love letter.

He said,
(you're) a moon rock in my asteroid field, stardust inside my wand.
I said,
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.
I'm not either of those things and that's just because, if I could be anything, I would be coal and if I had to name a million reasons why, YOU would be (best) at the top.

If I could be any(thing), I'd want to be your coal.

I'm not asking for much
but a couple of lumps and bumps upon the surface and some powder
on my surface that sticks; I want to taint your hands with black. I want it to
seep
under your fingernails and I want to
bury
my way into the caverns of your heart.
To make myself a home in there is all I seek; to
just
curl
up there and stay the night or two or three, or maybe
seventeen
because (that's) one of my favorite numbers.
But he already knew that by now.

I wouldn't hurt you if you
let me
have a little
place, a little corner of your
universe
to myself. I can sit quietly if that is what
you
please, I'll cry with
you (ever)ryday
if that's what
you
need, and I'll always be there because somebody up there knows
you're all I see.

It will take a little bit, but I think that after a while,
maybe,
possibly,
after
twenty-one
or
so
days,
I would reemerge from the depths of your
soul
to find that all that's (happened)
is that I appear
no different
to the rest of the world than I ever was before.
Still just a lump of grimy old coal off (to) go
soil your clothing
again whenever you get close, so
god forbid it. don't talk.

In the one moment where he pushes my hair from my eyes
and looks at me like I'm the freaking reason the Earth is still in
orbit,
there's something else in his eyes that tells (me) he sees what everybody else struggles to
glimpse.
"You're a diamond pulled from moon rock, the reason my stardust exists(,)" his lips whisper to mine.






So take Me into your unIverse, take me and never let me go; I've searCHed waited too long for flowers to grow Around my feet. Intertwine your supernova arms around mine and for thE first time I don't care if I don't shine to anybody else here in the whole fucking worLd.

#6

I sit beside my window with the

door to my heart opened up just enough to feel

the cool night air tangle my hair and the crickets

weave symphonies in my veins.

Well the rain splashes on the porch outside

and it mixes with imaginary footsteps of one very real person.

As he walks across the grey pavement he thinks he's just walking

but really he's dancing.

He talks and all I see is a canvas of color erupting from

a place deep inside his soul, but he just thinks he's speaking.

He's

taking what was grey and blue and turning it to glitter.

All that glitters may not ever be gold, oh I know.

They all tell me that I'm being stupid and I'm being silly

and once again I am going to rip my pants in two searching the

ground for an answer.

They tell me to lock up and throw away the key because

this boy is danger.

I won't.

(I don't think)

Lately my head, my heart, and my body have all become

separate entities; my head saying stop, my heart saying go, and my

body just half between the ground and the stratosphere.

I'm okay with that.

I've got him.

I can't lose him.

they didn't say it was going to be easy, but they said it would be worth it so hold me in your arms for a little while longer and whisper to me the things I already know, kiss me sweet and kiss me slow, he's taken my heart and now he's stealing the show.

Letting Go, Continued.

If you're out there somewhere, I hope the

wind is blowing and the trees are swaying as the

crickets sing and the sun shines designs on damp pavement.

I hope that you're walking barefoot, if you're out there

somewhere; you'd want to feel the pebbles between your

toes as you balance and dance away the ground.

I hope that wherever you are, if you're there, you

get up early enough to pick basil from your sweet garden

and watch the sunrise cross your face.

If you're out there somewhere, I hope the stars are

shining on your neck and the moonlight carries you across

the sky every night while you conduct a symphony in your veins.

I hope that if you're somewhere, you feel the cool

ocean lap across your feet and hear the waves crash in your

ears; I hope you get a little sea salt in your hair.

I hope that wherever you are, you're looking

at flowers more and looking at lightning the most. I hope

that spring comes after every single winter.

I hope you're smiling, wherever you are.

I hope it's a real smile because I saw too

many fake ones those last few months and

as much as it hurt all of us, it hurt you the most.

Wherever you are, I hope more than anything that

you know I love you. I hope you know that you're the reason for

everything I do.

I hope you know that while the sun still shines here,

it seems a little duller, but that may just be because you

needed a little piece of the sun to take with you.

The ocean is a little cooler, the sound it makes a little dimmer,

but that's okay because as long as you have a piece

for yourself, I am fine.

Sometimes I'm angry, angry at the world

angry at myself and

more embarrassingly, angry at you.

I pick fights with God, even though I know

it's completely possible I'm picking fights with myself.

Every night, I see a glimmer of hope because

I know as soon as my head hits the pillow,

it will be a short time until I see

your face in my memory.

Some days are harder, some days blissful as the

warm soup you used to make me that

day when you told me,

I was the reason for you.

I want to remember and I still

don't because the pain of that day is still

fresh in my mind but I know that my biggest

fear is forgetting.

I saw you not too long ago, I was rowing a boat.

I can remember that.

You were wearing your flowery, sparkly shirt and your

tan slacks. You were with Nick.

You said to me, as I gave up hope,

"Don't burn your bridges before you cross them,

you never know what's on the other side."

I pulled harder to that finish line than I ever had before,

maybe it was out of hope, maybe it was out of desperation

to talk to you.

I've never crossed a finish line laughing and

crying at the same time so maybe God

does exist in that small moment,

my watch stopped because you wanted me

to take pictures in my mind of that.

I'll remember. You need to remember too though:

Wherever you are, I hope you know I'm okay.

Well maybe.

But I try to be.

I'm okay.

I choke out the words everyday, but I promise,

I'll be okay.

I hope you are.

I love you, but I have to let go now.

You Gave Me Scars Because, Honestly, YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE. But, thanks for them.

Take my paper, ribbon, glued back together a billion fucking times heart and sure, why don't you rip it one more time? I went to the doctor yesterday and when she asked "any pains" I pointed to my chest. Instantly I was on a little metal gurney being rushed around the way bees buzz around a hive or the way little innocent ants scatter a hill. The lights whooshed over my face and surrounded by men in white lab coats they were yelling things like STAT and OXYGEN and then I was thrown around, like that hasn't happened before, mind you, on a cold table covered by some crinkly waxed paper and without warning they cut me open. I screamed in agony but in actuality it was pleasure because at least it was something other than what I have been feeling for the past 36 hours. 36 hours. I heard them slice my skin, pry apart my bones with a deafening crack and the whole time all I thought was that the slice they made is nothing compared to the slice you made with your cruel words and intentions and that crack, that fucking wonderful crack, hurt less than the time that you kissed me in a stairwell and when I opened my eyes you were gone. The doctors finally made it through all the locks and steel doors and they found my heart there, barely beating, springing a leak or two. The room went silent, a pin dropped and I heard it mix with the hum of the machines and the beat of my heart. I let lose one single tear, something I haven't done in a while, and it didn't run down my cheek, it didn't mix with my lips. It sprung from my heart. I couldn't take it anymore, I closed my eyes. Too many people were staring at my naked chest torn open, too many secrets pouring out. And no way to stop. Just make it stop.

What they didn't see, is on the inside of all the scotch tape, ribbon, and glue is just a pinch of glitter. Just enough to give to one.

I woke up to find myself in a nice green room on a soft bed with a new, hand stroking my head and saw for the first time in my life that maybe having a heart that looks like it was made in a preschool art class isn't so bad after all.

#5

When you type into a little text box,

I heard you and

suddenly I knew that

the stars shine for you and

you're willing to give

a little glitter to me to

make my paper skin

more 3-D.

Octopi Are Smarter

If I (just) bury my feet real deep in an ocean's sand I used to swear I'd hit China. Okay, so maybe it wasn't an ocean, it was just an old red sandbox sitting by a chipped blue swing set broken with a million little hearts lingering on it. That's beside the point. The sand scraped my toes and I'd hit the occasional pebble that would make me bleed but that was no worry to me because I'd find China. Maybe I'd wind up in the middle of a crisp blue ocean, treading water for hours and hours trying to find the perfect palm tree beach to pull myself onto, maybe I'd just let myself sink to the bottom and speak with the fish there's so many reasons to just float down. I'd much rather speak to an octopus than any other fish because from what I hear octopi are pretty damn smart and mom always told me that you learn more when you talk to someone smarter but the trouble is how in the world do you find a smart person that isn't a total ass face? It's much more comfortable to fall straight to the ocean floor, strip off my clothes, burry my naked butt into the sand and rock and look at the moon from way down there. You can learn from an octopus but generally, when I'm not in China, I learn from the moon and the stars and sometimes they whisper to me. They tell me that lemons are yellow because God had to piss and the sky is really green it just depends on your perspective. It's different from the bottom of the ocean in China because all I see is a hole in the old red sandbox, creating a portal to your heart in just one slightly but suddenly different perspective. (live.)

Letting Go

(Listen to this as you read.)

If you're out there somewhere, I hope the

wind is blowing and the trees are swaying as the

crickets sing and the sun shines designs on damp pavement.

I hope that you're walking barefoot, if you're out there

somewhere; you'd want to feel the pebbles between your

toes as you balance and dance away the ground.

I hope that wherever you are, if you're there, you

get up early enough to pick basil from your sweet garden

and watch the sunrise cross your face.

If you're out there somewhere, I hope the stars are

shining on your neck and the moonlight carries you across

the sky every night while you conduct a symphony in your veins.

I hope that if you're somewhere, you feel the cool

ocean lap across your feet and hear the waves crash in your

ears; I hope you get a little sea salt in your hair.

I hope that wherever you are, you're looking

at flowers more and looking at lightning the most. I hope

that spring comes after every single winter.

Wherever you are, I hope more than anything that

you know I love you. I hope you know that you're the reason for

everything I do.

I hope you know that while the sun still shines here,

it seems a little duller, but that may just be because you

needed a little piece of the sun to take with you.

The ocean is a little cooler, the sound it makes a little dimmer,

but that's okay because as long as you have a piece

for yourself, I am fine.

Wherever you are, I hope you know I'm okay.

I'm okay.

I choke out the words everyday, but I promise,

I'll be okay.

I hope you are.

I love you, but I have to let go now.

#4

Take a crayon and color the faded lines with

soft pastels or black and white because

through these frames the eyes lie no

matter how many times you clean the glass there

is always one smudge left and it's right where you

are trying to look.

#2

Getting scrapes on my elbows and knees and

the bottom of my feet is a small price

to pay for the universe to

be in my hands.

I pray that little specks of dirt and

leaves

and love will work its

way into my cuts and taint my

blood.

I want to feel the sting because what

follows the sting is a mother's voice

softly saying that it will be alright.

I want to feel the sting, I want to feel living,

there's a difference.

everybody knows that living is different than alive.

I have the universe in my hands so I can bring the

sky to meet my fingers

or maybe even

my fingers to meet the sky.

I can make the grass grow greener or my bones grow stronger

and whiter so

I will never break again.

I can make a bike pedal faster and turn the

corner without a

single warning.

I can run faster than anybody in the world,

if I want to,

and I can make the world speed up.

I have the universe

In My Hands,

but there's two things I can never do

even if I try.

I can't fall in love.

I can't slow down.

I asked you to hold me

not because I was chilly but because

there was a smoldering in my soul,

sometimes they call that love,

but all I needed was to pass it to you

so that my heart didn't attain the irreparable

damage it was used to.

I have the whole universe in my hands,

but I can't find love,

and I can't slow down.

dkeghfaweguh[w2!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don't ever post non-poem posts but let me just say I had the scare of my life today, poets.

I THOUGHT I LOST MY ACCOUNT.

Blogger wouldn't let me log in! My face was flushed; I started hyperventilating! I tried for 1 whole hour.

...Then I realized I kept putting a random comma in my email address.

Oh, life.

To become more.

Inside of every one of us, there are oceans.

There's enough blood to create tsunamis and our hearts

beat enough times each day to

paint skies pink and grass purple, and it's

enough to

keep us alive but not enough to keep us living.

I Wish There Was An On-looker Who Believed

If you stop to think,

for a moment at most,

about the way rain fell on black pavement...

It splashes and spritzes out from underneath the

fat droplets

It gets caught in your eyelashes, weighing your

lively eyes down.

You run towards the car across the pavement in a sparkly

blue dress, the most beautiful princess.

Then, you jog.

Then you walk.

Then you stand.

and you stand.

just standing.

Looking to the sky, drops fall flat on your face,

caress your cheek bones,

mingle in your hair.

As cautious as a toddler, hesitant as the first kiss,

you spread your arms.

You don't know how, but somehow, someway,

you're spinning.

You are still looking at the sky, arms flung wide,

rain beats down on your smiling face

and not for one moment, one moment at all,

do you dare close your mouth; pull back that toothy grin.

The rain tastes too good, tastes too sweet to fight it.

Your perfect curls become weighed down, hairspray

runs away.

Slowly, frizzes start popping up, but you don't care one

bit at all.

It's slicked back,

mascara slides down,

but you're beautiful.

Butterflies aren't supposed to fly in the rain,

you heard,

maybe it makes their wings too sore,

but you swear to God you saw one.

It flapped and flapped and you could

tell it was struggling, keeping from drowning,

but still graceful as a swan,

pretty as a petal.

And you thought,

"I've finally found what I want to be."

A car door clicks, and broken from your trance,

you stand straight up,

dress hanging down, sopping wet,

no makeup to be found.

He runs over, umbrella in left,

holds out his right.

"Take it," he says, coaxing you along.

You think, seconds feel like hours and

minutes feel like days.

You don't know why, but for right now,

you're perfectly fine.

You take another look up, his eyes stay still

on your face, searching in the most loving way,

trying to see your thoughts.

"I want to be a butterfly," you said.

"You can."

In that moment he abandoned all hope of reasoning,

all hope of making it back home,

so he shouted to the driver,

"Sir, could you please turn the music up; the

headlights on?"

He dropped the umbrella, the rain fell harder.

He took her left hand, pressed it to her lips,

and almost died.

For the first time,

for the first time ever,

you felt beautiful.

And he saw that.

For the first time,

the first time ever,

you felt free.

just free.

If you stop to think,

for a moment at most,

about the way rain fell on black pavement,

I found that the you's are me's and

the he's are you's and I want nothing more

to be a butterfly in the rain,

and unspoken beauty,

a hushed secret,

with you.

Just another onlooker,

but one who actually believed.

Welcome To The Planet.

The grass tickles my nose as

I roll around in it.

It's green and it's cool, and I like the

way that it feels in my hair.

The sky looks blue as

it fills my eyes.

I look around and it's bright and beautiful,

and I like the way it feels in my soul.

The pavement scrapes my feet as

I walk barefoot across it.

It's good and fun, and it doesn't even

hurt, it feels like life.

Your eyes feel like home as

I look to heaven.

It's home and it's home, and there's no

other word to describe it but home.

Here's to the hurt and to the pain and to the way it rains and looks like it will never stop because now I know that every lightning bolt I've ever witnessed and every thunder boom that has ever shaken my spirit has a beautiful story tied around it's wrist.

Here's to the fact that I gave up on time healing wounds and to losing my way and to the way it feels when you're suddenly placed smack in the middle of an oncoming train with nowhere to run to because now I know that trains don't want to hurt me, they just want to see how high I can jump to get away.

Here's to you and to your spirit and your soul. Here's to the hum of the universe. Here's to God or whoever runs this crazy place we call home. Here's to the hurricanes and the floods. The tornados and the cyclones. Here's to that place that we reach every once in a while that we feel we can never get past. Here's to Hope whispering "one more time."

Here's to me.

Here's to you.

Here's to that feeling that for the first time in my life, I feel free and crazy and careless, but never reckless. Here's to knowing that things are good, but they can get better. Here's to saving your fork for dessert, because I've heard that the chocolate cake is delicious.