the way the blues

in the sky

mingled with

the ravenous

oranges of the

sunrise

reminded me of

You.

they seemed to

flirt,

mixing in

parts of

the open sky

yet

diverging in others.

they seemed to dance

with each other,

to waltz

a gentle push and pull

across the

sun lit floor.

i always saw

the same beautiful blue hues

within Your words,

yet You saw

no orange

in mine.

i attempted to 

fill

Your space

like a game of 

hole in the wall.

fighting to 

squeeze 

them into the space

You left.

i watched 

as they contorted 

their frames

in efforts to simply

fit.

slowly i realized,

however, 

how impossibly 

unique 

the footprint 

You made

is. 

it's funny how You felt like spring

yet talked so heavily of fall.

​

You had a lightness 

to the way You spoke,

it caused my heart

to yearn for the sun-like heat

You radiated.

​

each word bloomed 

from Your lips and

eventually,

blossomed into more than

simple questions.

​

You had a freshness to

the way You looked at me,

it was an intense green

that revived my heart

from a time of blue.

​

i remember the way the dew

felt,

it was cold

despite the warmth of 

the air surrounding us.

i woke up in the middle of the night

to find my shirt lying next to me.

it lay there face down,

looking pathetic,

looking useless,

looking pointless.

it lay there like You

used to. 

​

someone once told me

that if you wake 

in the middle of the night

it means 

you're being watched.

i've also heard

it means someone is

dreaming of you.

both scare me equally.

​

i remember being young

and being terrified 

of hanging my toes

off the end of the bed.

i thought the vampires

who took the underside of 

my bed to be their 

home 

would bite my toes 

off as a midnight 

snack. 

although i never thought

of myself 

as rather tasty,

i still never took that chance.

​

i remember when my bed

was on the other side

of my room.

that was when it was 

still acceptable 

to pop a high school

musical CD into 

your boom box

and reenact 

the movie scenes 

while standing 

on your bed as if it were a

stage. 

​

i remember when my bed

was simply a place

to dream wild,

exaggerated thoughts,

rather than an oversized

tissue

absorbing all of the 

emotion

pouring out of me like

the downspout on my

house,

the one that my father 

seems to fix 

every fall 

and again every spring

because apparently 

no matter how

many times we 

clean the leaves 

out of our gutters

they still persist in being 

the dirtiest part of 

our houses.

​

i remember when my bed

was just a formality,

something i had to do

in order to 

finally get to tomorrow.

i wish someone told me 

that with age 

the excitement 

turns into dread,

the bedtime stories

turn into secrets 

spilled like tea

by the cat

who decides now really 

is the best time

to hop up onto the counter.

the worst things

somehow

always happen on the 

days you run out of 

paper towels.

it started off as small talk,

conversations that lasted

into hours of the night

that made it feel

as if we were the only 

two people on earth.

it also began with

eye contact,

stares that lingered

a bit longer than were

acceptable 

for people considered

"just friends."

​

we then began sharing 

things that lead

to broken hearts,

we talked about

our pasts,

present,

and future,

the things that

made 

us,

scare us,

things that we 

continue

to lose sleep 

over.

​

it's funny how

hardship

paves the way for

connection.

time spent apart

stopped feeling like 

down time

and began feeling 

like lost

time.

an hour 

was no longer a 

conglomeration of

seconds

but one of seemingly 

days. 

​

You knew me

and i knew

You. 

i knew Your smell, 

Your laugh,

the ins and outs

of what made You

truly furious

and what made

You worked up enough

to simply

tackle me 

in a fit of laughter

and playful

game. 

i knew Your family,

how to make 

Your dog come running, 

leaps and bounds

into my arms.

i could walk 

Your house with

my eyes 

closed. 

​

nothing ever comes easily,

however.

quickly i witnessed 

one year

turn into the next,

slowly losing 

that deep yearning 

for Your touch

when i discovered 

that You knew not 

of my birthday.

i began to 

question

if You really knew me

as i

knew 

You.

​

but like the land

in the distance, 

a rise will fall

only to rise once 

more. 

not being with

You

made a hole

that i had no desire

to fill with 

anything but

You.

​

You told me how

it would be different

and it was,

yet it seemed

that was only 

on the 

inside.

i worried that

i was missing Your 

calls,

only to find 

that You

forgot my number.

​

the playful nudging and jokes

exchanged in the hallways

became hidden i love yous 

only said over the phone,

only said through blue

bubbles that didn't

seem to hold any more 

weight than

the feathers 

filling Your grandmother's 

old couch pillows.

​

it's funny how

nowadays

standing up for yourself

gets you labeled 

a villian,

gets you exiled

from the ones who

accepted you the

most deeply,

makes you question

whether the 

constant

"am i good enough?"

is worth

putting up with

to feel a slight 

connection,

to feel important,

to feel wanted. 

​

who knew small talk

could be 

so dangerous?

​

Life is simply a series of events,

of words manipulated to spur

emotion.

it's things you put out

into space and can never take

back.

​

yearning to be a part of this 

world,

the words melt off my

tongue, listing the thoughts

that circle my mind.

although

their cohesive goal is

lost among the sound,

their message

manages to 

escape.

​

sometimes 

i wonder why

we allow them to decamp

knowing that their

delicate skin is

susceptible to

abuse.

yet somehow,

despite this,

we persist in believing

that we are

innocent. 

You were the summer,
the embodiment of childlike
wonder.

You were the breeze,
running your wispy fingers
through my deep,
umber hair.

You were the sunny days,
ones that would slowly
transition into mysterious
nights.

You were the flowers,
showing me that
life
persists, despite the darkness.

You were the adventure,
coursing through
my veins,
urging me to take
another step.

You were the dinners on the porch,
conversation flowing
from one heart to another
as the sun said its goodbyes
while she tucked herself
behind the
trees.

You were fishing at the pond,
the hope residing in my being
as i slowly reeled,
melting away into the
waters.

And just like the summer,
You came and went
without
warning.

my anxiety

looks like splotches

on my chest.

​

a severe freckling

of misinterpreted conversations

and wrecked nerves.

​

they'll wonder if it's hereditary,

prescribing cream after cream,

lotion after lotion.

​

they want to cover it up, 

pretend it's not there

cause that's what we do,

right?

cause that's what we're taught,

right?

​

they scar me, 

Your words.

​

i wish i could hide the fact

that You've had an effect on me

i don't want to give 

that type of gratification.

​

i wish i could say

it doesn't hurt,

but i am not comfortable lying.

​

Your words sting

like the thorns 

infesting the rose bush

i planted for You.

​

Your words smelled

of oatmeal raisin and cinnamon

when You first spoke,

yet all i feel now 

are the scars of animosity 

on my chest. 

You looked at me and poured Yourself onto me. each drip landed on my chest until my shirt was soaked through. instead of appreciating how the damp fabric clung to my silhouette, i changed my shirt. i was scared that You wouldn't like how the new deep color looked on me. surprisingly, You told me You had never seen such a hue. You told me that You missed the way it looked against my fragile skin.

​

it's funny how colors can leave a footprint in the mind. one day the rosy pink in the sky is simply that. the next, however, it's what makes me think of You. every blue suddenly has hints of pink hidden within its interior. everyone's words stop feeling like fresh green against my ears and begin to feel like that rosy pink from the night i met You. for a while i believed that You felt it as strongly as i did. 

​

sadly, however, i was gravely mistaken. 

Your voice

was smooth.

it wrote into the 

air 

like a ballpoint pen.

​

Your words 

were so incredibly 

deep. 

they reminded 

me of ink,

of spilled ink,

reaching into 

every crack and 

crevice

of me,

of my body and mind.

​

Your existence 

was staining.

it remained

unremovable 

on everything i owned 

and loved. 

​

Your intentions were seemingly as black as the ink i use to write about You.

Thine eyes dost contain a blue

deep and vast as all earthly oceans. 

their icy sharpness hath met my body

like daggers

piercing into mine flesh of ivory.

Wherefore dost i withstand 

the torturous pain of thine beautiest eyes

by choice?

I know not the answer. 

doth the sun hast reason

to its timely rise and fall?

Doth the most trusted of stars

comprehend its importance 

in the hearts and minds of seafaring men?

Nay, regulation of worldly affairs continues

if man, gentle in all,

hast not his hand entangled in it.

Can thine motives be traced back to

young teachings that 

suffering pursues thine own beauty?

Sooth, within that mindset

i hold no stock, for 

at which hour didst beauty 

and love come to the same meaning. 

Hast not beauty 

felt the same as a rose petal to the touch or

to thine eyes appeared as rouge on the

palest of cheeks?

Tis in the palm soft and easy,

but far from enduring like love 

whom hast come dressed in shift

to ponder at the tester

when acceptance it dost not bring 

from thine own family. 

But for thine eyes,

dear gentleman,

upon the details of mine tester 

didst not rest.

Thine self on the balcony 

didst stand gazing towards the moon 

as if thine heart there yearned for another’s

stare to be cast and reflected.