i gave you everything
just to make you whole
and then you left me
and now i wander
like a ghost
just searching for some place
because your door
is closed to me.
i hope you remember to bring the flowers.the stars whispered late
as we lay beneath their
"what if i die today?" you asked.
and i told you in that case,
i'd see you by tomorrow.
friday night.on our first
you took me to a cemetery
just outside of town.
i guess you wanted to
what you would do to me.
rain.i still have buckets in my room
from when you poured your heart out.
plastic pails full of pain and love
and lust and tears and names and smiles.
i don't know why i keep them...
maybe i hope one day you'll come back
to claim them.
or when i'm being really dumb
i let myself hope that you'll come back anyway
this can't be pain, it hurts too much.i always fall addicted
to dangerous things,
but at least cigarettes
warn me on the label.
your smile read only innocence,
but i guess that's my fault
you don't need stars with city lights.i love the city,
because you introduced us.
your apartment was on wycliffe avenue,
a rectangular gray-brick building
that was our make-shift castle.
i could stay up all night
sitting on the fire-escape
and watch waves thrash within the harbor.
long after midnight fled
and we were still curled up
on your couch
my parents would call to ask me where i was,
even though they already knew.
late night sirens
and insomniac car horns,
mixed with your measured breathing
became a lullaby
that lured me to sleep
admists the ivory sheets.
i would always wake
just before dawn
and wait for the sun to rise
so together we could watch you awaken.
and even as i said goodbye
i was leaving my jacket
hanging on the kitchen chair
just to have another excuse
to come back.
meadows.you only ever picked dead flowers
because you wanted to leave the living ones
for others to admire...
i guess that's why you chose me
over everyone else.
december.and when they take me
to the morgue,
will you see the difference
between my skin and the sheet?
and when they close my eyes
please be standing over me,
so that your face
will be the last thing they see.
and when those tears fall
down from your face
pour them on my lips,
so i can take you with me.
and when they look away
caress my bloodless face,
give me one last gush of
and when they bring the casket
gently tuck me away to sleep,
read me one last story
from that book atop the shelf.
and when they place me in the ground,
beneath six feet of dirt,
leave your footprints in the snow
and please don't let them melt.
and when I fall to hell
i'll be waiting at the gates,
but darling please take your time
there is no need to rush.
can be the painter,
paint words on my lips.
will be the writer
and write kisses on your skin.
Empty Pages.You are the perfect story,
A plot unfurling from your touch,
And poetry in your eyes.
You speak with golden glory,
Into sentences of hate,
And promises of lies.
You are the book
I never had the words to write.
numb.i'm left standing in the rain,
holding every death like a bouquet of flowers,
but damn aren't these daisies
Art Hurts.I fell in love
with a painter
who loved his art
more than anything
A painter fell in love
with a poet
but I focused on my art
more than anything
We never had time
to love each other
because canvas and parchment
lured us away.
We only met
when I would sit for a portrait,
or he would pose for a poem.
Love is such a pretty
but the pain,
of which we had an abundance,
forged art so profound
that it's a wonder
we're both still
how to love a boy who is lost.fall
like you're jumping from a cliff
into a thrashing sea whose waters you cannot tread,
dive into their depths and fill your lungs with waves.
just don't close your eyes,
because you have to search for him.
feel your weight drag you to the bottom,
feel the ocean embrace you
and don't be afraid of that pounding in your chest.
each heartbeat is sonar
a signal calling him and his calling you.
learn to swim now
if you drown you cannot save him.
swim to the fallen cities,
the submerged castles
and maritime gardens.
there you'll find him,
lost in thought and studying the fish.
i hope you saved some oxygen
so you can breathe during the kiss.
you're so blind.here i am drowning
and you have no idea what to do,
you're so lost
why don't you take your hands
off my shoulders?
i dreamt i was in the city.concrete lungs
exhaling cigarette whispers,
and neon eyes.
hands like whiskey
spilled across the floor
and lips like feathers
falling to the
dark spaces and vacant streets,
and swelling years.
here's the city,
i can't wait to get lost.
some words on bones.and you would always trail
a gentle fingertip
along my thinly veiled ribs
that rose up to the surface
when i inhaled your world.
i loved the way your hipbones
would protrude with marble glory
as you lay upon your back
and dreamed all the while
we stayed and watched the stars.
it was upon my collarbones
that you left tender trails
of reddish-purple bruises
whose presences made us laugh
in the morning
when we saw your lips' footprints.
the sharp and defined line
of your perfect jaw
always left me speechless
as i watched them hinge
everytime you spoke,
i guess my words
got sucked into your throat.
you said that the bones
in my hand
would always quiver when i got nervous
so you grabbed my fingers
and held them tight
"structure," you whispered;
and now that structure
so maybe when we die
they'll pile our bones together
and grind them into sand
that blows along the
NothingI heard someone sarcastically sputter,
"You are what you eat."
But hearing that sole sentence
allowed me to finally understand
why I am
what I am:
What I Gave YouI gave you my time
And you wasted it
I gave you my love
And you ignored it
I gave you my heart
And you broke it
I gave you my soul
And you lost it
I gave you my life
And you sent me to Hell
TonightBring me to life
With your touch.
Love me now,
Forget me later.
Set me on fire
With your lips,
Into my soul.
At least for tonight,
Let me feel again.
Don't become an artistFor you will look at love as abstract art.
You will look at the sky as a canvas to paint your heart
Feel raindrops ink your skin with poetry.
You will draw curves out of straight lines
You will make sense out of slant rhyme
Call empty space, a place to contemplate
And fill walls with kaleidoscope memories
You will inject beats in your veins
And get high on good music
You will dance to the pitter-patter of rain
and sing of melancholy and pain
You will taste ink in your first kiss
After which, you’ll ask the weirdest questions.
You will make a carbon copy of the intellectual conversations
You had on your first date.
You will see depth in his eyes
Depth, you’re ready to fall into.
You will love his every word-Truth or lies
For you will be a victim to metaphors and similies.
You will live in your tiny world of stories
And when someone out there, outside your own bubble
Of profound thoughts and fantasies
Share the same story, you let them write yours too.
You let them read your
a poem about too many people and too much heart.you were my
conclusion- the last paragraph
and the last thing
i got to say.
i loved you and i
took words from
between my eyelashes and i
put them down for
you, i took you apart
a million times
in my mind and always put you
and i drew
you, soft and silhouetted
window, the pane
foggy and i thought of you
in the darkest of
times, because i kept telling myself
that you were the
light (like you
i know that i am just
a girl with
too much heart and
too weak of ribs; but
i was hoping
that you would help the foxes
hunt the hounds, just for
I Loved A GirlI loved a girl – she smelled like August melancholy,
she carried the scent of festival emotions,
tempered by the midnight flames
and fireflies' glow.
I loved a girl – her hair, the gentle hue of embers,
reflected dancing candlelight,
while in her eyes, as brown as mahogany,
I discovered tiny galaxies,
but most importantly – I saw my smile.
I loved a girl – I sensed her heartbeat,
playing to the rhythm of my breath.
Her every word,
imprinted tender cherry blossoms,
onto my soul.
I loved a girl – her lips tasted like morning air
cool against my heavy forehead,
her skin, softer than satin threads,
played games with the waning moonbeams -
its gravity, I could not resist, like the Sun,
cannot escape the zenith, on Summer solstice.
I loved a girl – she made me happy,
and sadly - I love her still.
a little more
(or maybe we'd just go broke).
knots in forget-me-notsi even
tied knots in forget-me-nots
and in strands of your hair.
(my grandfather taught me how and why to tie them
and his handkerchiefs became more and more knotted each day.
he had to remind himself to take in the post and then to make toast
until he forgot how to even tie knots at all
and then eventually forgot how to breathe).
you bought me freesias and roses and carnations
but all I ever wanted was for you to reciprocate
my palmful of dying forget-me-nots with bunched up stems.
(when my mother’s comb bit into my scalp,
tears sprung to my eyes, and the teeth caught on knots
like electric shocks,
but i stopped feeling ugly when she told me that fairies had been there,
swinging and dancing on strands like streamers
around the maypole of my lips)
i tied knots in forget-me knots
and in strands of your hair,
but you still forgot how to love me.