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I should have
kept my hands
out of your
but instead
I rearranged
your freckles
each night
to create
a new constellation.

November 15th 2013

So much love to give.
No one worth giving it to.
Frightened that my heart might fall into the wrong hands.
I don’t want to spend my youth
fingers intertwined with the wrong hands.

August 24th 2013

I drank because I hoped it would drown your memory,
     but instead it sobered my reality.

I smoked to feel better about you,
     but I’ve only felt high when your lips touched mine.

(wh)Y- Spoken word

A for adoration,

the way I adored how you made me feel,

how I adored the way you said my name,

the same way I adored the way you held my hand,

how you kissed my lips,

my cheek,

my shoulder,

my neck.

B would stand for butterflies,

the butterflies you sent to my stomach when you smiled at me the night we met,

and the night you stole my first kiss,

acting like a thief but I the victim didn’t act too phased

because that same night I let you steal my heart.

C for cherish

the way I cherished the smile you sent to my lips,

cherished is how you made me feel when you held me.

D is for devotion,

because when we were together, 
I devoted my time, 
my words, my thoughts

all, and only, to you.

E is for easy

not in the way you think,

not that it was easy for you to reach your hand under my clothes,

but easy as in how easy it was to fall in love with you.

F represents the flowers

one for every month,

all eleven,

that you gave to me when you thought you fucked up.

G for gullible,

as in how gullible I was for believing that a boy like you, 
really loved a girl like me.

H could be for home

I felt at home with you,

a feeling of being safe,

two hands acting like walls, protecting me,

your tall, slender frame creating a roof over my head,

and your kisses lining the walls and keeping my heart warm.

But scratch that, 

H will be for homeless.

The way you made me feel when you left.

You left me to deal with this cruel world on my own,

pushed me to the streets,

left me on the corner of heart broken and confused.

No kisses to keep me warm.

I for intention

you claimed to have no original “intention” 
to break me the way you did.

J for jokes,

because that’s what you took our relationship as.

A joke.

K for knots,

the way my stomach felt that night you came over. 

No butterflies this time.

L for the letter I wrote to you that same night. 

the tear stained one.

M would be for memories, 

all the ones I locked away safely in that shoebox in my closet.

N for nothing. 

What you felt for me.

O, the way your lips looked as you gave me one last kiss.

P for promises,

the ones you never kept.

Q for questions, 

most still unanswered.

R for Redhead, 

only because her first initial was already used in the first half of this poem.

S for sting

because the news about your redhead stung more than anything I’ve ever felt.

T for truth,

the thing you didn’t tell me when you said 

“I just don’t want a girlfriend anymore, there’s no one else, promise”

U for ugly

what she is.

V for very sorry, 

that last statement was mean, 

but it’s true.

W for wonder

because I often wonder what my life would be like if you were still mine. 

But then I remember the letter R, 

get a little queasy, 

and remind myself that I’m better off.

X is what I now have to refer to you as.


Z if for zero
zero feelings
zero heart
zero you.image

Pulled Threads

She sleeps with her arms cradling her body,
holding herself together as she lay.
Afraid she will come apart while her eyes are closed.

If you rip her open, a quilt of leftover pieces.
Pieces placed and abandoned.
Find a spot between the ribs where her heart used to be,
patch in your lies and your empty words.

Perhaps her frayed seams will finally split.
Tugging at the binding of her forearm and hand, she digs for proof.

She wishes to peel off every inch of skin sewn onto her bones,
to create a new canvas free of rips and tattered edges.

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I looked into his eyes.

I wished to see their colour
blue maybe brown.
not knowing 
what to expect
hoping for
bright and vivid
but instead I was blinded
by the tragic stories
hidden within them

I couldn’t help
but avert my eyes
For fear that he might see
that the same colour
haunts mine. 

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I traced stems on your back with my fingertips. 
Rows of goose bumps lined your field of skin. 
The bumps nestled softly along my fingertips.

I want to plant myself between your ribcage.
Grow closer with each beat of your heart,
blossom among your desire.

Perhaps tomorrow I can press petals into your neck;
knead leaves into the curves of your collarbones.
I want to grow with you, bury myself into your soul.


I was introduced to her in the 6th grade
I was pretty sure she’d been there the entire time but
Since then we’ve been one in the same.
One body, two people.

She’s a partner in crime, a Jekyll and Hyde
My taboo, incognito, hidden savior.
I’m in love with the way she makes me look.
Love doesn’t cause harm, right?

She has this strong hold on me.
Some days I can feel her hands around my neck, pulling at my throat, shaking my very body and soul, cutting off my breath and smothering my voice.
I’m defenseless against her force.
She’s owned me ever since she invaded my mind and made my body hers.

But I am her

It’s that time again.
She runs a tight ship.
I lose my footing as we toss and turn,
Here’s the wave.
I get the urge to vomit.

I stare at her for a moment before I look away in pure disgust; the nauseous feelings increase as I remember who I was without her.
I can still feel it warm on our lips as I exit the bathroom stall.

It’s over.
She goes away
Until next time.
I feel better.

With her there is the promise of ‘beauty’ and ‘acceptance’.
Without her: acceptance and beauty.
She is my guardian, my ruler, my obsession, my vice
She is the feeling in my gut.
Bright, beautiful and lively,
They are not butterflies that inhabit my stomach but famished moths;
Grey and tattered like the lining of an old coat.

It’s a bittersweet relationship.
My empty insides are hungry for more
unless we’re together.

I purge everything else, 

why not her?

Another poem that makes me sound like a depressed, lonely teenager.


The reach of desire,
gripping my being.

Caressing my chest
gently, you lift
my heart from its cage,
fiddled your way past the lock.


Hold it, digging deeper,
searching for more.
Dusting my lips for
a reason.


Your fingers journey.
Locked with mine,
wasting not another minute
knit with the wrong hand.


I pull back slowly
your lips loosen.
I relax into your eyes.
The most comfortable place
I’ve been. 


We were sweat soaked sheets and vodka.
Logic drowned.
Hungry lips among naked limbs,
a comfort sought in arms found.
We were stress released,
our playful violence unrestrained.
Each wanted. Searching within the other,
never properly attained.
We are fists of hair and clawed skin,
Finding ecstasy in pain.
The hurt from one another,
cover the other scars that still remain.