Monday, November 25, 2013


When Loneliness visits
he sits down awhile,
I’ll offer him some tea
and perhaps I’ll enjoy the visit
because he always leaves me
better, braver

But he always stays longer than I plan
and I run out of things to give him – 
to distract him with

I’ve got songs for him, the sad ones
those make him go away
if the lyrics hit him softly and precisely

I’ve got poems for him to read
those satisfy him on occasion
if the words are just right

And when all that fails,
I’ve got people, people to introduce
people that scare him off
for days

But then – sometimes  
the songs, and poems, and people
aren’t enough
And he listens to Bright Eyes with me
and sings along
And he reads Sylvia Plath over my shoulder
and stays for every heavy word
He even accompanies me in crowded rooms
an invisible observer,
only whispering to me

like a ghost on my shoulder, in my ear

And I'm starting to think I'll befriend him,
even if the thought of him shakes me

Loneliness must be my friend  
after all
if he is the one that always stays
I know him well
after all this time
and I'll have to be his friend for now
if I'm going to be happy.

Saturday, November 16, 2013

Little Moving Picture

Last night I saw two shadows,
one slight and one steady
muffled by curtains,
painted in lazy lamplight, 
framed by bricks
a little moving picture

a post card for my secret self,
of what things could be
it could be me in the foggy glass
some version of me
that found you
and you could come to me
every evening

- and our shadows could dance,
and light up the window
again and again
our shadows would seem heavy
on cold nights
and thin in the summer

sometimes they won’t match
- mine will sag close to the sill
yours might seem fuzzy and far
but they will always meet
slip into each other in the end
every evening

in our little moving picture.

Sunday, November 10, 2013

How it can be:

It can be awkward. 
It can be unsure and uncomfortable, 
as long as it's authentic. 
But I want it to be inevitable, 
from the moment we speak to each other 
- not see each other - 
because that's different. It can be infatuation. 
It can be lust at first; 
but not for appearances. 
Lust for the way I immediately need to talk to you. 
Lust for the way you laugh, a long time, over something I say. 
Lust for our ease - how easy it is for you to touch me 
- how electrifying it is to touch you back. 
That will be easy. It will always be easy, for us, physically 
- but at some point you will have to untangle me, 
and I am sorry you've got to do that. 
You will have to be brave and search the darkest corners of me 
- and I'll have to be brave and look inside you as well. 
I'll hope for some bruises to match my own, 
but I'll want to fix them, and if I cannot fix them I will love them. 
You will do the same and you will want me more 
when you know about my mistakes and my fears. 
You will give them new names so that they are no longer flaws. 
When I am not myself you will love me until I am again. 
And you will always find me 

because we have the same hiding places.

Saturday, November 9, 2013

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

the monsters

I’ve got to let the monsters out
or they’ll eat my insides:

If I let them stomp around on paper
they’ll stop their stomping in my skull

I’ve got to let the aching be real
or I’ll lose my mind:

If I hit the walls so my knuckles go blue
then it will only hurt for a while

I’ve got to let the noise out
or I’ll stop hearing things at all:

If I scream till my lungs are empty paper bags
it might be still for once in my chest

I’ve got to sort some things out
or the silent weight will crush my spirit:

If I make the invisible things into pictures
I might start to see what’s the matter with me.

Monday, September 16, 2013

for Hannah

hallways, heartbreak, and horror films
sleepovers sleepovers sleepovers
sexual frustration
but hopes, and dreams, and plans

texting, talking, teasing
you feel the way I do?
someone to tell those hopes,
and dreams,
and plans

smashing a boy's last name to your first
we would do it again
and again
whispering, laughing into the dark

graphite-coated hands
from notes in math class
doodles doodles doodles
I still have them filling my drawers

we stayed up to fight the monsters
the zombies, boys, and insecurities
we cried too much and laughed till it hurt
burned journals and bridges

ate too much
slept too little
feared the future
loved each other

happy birthday my Hannah

Monday, August 26, 2013


someone is going to love it
they will love it when you cry over nothing
(and everything), all at once,
because they know it’s all too much for you
and they will love to hold you
when it’s all too much, they will
think you’re silly and sad and lovely

someone is going to love it
when you sneeze because you’re allergic
to daisies – such a cliché –
but you sneeze honestly
and you like the way it feels
to be bunched up inside like an accordion
and then ring out all messy and unraveled

someone is going to love it
that you have those sad, dark eyes
and just one dimple that only shows
when you smile hard
and when you laugh hard
(that ugly loud laugh)
they will love when it makes them laugh too

someone is going to love it
the way you demand a kiss on the forehead
and a kiss on the cheek; each one
to be even,
and the way you say, “I love you”
too many times
in a day

someone is going to love it
how excited you get when your nails grow long
because you’ve forgotten to bite them
or painted them black, again
how excited you get about dogs
and that you let them lick your clean face
but hate when people touch it

someone is going to love you
the best and worst bits
because the worst bits are you too
so someone is going to hate it
when you think you aren’t enough
because you are
all of you

enough for someone