#27

1,111 is like eleven eleven
squished together in a nice dainty little package so
that you don't have to worry.
No colons or spaces to get between,
nothing here but you and me.
I'd give up all my 1111 wishes for you,
for your new friends in that far place for
the ones who left
for the ones who can't come back
come back
come back
come back
It's not that hard, they always tell me, move on get over it, move on get over it
but this is my words spilling out of the tar pit in my soul
excuse the typos.
This is me angry
hopeful
sad
hurt
discouraged
disappointed
hopeful
hurt.
There's a fine line between hurt and hope the more you hurt the more you hope
the more you hope, the more you hurt.

Angel Christmas

Christmas comes
Christmas goes
transient as the last seat at the table,
the one filled by hot air and paintbrushes and
memories of a time less painful when the
falling snow didn't remind you of angels
and the clouds didn't remind you of
the far place where you can't be.
I'm jealous that you went because
you don't have to be stuck here anymore,
a lost soul in a cruel fish bowl
with a mirrored side like a funhouse.
Well there's nothing fun about this and
this house is made of
the dreams wasted,
thunderous voices booming insecurities
across the hope torn apart,
turned to shame.
Christmas comes
Christmas goes
like the people who don't have time to say hello,
the ones taken too fast to say goodbye.
You shouldn't be scared or confused when you
leave this near place.
Christmas comes
Christmas goes,
a woven melody that I hear, entwined with the
storms I'm not sure my paper skin can weather anymore.
Yesterday was a good day
because Christmas came
Christmas went,
you went though,
and you haven't come back.

My Reason

I swore off of love poems some time ago

when I decided that they were as mainstream as 

those fake glasses with the thick, dark rims and 

little metal ovals in the corners. 

I mean, I haven't totally gone back on that promise,

but recent events have proved to me that I need to explain something,

the reason for all I do.

So this is my love letter.

My love letter for you. 

It was August 23rd, I remember, that we 

sat down on cold steps that 

were warmed by the smiles across our face and 

out of nowhere, you saw the lock inside my heart 

start to turn at the press of your lips against mine.

I felt it but I didn't say it because to guard your heart is to guard your home and

back then,

I didn't know just how wonderful you are.

I walked down the street in December by myself and 

it was a cold night with glitter spilled on a black canvas and 

the beat of my heart provided the metronome for the 

symphony of the universe around me.

I heard your voice in my head.

You said,

you're a moon rock in my asteroid field, stardust inside my wand.

I replied,

listen here, wave-breaker. I'm not amazing as moon rock or fragile as a speck of dust but thanks for the compliment I guess.

That was months ago and I promised myself back then that 

it would all end, that 

somehow this night would fade and this star would cease to shine.

I'm pretty sure I'm not stupid and I'm not usually wrong about these things,

but you've proved that stars do burn for billions of years

and one beautiful day can last forever.

because one night we stood in your driveway,

not caring that the neighbors were probably watching with bowls of popcorn 

from inside their windows 

while we danced by your car,

my head against your shoulder and my feet entwined with yours.

You found my lock and you found the key 

I carefully hid away so well,

but I didn't care.

That morning in August you were the only one I called 

and you came over with nothing to say and only tears in your eyes.

I hope you know that meant the world to me.

I hope you know that's when I figured out I need you.

Now people ask me what I love about you and I 

don't exactly know what to say.

So, I smile the same smile you have and try to feel you next to me

to spread your aura. 

I say the only words that I can to attempt to spit out the 

tangled emotions and memories that

float inside the faulty safety deposit box in my mind.

"I just do."

I must show it, because somehow, they always smile

too and nod, saying "I understand."

If you live to be a hundred,

I want to be a hundred minus one day,

so I never have to live without you.

If a day should come that we must go,

I'll stand and wait for you up in a tree, and when you 

find me, you'll help me down.

Until that day comes,

I love you,

I love all of you, 

simple,

true.

I hate poems that rhyme,

but you bring it out in me.

You do.

And my reason?

My reason is you. 

Angry, The Sequel.

I'm sick of yelling through caps lock, unable to hear each other over the
din our own screams create so I'll
put it down right here.
I hate the stranger you've become, the way others have changed you,
the way the world has molded you.
I hate the way you fight me like I don't love you, like I didn't trust you,
like I don't want this to work.
I hate the way you blame me when you don't even take a damn second
to see things from my point of view.
I hate the he-said, she-said that got us into this in the first place,
and I hate the fact that it is midnight but I cry
as silently as possible so that
nobody will ask me what's wrong.
I hate that you don't need me and I hate that
I'm replaceable.
I hate that I need you and I hate that you can't
be replaced.
You'll probably judge this hardcore, but this isn't poetry, it's a brain dump.