we could be a sundust and milky way love story if i would just stop running away all the time.
you’re calling me baby, you’re calling me darling, you’re trying to hold my hand and ignoring the fact that i’m shaking with anxiety. your salty lips keep misfiring and landing on my jaw, your greedy fingers keep tearing my coattails apart.
can’t you see? i’m a mistake that you’re trying to rearrange into something lyrical, a disaster that you’re trying to pretend is miraculous. when really i’m anything but.
in reality i’m knocking down vases and ripping the mona lisa in half, i’m tripping down the stairs and crashing through the third story window. i’m bleeding all over the concrete and setting off the car alarms, tripping over pedestrians and shattering my pelvis on the pavement. in reality i’m a calamity, i’m a misfortune. i’m pulling up tulips and planting weeds instead. i’ve got pollution boiling in my veins and bone crushing nerves snapping at my spine.
so stop trying to call me a solution. stop trying to use me as a foundation to build your life on when i’m just silt, i’m just ash, i’m just hourglass sand running through your hands. i’m abrasive and cruel, arrogant and selfish. i’m not your princess, i’m not your beloved, i’m not poetic or soft.
you won’t hold my chin and find andromeda by connecting the freckles on the bridge of my nose.
because i’m just doing ninety down the freeway and taking another drag on my cigarette. i’m just flicking it out with your love through my passenger window. i can’t be responsible for your heart, so stop slipping it under my pillow at night. stop trying to write songs on the crook of my elbow. stop trying to tell me that the only time you can pray is when my body is your chapel.
i’m heartless, i’m cold, i’m a sanctuary that’s been burned to the ground. i gave it all away and sent my love out on the airwaves three and a half summers ago. i don’t have anything to give you anymore. so try to understand i’m hollowed out, that i’m just running through the motions. try to comprehend what i’m telling you.
open your eyes and try to see me for what i really am.
I Trust You To Know.
if i could crack my ribs apart at the sternum, i’d let you dip your fingers beneath the bleached bones.
there isn’t anyone else i’d trust enough to not be impatient. there isn’t anyone else i’d trust to not simply cut through the brittle, snarled vines encasing my heart. but i trust you. i trust you to see that the vines need to be unwound layer by layer. i trust you to see that to cut to the quick would only bleed me out. i trust you to know that i can’t bear to stain the carpet yet again.
i trust you to see that the thorns are embedded deep, the insecurities tangled with the nervous laughs, that i’m biting my lip to keep it from trembling, that my palms are bird wings fluttering around my throat to keep the oxygen flowing.
i trust you to see.
and if i balk, if i run terrified back into the thicket, i trust you to follow me quietly, not burying a bullet in my flank, but luring me out with open hands and gentle eyes.
oh, because can’t you see? i’m standing with square shoulders but my knees are knocking together and i’m clenching my teeth but my belly is quivering violently when you look me in the eye. and i’m curving the corner of my mouth but i’m guarding the door to a graveyard of failed relationships. i’m hiding the lipstick stains on the RIPs and the masses of “i-wish-i-could-have-saved-you’s” when there’s nothing i know better than how i pooled cyanide on their tongues.
and i hate to admit that i am a defective prototype, that my functions are old and grinding like dull bones. i’m not planting stars in your palm to watch constellations sprout around your arms. i’m not sipping the sea to let the saltwater run around your tongue and remind you what the word ‘wild’ tastes like.
but i trust you to know that i’m wounded but i’m healing.
i trust you to hold my ribs together with a whisper.
i trust you to know i’m scared to death.
[i trust you to not break me.]
Delilah Whispers Secrets.
delilah doesn’t believe in emergencies, only in miracles.
she spends twelve hours out of every twenty four practicing the perfect inhale but hasn’t quite mastered the exhale, so she’ll often spend her days walking around with all of her gold-dust wishes still trapped in her lungs. if you ask she’ll just smile, tell you they’re immature anyway and if she doesn’t mind their company why would she mind them still living at home? she’s convinced they’ll move out when they’re ready to face the world.
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delilah thinks cloud watching is exactly how it sounds.
she’d rather be chasing them over the horizon and stuffing them in her pockets, because what’s the point in admiring if you’re just going to wave goodbye every time? she once tried the same theory with puppies when she was ten and returned the yapping lab with rosy cheeks and every intention to try again. you’ll sometimes see her scratching bonnie behind the ears with secrets in her eyes, holding a finger to her mouth if she catches you looking.
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delilah believes falling in love is for when you’re old.
she would rather have love fall into her and thinks if it’s as painful as all the songs say, it damn well better work for her attention. she’s had boyfriends and she says maybe she’ll give love a second date when she can find a manfriend. if you ask her, she’ll wink and tell you those are an endangered species. she swears she actually saw a man once, but it ran off with the leprechauns before she could get a number.
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delilah thinks happiness isn’t as difficult as people make it out to be.
she claims she watches it dance through her curtains every morning and anyone with a hint of magic in their veins can hold it with the right amount of faith. sometimes in the middle of the afternoon, you can see her laying spread eagle on the grass and if you ask, she’ll tell you about the secrets the sun was telling her. but don’t ask about her conversations with the moon, because those are personal.
I’ll Be Your Shooting Star.
“You know how some people spend their entire lives waiting on someone?”
“Yeah, sure. I suppose.”
“I feel like I’m there. When you’re staring at the toaster waiting for it to pop, when you’re glaring at the pot waiting for it to boil, when you’re watching the sky waiting for the star to fall.”
“Who are you waiting on?”
“I’m not sure to be honest. I don’t know his name yet, but I know he’s out there.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’ll be tall because I want to be able to wear high-heels. He’ll be smart because I don’t want to dumb myself down when I’m talking to him. He’ll have a sense of humor so he’ll be able to laugh when I screw up. He’ll probably be blonde because I read blondes are attracted to blondes. He won’t be perfect but he’ll be perfect for me.”
“Sounds specific. Should we have try outs?”
“What? No. He isn’t the type of guy who would show up to something like that. He likes the waiting, he thinks the waiting is what makes the toast hit that perfect degree of crunch, what makes the star so beautiful when it plunges. If we didn’t wait, it would be raw, it wouldn’t be ready.”
“That makes sense. What about you, do you like the waiting?”
“I eat my PopTarts cold, what do you think?”
“Touche.”
“But for him, I think I’ll be able to wait. I think I could be one of those kids waiting all night for a midnight showing because they know the movie is going to be just that good. Maybe he has some growing up to do, maybe I have something to learn before we crash into each other. Maybe. The waiting will be worth it though.”
“And what are you going to do while you wait?”
“Think. Dream. Eat a raw PopTart.”
Hate Is Not A Synonym.
i hate you.
not in the way with scribbled out vowels and love carved over the top or written in between the lines or whispered through the context. i hate you in the ways of warring countries and nuclear bombs blowing tin roofs to the heavens, in the way of rust eating away your life’s work and watching your mother’s favorite flower die because you fucking forgot to water it again, you forgetful prick.
i hate you because my eyes are open all night counting the different ways of loathing and because i wake up stiff and sore from climbing the walls to hide your crooked-tooth, ugly smile in the cobwebs. i hate you because my hair is greasy and my fingers are shaking from my eleventh cup of coffee that i drank because i don’t know how to not make full pots in the morning.
i drove to work this morning with led zepplin playing and i think you should know i hate them too and i hate the color yellow and the scent of mint and the frames i have stacked up in the back of my closet. i hate the different parts of my life that used to be mine, but somehow became yours, like the vase i made when i was ten that you always put roses in because you thought it was charming how it was chipped and lopsided.
congratulations; i threw it away last tuesday.
i hate writing because it always leads to where i don’t want to be and i hate music because apparently all those singers knew you too. i hate threadbare sweaters and people with green eyes and friends that laugh too much and coworkers that don’t laugh enough and hallmark cards we used to buy just to write over and romantic comedies that always lie and couches shaped like you and pillows that smell like me and pennies and the thought that i’m overthinking this and the idea that i’m not letting go and i hate run-on sentences and capital letters and politicians with your smile and actors with your voice and pick-up lines and post-it notes and trite sayings and email forwards [no, thank you, i will not meet the love of my life tonight, go away] and you.
oh, most of all, i really, truly, fucking hate you.
| police: | THIS IS THE POLICE! OPEN YOUR DOOR NOW! |
| me: | not with that attitude |
My Little Heart Of Mine.
dear little heart of mine,
i need you to be brave for me. i know you’re trembling on wires and clacking against bird-bone ribs, but i need you to set your teeth and stiffen that upper lip. i know it’s scary and we aren’t getting any medals for courage any time soon, but i think if we both hold hands and close our eyes, we can get through this.
i need you to know though that this is probably going to hurt.
i’m not saying we’ll be bleeding and gasping on the floor. i’m not saying we’re going to lock the front gates and shut off the lights and fasten the shutters, but i can’t lie to you and say we will be living in eternal sunshine. we won’t.
we can’t hide behind the wall forever though. if we want to get what we love to dream about, we’re going to have to step in the frontline. we’re going to have to brave the machine fire and remind ourselves that it’s worth it. i promise you, it might be. it might be worth taking the bullet.
and it will be okay, because we aren’t the type to simply break. we both know how far we can bend. so if we get dragged in the gravel for a few miles, i know we’ll clench our jaw, brush off the dirt and limp on.
and don’t fret, because if it ends up that he doesn’t want you, never forget that i always will. i’ll never abandon you or leave you rotting or neglect to tell you that you are beautiful once a day. you will always be loved.
so be brave, because i think i know where this is going.
don’t cry, because i think i know how this might end.
stay strong, because i know we can get through it.
my sweet, my darling, my little heart of mine.
If I Had Words.
you should know, i’ve never struggled for words before.
i’ve spent my life welding and mixing them, chopping the corners up to make them be whatever i wanted them to be. but when it comes to you, i always manage to fall short, reduced to hallmark cards and hollow sayings that are trying to be something they will never be. cheap words puffing up their chests and trying to be something grand and sublime. attempting to wear a plastic crown and order the ocean into submission.
so this isn’t easy, i’m not weaving words out of thin air.
instead, i’m wrenching them from between my teeth and exposing them to their inaugural sunlight. i’m cracking open my heart and spilling it out, rearranging it into something coherent so that you might understand. so bear with me.
bear with me when i say that my heart is whole today because you have always been patient enough for midnight surgeries. my spine is straight because you were always there for me to lean on. my pride is unwounded because you were never scared to jump in with fists swinging. my lips can curve because you’ve always known the best way to trick them into laughter.
i am who i am because of who you are.
and when i look at my life, trust me when i say, i know nothing more than the fact that i will face it with you. when i am hurt, you will be the first person i run to. when i am happy, you will be next to me grinning. no matter what wave i am trying to swim past, it will never be alone.
so when i say that i love you, that i am nothing without you, that you are a ray of constant light in my life understand it is not lightly said, not lightly considered, not lightly appreciated. understand the words run heavy, forged with nineteen years of whispered secrets, laughing tears, shared fury, side-splitting humor.
so take my words and hold them tight.
and know, beyond a doubt, that i love you.
