Poetry

Peel open the door on 
the porch,

Come in, with the guise 
of only wanting to 
see the cat.

Take off shoes.

Rub soft fur.

Roll over. 

Lick my hands.  

Hand me a glass of 
water. And

Blueberry tea, 
With lots and lots of 
honey. 

Sink into 
the soft foam of the 
couch. 

Play beautiful melodies, 
on a beat-up CD player.

Talk and talk and talk 
into the wee, 
hours of the night. 

Dye hair, and rub your back. 
Pluck the strings of your 
banjo. 

Here, there’s a 
softness, only possible 
in someone else’s home. 

Here, there’s the college 
memories I was promised. 

The ones I’ll keep close 
to my chest for a long while. 

          

what a fickle existence it 
must be to be a plant?

completly reliant on someone else
to take care of yourself?

sprinklers turned on in
the middle of the rain.

trying to perserve leaves 
autumn colors. 

not wanting them to dry out. 
perpetutal drip from your nose. 

i wonder if you ever think
about me at night?
while staring up at the 
ceiling. 

i wonder if you regret any 
of the things that you did?

it's silly of me to still want 
an apology, but i don't know.

is it wrong to want others to 
care about you?

you're not wilting for them 
to water you. you're wilting 
because you can't photosynthesize. 

does the hurt come from attention 
seeking? or does the attention come 
from the hurt?

because feeling bad is 
all you know. no matter how good
life is. 

you want people to care for
you. because you can't seem to
care for yourself?

if you pull the knife out of
your throat, the bleeding doesn't 
stop. 

what are you supposed to
do when the knife is all you 
know. 

will it always be like this?
will looking up at the stars
always bring you to tears?

cigarette smoke. 
that's all.
tell yourself whatever you want
you can't go back to being 
the analytical untouched child. 

do you want to hurt...
because you feel hurt?
because it's all you know?
because it's familiar?
because you want others to see?

what is it? why do you feel these
things? why does the bad get 
amplified and not the good?
why dwell on things that hurt?

you've become so familiar with 
rumination. 
following you everywhere.
lives with you like a roomate.

make tea so you have someone 
to sit with. 
blow some smoke so you have an 
excuse to cry.
          

under all that ice 
a stream continues to move

the stars that lined the pavement
are gone

but
I still seem to feel
a bit of hope

          

all I can hope for 
is a beautiful autumn, 

with her flittering leaves, 
And sweeping winds, brush my face 
—my only lover 

Twinkling water upon a river 
Delicate
Halo 
when looking through astigmatic eyes 

Hush, 
Drop pebbles in a creek 

Tell me about your tea drinking 
Perfectly melancholic childhood 

Scrape your knees 
Cable knit sweater 
Weather  cold enough to force people to inch together 
Finding hands in each others pockets 

Hope someday I can be someones 
“Beautiful-perfect-special” 

All I can hope for is a beautiful autumn, 
and the chance to do it 
all over again. 
          

Yellow stars line the street. 
It’s warm enough to pretend 
nothing’s ending yet.
I think adulthood might be 
the long apology
we give ourselves 
for needing people. 


          

Hold you in my hands 
Think I’ll pick you apart 

Think ive figured you out 

You belong to me 
You just don’t know it yet 
          

          
kaleidoscope of a life. 

bundled up in heaps of scarves 
tangled-up wires with your mp3 player 

longing to go back to your childhood 

before you worried about wasted potential 

pry your rib cage open and look at a flaming heart 

am i the virgin? 

will you venerate me? 

will i make something of my life?

collages of everything you’ve ever loved before 

roses with prickly thorns 

daydreaming in coffee shops 

you are struggling to grow your little moth wings 

youre taking off, the window’s open

flying out to fall into the same routine 


          

A little pit forms 
At the bottom of my stomach 

Wells up like a seed, 
With its hardened exterior 
I feel it rattling around 

It starts whenever I’m 
Driving home alone 
On a brisk march night 
No music in the car 

Reminding me of 
Vacation, 
With the window rolled down,
The humid wind prickling the skin 

Never returning home

Regretting not doing homework 
And never wanting to see my 
Classmates again 

Starts whenever I’m 
Done away with myself 
And all is still 
And I can no longer focus on 
Anything else but the 
Glowing stars overhead 
And the little pearls that welter 

Or when we’re watching 
Music videos, sat up in 
Your bed newly made and 
You yawn 

And I’m worried I’ll get too 
Attached and loose you too 

A little pit forms 
At the bottom of my stomach 

          

Like the kind in the movies
The kind that doesn’t exist 
Where everything feels perfect and I never ever have to settle or compromise
Someone who loves me for me and what I am, not what I can be 
I want holding hands in sweaters while it snows 
I want kissing ivory lips and tasting sweet cherry ganache  
I want gazing up at the stars on an autumn eve and 
hearing all about the Orión and Artemis and Perseus and 
your plans for becoming a marine biologist, a nomadic theologian, and a best selling author. 
I want listening to music on shared earbuds as we are lovingly confined to a twin size bed 
Feeling secure, feeling safe, and never feeling embarrassed 
Proud of being together because we have 
A love that is our love 
And only ours 
That we don’t share with others because it’s enough for just us 
Sitting together and speaking nothing 
But there is nothing to say 
And you get me 
And I get you 
And we are enough 
          

I wish to be loved in the way a man loves another man 
The way he sighs when he looks at his tender breast and creased trousers 
Although it’s a sin, it is his sin and he loves his partner in a divine way