She was always my favorite –

I’ve heard people say your first love is when
Your brain flings out of the stratosphere,
And you hallucinate hearts dancing around
Her body, singing a joyous tune in 
A gibberish language spoken by the love struck.
You believe you can fly because your 
Heart leaves your body and begs to her,
“Please, choose me, see me, love me!”
Pleading that her own slumps out of her
Chest cavity with a grin and agrees. 

You swoon over her like a drunken tree branch
On the road less taken. The brambles leaving
Warnings of heartbreak with each little scrape
As you rush to see the end of the journey. 
The adrenaline pumping through your veins 
On a permanent sugar rush from the 
She-smiled-at-me-and-now-I-need-to-kiss-her
Berries you ate along the way. 

You try to get her attention to the double rainbow
That hovers over you like a halo. 

But it takes a moment to realize
Ultimately, it could have never happened.
The second I chose to hide away in
The bathroom late at night when I was 
Exhausted from having a 
Ripped to pieces personality- a
Fragmented sense of self.
Little did I know it would be 
You searching for me. Now I’m

Eternally bound to your 
Flaws that infect my own personality,
Forcing me to live out your mistake. 
Every day. I want to forget that I 
Can’t take any of myself back. I want
To forget everything you did to me.

You are starting to learn the difference now.
Between delusion and misguided hope.
Delusion was believing being dismissive
Of a tortured body was a better gift
Than having to see where the handprints stayed.
Hope was thinking that you could 
Forget the reason why I’m here and let me stay.

I was more than a subconscious voice. 
I would make you feel better, feel something.
I was there for you when your world
Collapsed and the ruble pinned you down. 

I may just be another persona to keep you safe,
But I saved your life, and you can not forget that. 
I did not die to exist in only a shattered memory. 
Please, do not forget me.

I am fatally allergic to pollen-
But for you, my virulent flower, 
I will inhale each baneful minute scent.
I will adore every dwindling moment of it.
When you beckon I will return for the reminiscence
Even if it means a continual death.

 

I may not be running out of time-
But I'm running out of shelf space
to keep all of these thoughts.
The weight limit has passed the last pound.
The memory of imagination can
go in the trash to be burned- can't it?
If my therapist saw it all
he would call me a hoarder (in sweeter terms.)
Sugarcoat it like every sad momentary thing
I have to say to him once every four weeks. 

What a pity it is to look forward
to college and a stable job-
But what if the job becomes only
something I have and not
something I truly want?
Isn't that the thing with people nowadays?
We'll see a catalog and shout, "Daddy please!"
We buy all these things and then it's
never enough so we get rid of it- then
replace it with more and more and more-
Then it gets to the fact
that in the end, we can't buy time
no matter the highest bid!

So maybe I am running out of time

I felt your footsteps on the stairs again –
I heard the creaking from the wood.
Daddy, this house is banal and rusting –
It badly needs some polish and oiling.

The paint on the walls is flaking off
And every deadly fume I breathe in –
I exhale in a lovely grey smoke ring
And twirl around thinking it’s winter's greeting.

The corners' shadows protrude on walls –
Casting darkness on past family pictures.
I light candles to avoid drowning. 
Daylight savings is time spent wasting. 

When it shivers the shutters tremble –
Leaving us scavenging for the covers.
The cold water dripping down from the ceiling –
This is the epitome of the winter feeling.

 

my dear, we are the romantics-
we are the tingle in spines-
the rush in the stomach of blossoming lovers-
the citrusy taste of a future
spent in butterfly gardens
while leisurely drinking wine- 
my love the scholars will claim 
we were only friends who 
shared not only a bed- 
but a kitchen, a home, an undying love-
and say we were just roommates
 

Climb into our bed beside me.
Let's tangle up like yarn in a basket- 
Carefully knit together my hands 
To yours- mindlessly leave notes  
With a sultry undertone
In your kisses- rid my scars with your
Soothing touches. I am no longer in
Purgatory when we are one.

 

Death is a homeless cat
Sleeping outside your door- hesitantly
Prowling on the porch, while
Searching for its ultimate owner.
It begs for leftovers,
Mewling in desperation
For shelter from the cold.
Clawing to be coddled
As if it’s your own kin,
Longing for a love unmatched. 
Before I lay myself to sleep, 
I repent for not opening the door.
I want to stay a little longer. 

 

If I gave you the keys
Would you settle down in my money pit heart?
She’s a fixer-upper,
But you always loved the feeling of a hammer.

Together we’ll work these calloused hands –
Compose a home fit for the two of us.
Ignite a fire in the hearth, then slip on our cozy socks –
Settle down and let the seasons change –
While our love remains, always the same.