It takes me
three cups of coffee
just to keep myself
from falling back
into my bed.
(It might as well
be my grave)

It takes two more
after that
just to keep me
walking.

And one more,
even still,
to keep my spine
from breaking
beneath the weight
of my burdens.

Everyone wears
their own set of shackles.
Everyone bears
a piece of the sky.
I am not the only one
who is suffering.

But I measure my days
by how many cups
of coffee it takes
to keep myself
alive,

and when I crash
and the night rests
heavier beneath 
my eyes
than it does 
against the stars,

I fall, once more,
into my bed -
a reprieve, a relief,
an act of mercy,
until the cycle repeats
with the rising of another sun.

I was asked out on a date by someone I had no idea liked me.

I mean, you guys, I literally show up to class in exercise shorts and tank tops and I don’t even attempt to look presentable so I mean he must have found something redeeming.

And though I’m smitten by someone else, I was shocked enough by his asking to say yes. So, I mean, we’ll see where this goes because I’m awkward enough as it is and now I actually have to try and look decent.

Halp

You held space
Within your hands,
Controlled the hourglass’
Falling sands.

You rewrote time
And held my heart,
Prevented the horizon
From breaking apart.

The ocean rose
To meet the sky,
The waves ascended
And learned to fly,

And though you gave
Me every single star,
I could not ask you
To love my scars.

Someone told me
I had to let you go
so I held onto you
instead.

I held so tightly
that I allowed your name
to entrench
behind my heartbeat.

It reverberated
deeply within the marrow
of these aching bones
and tore across my veins,

until the very day
it had found its way
to the arteries
in my neck.

And then,
when I had finally
found your whispers
to be silent,

you wrapped my pulse
around my throat
and hung me 
in retribution.

My final breath
held every last bit
of your name,
and it tasted like Autumn.

You had finally
set me free.

I could not tell you
that I loved you, so I wrote
poetry instead.

I’m angered
By the sheer ineptitude
Of my poetry
To write you in such a say
That satisfies my heart.

Instead,
I am bound by longing
And hung with desire,
And you hold the blade
That could cut me free.

I dare not breathe
A word of this to you,
And that abhors me the most.

I’ll rot in my own indecision
And become naught
But the breaking
In the lines of poetry.

Loving you
Is trying to keep
The tide
As it recedes.

Your every word
Rings of goodbye
And still I crave
All that you are.

You are salt
Upon every wound -
A merciless caress
That only wreaks havoc.

And still, and still,
I bare my wrists to you.

I am in agony
And it is
The sweetest
Of my undoings.

I would forsake
Even my pen
If I could hold you
Instead.

Yes, darling,
I would give to you
All I have left to my name,
If only you’d keep it in turn.

But you only ebb from my hands,
And that is the tragedy of it all.

You are the one
I cannot have,
and that is why
I write you so.

Because if I cannot
keep you in my heart,
at least I can hold you
with my poetry.

You’ll fade away
when my ink does,
and maybe then
my heart will be freed.

Until then, darling,
I am a willing captive
to the prison bars
of your name.

Even my epitaph
is going to fade.

What will keep me, then,
if not even stone
can carry the weight
of my words?

Oh-
darling
I am over
falling for you.

I miss my own
steady steps,
and my shoulderblades
are exhausted
from being so tense -

I cannot keep praying
to grow a pair of wings
when not even the stars
can keep from falling.

This world be damned
and all the loneliness in it -

I love you, terribly much,
more than any letter
could hope to define.

But I cannot keep writing
to a pair of hands
that will not hold my poetry.

I am leaving, love.
I have crash-landed
and have broken my spine,

but I can walk away,
I will walk away,
from the wreckage of my love,

And I will carry 
every fallen star
with me when I go.

She warned me, you know.

She said people like you
would come and go
like the sea breeze -
enough to fill the lungs
with wanton longing,
but never enough
to bring the tide to my toes.

I never knew of the ocean
except for the ones
I imposed within your eyes.
How beguiling you were,
with false promises
that wove the sunlight
on fading sheets of poetry.

I had thought that I found
a fallen star.
(you were a sunset, darling.
beautiful, still, in your goodbye)

But oh, what a fool I was!
I had not remembered
what else she had said -
the tide only knows
how to recede,
and, with greedy palms,
take pieces of the shoreline
with it to its grave.

He’ll leave you hollow.

She warned me, you know.

I still thought the marrow
in the creases of my spine
could stand the weight of the skies.
Maybe that’s why I find myself
upon my knees.

Will you love me, still,
long after I’m gone?

When the Earth
erects a stone
bearing my name,
and tucks me in
to sleep beneath
a Willow’s shade?

And even long after that,
when the Willow 
winds its roots
across my chest
and swallows
what is left
to my heart?

And even after
Spring has grown
wildflowers from my hands
and Winter has stolen
them away,

will you love me
even then, darling?

When not even
the flowers,
the letters,
my tombstone
can stay?

The only names
that will ever matter
are those sewn
in the seams 
of your poetry.

The names belonging
to every soul 
who had a hand
in keeping you
from your knees -

the whispers,
the pleas,
the quiet confessions
that begged you
to stay.

Those are the people,
the only people,
worthy of the weight
they hold
within your chest.

Those who allow you
to carry pieces of them
with you to your grave -
those are the people
who attend your funeral,

and love you enough
to not allow your memory
to die
whenever it is
that you do.
 

One day, 
I am going to find a way
to make you love me.

I’ll hold whiskey in one hand
and you in the other,
and maybe then, just maybe,
I’ll be happy.

This solitude has built my soul
with blood and spilled ink.
The ghosts in my lungs
awaken in the mo(u)rning,
but the tears are imprisoned.
I am the jailer that locks them away
behind gritted teeth and beguiling smiles.

Yes, perhaps I am beautiful
and one day, you will think so, too.
But when I have you, darling,
rest assured -
I am going to leave you
hung high and dry.

Count the steps I take away from you
as I saunter into the sun.
I need nothing 
but the skeletons in my closet
to keep my heart content.

Whiskey is overpriced, anyways.