Poetry

The rain reminds me of you,

the way it pours down hard and fast,

then slowly becomes lighter,

and lighter,

until you're gone,

leaving me with the puddles to keep me company.

I love you yet

I can’t stand you

I need you yet

I push you away

I treasure you yet

I want to leave

You’re a liar who

Broke my heart

And

You’re the very thing that might

Lie awake tired, won’t go to sleep, regret it in the morning,

repeat. 

I try to break the cycle, 

but then something stops me.

Oh wait, it was just myself, again,

like always,

but I'm stuck and

You asked me to stay 
As you gazed into the future 
Longing once more

Turning the handle

Feels like mornings up too early

Stepping into the steam and heat

Warmth against the cold chilly mornings

Frost on the ground

Feels too early for colored leaves

Because they mean change

"When did all our lessons start to look like weapons pointed at my deepest hurt?"

You spoke of mistakes, things to fix, things to grow from,

you choose the coldest seat in the class

next to the tall pretty girl

with a gleaming smile and long, straight flowing hair.

taking one good look at her you already know her story.

Space has no voice,
no light.
The cosmos:
a cathedral
with no choir.

But I hear the galaxies

sing,

a medley of choruses
all at the same time,
with you by
my side.

You shatter

the world was gray and cold when i rolled out of bed,

the first frost of the season just barely

kissing the ground. i tied the morning 

into shoelace knots and hugged forgiveness to my chest.

"Why is your foot there"

"I have long legs"

Every exchange

Every feisty back-and-forth it's just

Me

Connecting the only way I know how

Simultaneously protecting myself

And bringing you in

Is this love?

This riding every high

And crashing burning like a sugar rush gone wrong

It's so weird

So elated

And then so depressed

I soak my pillow with tears and giggles

In 12 days it will be November 14th

I have no reason to care about November 14th

and I have every reason to write a poem about it.

Maybe by November 14th, I won't drive 70 miles an hour

past the gun shop on Route 2