It makes more sense to give men flowers,
when you think about it.
After all some love women
and women are floral in nature
some men rush quick to pick
but crush in their hands
or neglect until they go dry from want.
you said your favorite flower is a spider lily
i know where you came to know those blooms
i run by the viewing station 3 days a week
they grow in the middle of the river
where an island of rocks makes the water slow
and a few guardian trees grow
you love flowers that take getting your feet wet to touch
and that you can never posses
by cutting, only by growth.

When I tell a young girl
she does not owe you
Then is not the time to sling
A word of empowerment and equality
At me like a slur
**** right I am a feminist
In the same way I'm a writer
And A scientist

Feminist is not an insult
It means I fight for equality
And ****** autonomy
It means that when a girl
Finds herself in your pig hands
That I want her to know
she has the right to refuse you

It means I want my future daughter
To grow up "as good as a boy"
Without anyone using that phrasing
Because it's the twenty first century
And it's about time we are equal
We've been fighting for this for centuries

When I was young
I used to read books
About girls who fought along side men
Disguised  
I loved watching them prove themselves equal
In cunning and strength
And then reveal themselves
To have breast and life giving *****

I shouldn't have to be manly
To make you respect me
I command the same respect
in a dress an makeup
As you in your suit
(Or more accurately basketball shorts)
once again it's the twenty first century
I don't need to be as strong as you
To be as valuable

And you're **** right
I'm a feminist

I should really stop
Writing poetry at 1:43
and fantasizing about pouring alcohol in my coffee
And fantasizing about making love to you
and fantasizing.

I should really stop
Spending too long online
and going to sleep 2 hours before my family wakes
and going to sleep (just to wake up a few hours later)
and not sleeping

I should really stop
reading Cummings late
and pouring over Byron late
and pouring over Burns late
and late night poetry readings

I should really stop
listening to death cab sleepy
and listening to brand new sleepy
and listening to la dispute sleepy
And listening to perfect lyrics sleepy

I should really stop
dreaming about love
and dreaming about those who don't love me
And dreaming about those who might love me
And dreaming about you loving me

I should really stop
but I cant seem to stop
any of it

The danger of sleepovers is
I had gotten really good at sleeping alone,
I never missed arms around me
I was comfortable
sprawled out on my little bed (made for one)
with my freedom
I never let anyone stay
...
but now
I kind of wish you were here when I lay down
your arms wrapped around my waist
and now I don't wanna sleep alone
I want you with me...
Is that weird

I wish I could draw hands
There's something remarkable about yours
When you are holding your camera
Or your coffee cup
Or when you lean
against the kitchen door frame
In dawn light
One handed grasp on the pullup bar
And the flow of your forearms
And the way your sleep heavy eyes
Reach mine

I look at you like a painting
I love but can never afford to touch
Walking to the gallery every day
Trying to memorize
The way the light bends around it
Wondering if i can talk the artist
Into giving it to a loving home
For the 50 bucks in my pocket.
I dont have much
...
But this broken mind
And that youve filled it.
Yesterday,
I bartended in the summer rain
And could only remember
that you said
You love to dance.
Nobody
Not even the rain
Compares to you

As a writer
I just want my words to reach out
With nimble hands
And play
the bright strings of light that connect us
Like a harp
To send vibrations through the world
Along these passage ways
And maybe stumble along
Finding the red strings to peoples hearts
And pluck at them lightly
Sending out notes
A bit deeper than before
In hopes of reminding them
How important it is
To feel something .

You are a slow lava flow
hard rock over a
flowing magma heart.

The catch of your breath
feels like a mountain shaking.
You are a calm surface,
a gentle heat,
and every mineral I need.

you may never explode,
but any good geologist would agree
a volcano is the best way to go.

let me die
still studying
the very heart of you,
in 50 years or so.

Intensity in a writer is easy to spot
its in the callus on the finger that braces the pen
Its in the way she cannot breathe
when she looks at you
or until she finishes that line.
It's in the way you lose her for hours
as she writes, or reads, or paints you in poetry.
Its the way she tries to find words
that work better than I love you
Its that her love letters are 4 pages long
its the way she laments not being able to convey
exactly how she feels
its that sometimes her words don't seem to be constructed of ink
but life blood.
and that she is not flesh and bone
but paper and ink
She'll leave bruises with teeth
scratches with too short nails
because for just a moment she wants to consume you
we are all like that
we just want to be in your blood
to infiltrate your mind only for a moment.
It's in that she'll always remember the things that hurt you
every scar you've ever shown.
but not what she had for breakfast
it's her propensity for addiction
she'll say you make her want to be better
do not doubt her
you are the sky, the ink well, the page...
you are every beautiful passage
she doesn't love anything the way she loves words
you are words.... you are the thing itself.
you are the only thing even close in beauty
to the page.

you feel like the light
In the morning
when you just know snow has fallen
and the golden hour of dawn
Is a bit more golden
and the air smells like frozen blueberries
something like the pale blue of your eyes
and you can hear
the fireplace in the next room crackle
and there is hot chocolate on the stove.
something like the warmth in your smile.
Thats something of how you feel
like warm winter blankets
holding me snugly in the sheets.
and a gust of cold
that steals my breath
through the thrown open window.
is something like being with you.

We find between well loved pages
Why do all our hearts beat for them
I grew up with 2 loving parents
Shaped by 4 loving hands
1 half crazy hands
But love all the same
So why do i feel you
Harry, oliver, frodo,
Why do i know...
I guess we all have our abandoment issues
I guess lonely is something we all relate too
I guess i know you
In the back of my mind where we are all
Unshaped, and learning to be brave.

The ice-queen is okay being alone
I miss you sometimes
not necessarily you laying beside me,
or anything like that,
just the way we could talk.
The ice-queen can do what's right
I can leave a boy who loves me
because she lives in my veins
and knows what's best for us both
though not what was easy.
The ice-queen surrounds a heart of fire
she protects it,
but sometimes the ice queen melts
and I peer out,
the ice-queen and I are both sorry

The ice queen melted for one moment,
the second time you said you loved me
I was a fire in your arms.
she came back, avalanche, to carry me
the next moment
when you said you didn’t mean it.
my heart broke the first moment you had it.
I couldn’t make her go again.

Last night I told you I loved you
because the feelings built too high
And I
had been trying to let you say it first
So it wouldn't hurt if you didn't reply
But as I was laying in my bed
my heart was beating fast in my chest
And i could no longer swallow
my esophagus was full up
to the brink
and you were already asleep so
I wrote
All the reasons why
and that i didn't expect you to reply in kind
and i pressed send
i cant remember exactly when
you became the keeper of my heart beat
but i felt you should know
it rest in your hands

I woke up this morning still covered in watercolors,
but I wish it was your sent
not paint which covered my skin.
as the colors splash across the page
washed and faded
I can't forget your vibrancy
with out you so far
everything is watercolor
suggested hues
waiting on a dry brush
to fill them in
and make them glow
yes there is still beauty in the brush strokes
still the eb and flow and nuance
but the moments that shine the brightest
are with you
I need you
you are acrylics to my watercolors

It starts in my in my fingertips
A shaking offness
That spreads to my heart
It beats to fast
Pulsing drum
sickness in my stomach
Spiraling mind
I'd wish you'd call
You won't
You'll hate me forever
You won't love me
No one will love me
Not if you stoped
No one ever
They are lying
I annoy them too all lying
School
Money
Lost
Unattractive
Talentless
Worried
Failing
Everything failing
Can't breath
Won't tell
Everyone will look at me worried
Can't worry anyone
Just sit shaking
Frantic panting
Won't stop can't stop
Panicking
3 days of this
I really wish you would call
That would stop the spiral

The sky, last night as if fell asleep, was the wrong color
i know whats just how light pollution goes
But still i just huddled in my sheets
unsteady breathing
today the sky is silver grey
and the birds are singing their winter songs
I always wonder how the key is never wrong
they are always in harmony.

Last night I told you what I wanted
You seemed excited to comply.
But now I’m wondering
Is it just an act.
Am I ******* with your happiness
With my adventurous spirit
Do my needs cause you
To feel less loved
I wish if I asked you would tell me
I wish you knew
I care about what you need too

I should really drink
Because then the next time we speak
I'll have some excuse for my slurred speech
Besides the intoxication of hearing your voice
and saying your name

Why I no longer lie or change:

I loved a strong man
he made me feel weak
He choked my songs
my voice ceased to sing
I loved a hero
but he zapped my strengths
Took my strong words
broke them beneath his feet
My words for him were love
his were hate
all my insecurities
he said he was trying to push away
until the day
he decided I had changed too much
Because I had changed too much
Changed by every word he said
He decided to break his promise
forget the ring I wore
And take another girl to bed.


There are no good memories of you:

I hate that I can remember being loved by you
The look in your eyes the first time we slept together
it was a January morning you wore a green sweater
I remember how you said our names all mixed together
I don’t know when we changed
but your oh ****, your ending phrase
your truth turned lie
blew back over everything
I have no good memories left of you
they are all tainted by hatred and pain
now I hate the way you said my name
how it was not as safe on your lips as I believed
And I hate what you had made of me
by the end
I hate what we could have been.
I do not hate that we are not
I am glad that you are gone
I only wish that you had thought
to leave my heart alone.


Your bookshelf was too small:

Though your suggestions were good, though you read every classic, though you knew every (over-spoken) line, you knew too narrow a scope. Though I agree that very little remains unspoken after the classic works. Your shelf of scarcely over seven books, and the fact I never saw you read one, should have conveyed to me a point of disaster that I somehow did not see coming. I have drunk in the words of others since I was a child. I have dived in bargain bins and raided library discards for one more book to read. You could have afforded a library beyond what I could have imagined, and your greatest concerns would have been what people thought of the books you kept and if their spines all matched. I have read almost every book on my shelves. I think they number in the hundreds and I have read so many more besides. And you, you disdained new work. Your pretentiousness and pseudo-intellectual paths fooled even me, until I believed that maybe you, with your little shelf, could offer me something I had not yet discovered. I think you thought so too. But my honest thoughts on you loving a writer are that you, with your little shelf and your boxes and your preconceived notions of what people should be, had no way of knowing how to love someone as open as a writer; someone who can turn their whims with the setting of the sun, who can live in worlds you have never seen and longs only to share them. You with your little boxes and your little shelf never deserved my mind or my stories in your life. I am glad my books never found homes on your shelves.

No doesnt mean pursuade me
Doesn't mean kiss my neck
Doesn't mean try to talk me to bed
No means I'm done with this situation
That ive found something new
No doesn't leave it up for discussion
My careful distance
doesn't mean move closer
Or pour me another drink
Or take a salty tone with me
No means leave me alone
I've got somthing else going
Chase your own things
Give me my space...
I'm done
Hes beautiful
If you want to be friends
I'll tell you about him

It is actually possible
to  fight Fire with Fire.
Its a process by which
One's fuel is consumed by the Other.

I remember you in the worst ways
in flesh flayed from my bones
and exposed nerves in my brain
that hang my words.
and stiffen my spine.
and the catch in my throat,
when he asks to hear my music
or to hear me sing
I freeze
and grow quiet because now I'm afraid
though he has kind eyes
one day his words will come harsh like yours
This is your legacy
fear written in my skin
and an inability to let someone care for me.
I'm stuck in this
and I'm so tired of you
being in my head,
that every negative thought comes branded
In your voice.

"love you" slipped out your lips
as you were parting
and I not believing that you meant it
and not knowing what to say if you did
Just stammered out drive safe
all the while
I wanted to lay
my heart in your hands
I don't know if you understand
and i'll take a nap at 10 pm
and have a hard time sleeping tonight
because i still wont know if those words meant
anything.

My heart feels like it's holding its breath.
Like a two year old mid tantrum
and blue in the face,
knowing it can't
hold out
much longer.

He drives a white I've-a-complex sports car,
and wears a jersian leather jacket,
and a tough guy accent.
He ambles, bow legged,to the box office.
The ******* his arm has a kind voice
And gently lit eyes, like flickering candle light.
She ventures a question.
His dismissive tone comes harsh
to her hopeful ears.
I watch the light fade,
Like the candle is in its 7th hour,
now burning low,
and the power, is still out.

You are a ******* tragedy
I don't care
I want to play the female lead.

It took me so long to learn
that being in love doesn't mean
holding tight to each others hands
so you both drown
its letting go so you can both swim to the surface
you are so light
like air for breathing.

I once thought I had never loved
But you
It's true and it isn't
I can remember thinking that I loved before
I can remember tearstreaked eyes
And heart pain
But as I lye next to you
In our bed
The way this feels makes
Every other so insignificant and meaningless
That I know I have only really loved you
You're the only one that matters
A truth I'm finally okay with

I mummbled "what do you want"
Trying to discover how I could please you
In tossed clothes passion
But you responded the next day
With what you want us to be
... and surprisingly
Im okay
With being your anything.
I didnt want to be anything to anyone
But there is something about you.

People seem to have this thing where they want to be the one that leaves. I don’t know if it’s because being left is painful or if it is because being left seems to carry some shame with it. I have no interest in leaving first. I never have. I will leave if I have to but I feel no shame at being left. People seem to think leaving means you won; it means you arose victorious over this relationship. You got out before it dragged you down. In most cases I see the opposite. You see I won the argument that most relationships are famous for: I stayed, I loved you more. When all your words turned to lies in your mouth I stood unwavering in what I said and what I felt. It’s not a pride thing, it’s a me thing. I have no interest in winning by leaving, none in self-preservation, or in dodging pain. I only endeavor to pursue love. As a writer I know there is truth to the idea that love is the driving force of story. I do not seek to cut it short, to lesson my pain or theirs. Whether it’s between friends or lovers, I know it’s going to hurt, I simply do not care.

I'm listening to those old songs again
I've never been on the hurting end
And I cant be
Cause if I hurt you
You won't love me

There used be this radio station
....Until I a w a k e
That played all the songs I really liked
. .....We just ......hope that you
                                                 ma  de it.
But it never came in quite right
We hope that
you're celeb
ratin
g.
But I still used to listen everyday
With peo.   ple you mis...shhhhh/ s.
To the static.
And bur..... li
ke a beaco
n,
Because somehow it was still satisfying
Guidi
ng........... our s
.............hip
And when it would rain,  
aroun
               d this helli
                                sh shoal.
I guess it cut out the interference.
I'm happy to admit that maybe I am a little depressed,
And maybe thats why...
I feel you when it rains
*Cause I'm missing you to death.

You
Blue eyed interpreter
Of my world weary heart

You
Pouring sleep
Into my insomniac world

You
Lending strength
To my ever ebbing self esteem

You
Telling stories
Of adventure you plan for us

You
Ever encouraging
My petty useless talents

You
I love always
Because of who you are
Even more than what you do

My city's streets are in flames
Because injustice and opression
Are far more common in america
Than libery and justice for all.

This summer's almost over
I sit in a south end coffee bar
Wondering exactly what I did
To warrant a fall this hard
I'm writing again
But it's all useless ****
I curse entirely to much
My moods these days lack wit
I'm half angry
Half broken
And two halves sad
That's too much emotion for one person
No wonder I can't sleep
No wonder I'm going mad

On your first date
She will ask your favorite book
And watch your face
like shes trying to memorise the details
She will show you a night like youve never seen
Because she sees everything

You'll know you're dating a writer
Because she is always changing
Understand that in her mind
She is a character always under revision
She will never ask your permission

Youll know you'rw dating a writer
When love moves past infatuation
You'll see her yearning for fire
Kindle that flame
Because she can't live without it
And you will never be the same

I Don't know what to say
When I get home

Did I miss you?
"Yes"
Do I love you?
"Yes"
Do I want you?
"Yes"
Am I staying?
"I dont know"

My mother is hard stone
She is kind hands
Tired of seeing her work
Dashed against harder rocks
I find it hard to believe
I came from her kinda strength
I don't need anyone strength
Guard your heart strength
She called me today
Knowing I was in pain
She spoke to me on a plaintive way
Asking why I let
Myself fall in love so soon
Let yet another boy
Leave my heart bereft
I told her I couldn't help it
That even my broken heart loves completely
She at first tried to talk me strong
Failing that's she said Sweetly
Summer has only 20 days left
Can you avoid another heart break
Before it ends
I told her I would try
And I still don't know if that's a lie

All the questions sit on that mountain top
Running is escapism
hiking is not
my head is full from diving into 1000 inquires
and the momentary silence from my subconscious
You asked what I am thinking
I only think of open sky, and words, and worlds, and you
my mom said i was lucky to find
someone who wanted to know my crazy mind
I am enamored with cliffs,
my fear of heights dissipated
I am falling
not from the cliff, no i walked back down
i am falling in love

Raw garlic as a throat lozenge
tucked into my cheeks
biting down and gaging at the bitter taste
it was starting to grow green
still alive despite sitting on a shelf
a tea of cayenne pepper
and honey
and apple-cider vinegar
and some more garlic for good measure
this is disgusting
and it goes down harder than cheap malt liquor
like going slow
when my nature is to jump in
shouting i love you from roof tops
i dance around it now
because though my nature has been
openness in the past
the pain has closed me up
getting better is an odd thing
its unpleasant
it takes time

It's getting harder to wake up alone
I know we don't sleep so well
in each others beds
But for every moment
I wake up to you smiling at me
as you do in the morning
when the sun strike our faces
I'd give all my sleep
just to feel that precious

Here the sun turns cars to ovens
It melted the red lip stick
You said you liked
On my petal lips

So I bought a new shade
Not the same cherry
But a sanguine red
As if I bit my lip
And ran the blood across the soft curves

If my lip bled
I know you'd lick it off
That kiss would taste
like rain and rust and wet flowers

The point is
I know you'd like this colour
And that makes me smile

I've got whole worlds shaking
a rush of feeling
moving the plates of the planets in my mind
if worlds really exists in there
their denizens are dying
by the thousands
my brain is scrambled and askew
I can't tell truths
I've forbidden lies
I’m left with omissions that rend my insides

If I found those same six songs
If I played them over and over, then,
Would that heal your pain
Could you love me again.
How could you get over me
you who loved me most
finally let go
and I in love
and about to be
pledged to another
as he left
I woke up
uncovered
I never got away from wishing you would be
still in love with me
and when I see you
dearest friend
I still cant breathe.

Laboto ackarine foto
Eone solaeih
I think when my childhood found me
Beneath trees
Building homes for faeries
And praying in ficticious tongues
The forest gods came through
Because you came from somewhere else.

You are a mouthful of flowers
And the way your heart beats like a drum
Im so glad to have you for a moment
Whispering in panicked ears
Please let me keep you

If this is soul mates
I sorta hope ill forget
find someone without "leaving"
marring their kiss
conversely
i sorta hope
that this is soul mates
That when this ends
perhaps
our paths will cross again
That we will intersect
forever
the ropes of an inescapable net
I could spend a life time
bumping into you
And maybe next time
you wont leave when we do.

I can't believe
I let this happen
Twice in a summer
My sutures pulled apart
I can't believe
I let them both
Drive steaks into my heart
****
You hurt me too
My heart's such a ******* fool
I hate him
I hate you
How could you say things so cruel
Why would you
I just wanted to speak
You screamed at me
You didn't care
Didn't give a **** about me
*******
I love you
You don't treat me that way
Because you're broke and hurting
I shouldn't be
Something you just throw away
I cried for him today
For the first time in a while.
And I cried for you too
And the fact you left me hyperventilating on a closet floor
You don't help me anymore
I called to help you
******* for not letting me try
And for making me feel so small

Your heart beats LOUD
Like thunderclap
like things id come to fear
in rougher hands
your lightning lit eyes
remind me that i love storms
In the i used to dance in them way
that i was the bomb at sunday dinner
the passion made thing
you let me be
thank you
thank you
thank you
and you thank me for it
for being what i always was
I lay and listen to your heart and it reminds me
of thunderstorms
when i felt invincible
It reminds me of shouting into the southern sea
against gale force winds
I dont know how to explain
it started this simple thing
it grows everyday
tell me more...youre a book i never want to close.

"I'm going miss you"
Of
     Course
I'll miss you too.
But
      This summer
Reeks with
  The memory of what happened
Especially when you say

"Are you gonna come home
Pack up
Leave"
I wasn't planning to
      I've always loved you
          I've never left you

"Are you ******* your TA"
The actual ****
      Why
I've
never
Given
Anyone else
The time of day.
Why talk to me that way

Im sure it's projection
But give me a breath man
I'm drowning trying make you happy
Your boot prints on my waterlogged shoulders

"Am I excited to come home"
I dont really know
Who I'm comming home to
Anymore
What happened to you

Talking to you,
it’s like drawing breath
like waking up to soft sunlight
and stretching out
feeling for what’s familiar
but different
for what's changed
while I was sleeping
the danger of waking up
is that suddenly
I depend on the sun
even though its been there all the time
its the realization
that its vital
that it warms my limbs
as they stretch hesitantly
into the new morning air
the danger of opening my eyes
is that suddenly i am vulnerable
no longer in sleep-safe dreams  
where all can be experienced
without feeling pain
but with open eyes
I take the risk
I put my heart out
and suddenly nothing’s certain
and I feel like a child
begging the day not to break me
hoping that the dream exist
that you’ll keep feeling the same
even now that I’m awake.