we’ll be poetry.

I get tipsy off tea samples, and you don’t mind at all.

I sang along to the song in the car, and you laughed at my dramatic reenactment.

I am raw at midnight, and we sit and talk on the couch.

I communicate with you through glances, smiles, and winks.

Someday, we’ll drive to the best place to watch the sunrise, and order cappuccinos at a drive thru.

We’ll name the stars, and you’ll paint the sun coming over us.

We’ll forever be set in poetry.

 

 

 

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innocence.

Her hands have a slight tremor. “Stop that; I am in control,” she whispers to them. They have words written in pen–smudging on the ends–all over them. People tell her the ink will poison her, and she just laughs.

Her eyes are held open by mascara and cups of coffee. No cream, no sugar, she likes the bitterness.

She hums something under her breath. A song from some distant memory. That Ben Rector song that made her smile and cry at the same time.

She’s been heartbroken, but the broken heart is fixed with a little tape and glitter glue.

Her taste is eclectic; never fit into a box. Her room is littered with pictures of old memories; movie tickets, polaroids, letters, journals, and glass figurines. Her stuffed animals lined up on a shelf, and she kisses their cheeks when their eyes droop.

Maybe, she never grew up. She got taller, wears makeup, smiles when she’s told, strives for better grades, fell for boys, and felt her friends maturing day by day.

But–she would still hug the tree in the front yard, or dance along to her favorite songs when everyone else told her to stop.

She watched the city the other day. She drove her mother around, and she realized how alone she felt now.

So many people were gone; some by choice, and some because life is full of chapters. It seemed the town’s population of kindred spirits dwindled daily.

And, tears blurred her vision as she sped along the highway.

Growing up wasn’t what she always expected it would be…maybe she never would be everything they wanted. Maybe, she would always push boundaries, and always get cut from pushing the envelope too much.

That was alright. And, maybe people would keep leaving, because of college, jobs, and responsibility. And, maybe new people would appear and they’d make unforgettable memories together as well.

So, she still hummed the Ben Rector song, and tapped her trembling fingers to the piano playing in her mind, and tried to think of a time where innocence and happiness were second nature.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

fight time.

We sat side by side in the dressing room,

tears streaming down our faces,

broken, bleeding, crying for help;

you held my hand, and said we had to stay friends,

fight time,

fight the impending pages rustling by quickly…

too quickly.

I want to freeze time and stay with you.

I want to miss you every time I see a blonde;

to keep writing you letters with ‘I love you,’ implied in every line.

Life is cruel.

I won’t let it take you from me.

I love you too much.

 

 

 

it’s been a long month.

the girl pays for her coffee with quarters,

her trembling hands grasping for another cup,

alone, she sits.

the seat across is empty, someone once sat there

the coffee runs down her throat, and warms her heartless body.

it’s been a long month.

 

the breath is knocked out of her,

as she watches couples hold hands

a tear escapes, and she scolds herself

too attached; she got too attached

she shoves the emotions away

it’s been a long month.

 

dear someone, she writes in her journal

why am I alive?

because, all I do is disappoint

and I break beautiful things

I wonder if there a point to this pain?

it’s been a long month.

 

and, the seconds creep by

slowly, the days muddle into night

she tells the moon about her failings

slowly, the nights drift into day

and she plods along whispering as an excuse,

it’s been a long month.

 

 

 

past tense.

The Neighbourhood came out with an EP,

and I thought of you…the days we would sit in your brother’s Subaru, and sing the lyrics to The Beach.

You’re right…I’m abrasive, cold, and suppress emotions. I don’t want to hurt the people around me. I don’t want to disappoint.

When you wrote it though, I cried. I just realized how you actually saw me. And, I know you saw how I actually saw you through my words.

Maybe, we were spiteful. Or, maybe we meant it. I can’t tell if I did or not, and that’s why I haven’t called.

I’m sorry. Because, I miss you but I know I screwed up, and that our friendship is a thing of the past.

It’s hard using past tense. Was and were are such devastating words.

Maybe, we can visit present tense one day. If that’s alright with you…

 

anne & diane

I want to go back to when we were kids,

drunk on sunshine and sugar

rhyming poetry, because we were novices and thought poetry had to rhyme.

Linking arms; never separated for too long.

Anne and Diane.

We took the world, and made it our own.

 

Now you’re off on the west coast–

where I always thought you belonged–

but since you left, there’s a hole in my heart

and it grows every day.

 

No one corrects my grammar,

reads my stories,

listens to the chaos of my life,

shares milkshakes with me,

reads the same books as me,

shows me an amazing new song,

shares a twin bed with me,

holds me when I’m crying on the church floor.

Only you.