3 A.M


3 A.M. and I’m wondering if you’re up;

if you’re alive,

holding on by a thread,

like I am,

and the hours dwindle by slowly.


I’m talking to my ceiling,

and thinking it’s you,

yet the ceiling doesn’t

have your warmth

but it has the same blank stare

and pasty coloring.


So, I keep telling it how I miss

the way we would

scribble our names on each other’s hands

and how you’d kiss my cheek softly

or we we’d sit on the roof and

you’d tell me I was prettier than the night sky.


and, I tell it I wish you wouldn’t

have seen me hit rock bottom

I wish I would’ve let you hold me that one night

I told you to go away and never come back

and how you listened…

and I haven’t seen you since.






















I Don’t Know…

I know you don’t understand me,

how I tell you Grecian myths relating to the constellations,

how the smell of books and coffee is somewhat of a drug to me,

how I drift into a eerie silence and I lose myself in a daydream,

how I strive for perfection, but never ask it of anyone else.

I worry too much about everything under the sun.

You tell me to relax, but it’s hard to tell myself everything will be alright.

And, I don’t know if this will work out, but–I’d like to hope it will.






there is good worth fighting for in life,

because it tells you everything will be okay

it’s found in the toothless grin of a child,

the glint in someone’s eyes as they tell you their dreams,

in presents that say, I thought of you today


I let you tell me everything was going to be, ‘okay.’

because, you were my okay

a slight reminder, that the life wasn’t always

long monologues ending in crying

and murky days, dressed with forlorn people
















come back.

i cried on your shoulder during pretty woman.

you cried on my shoulder on the sand.

we suntanned and dreamed of the future.

we read books and listened to music.

we danced and stargazed.

we had deep conversations on late night gas station trips.


i should’ve listened to you.

i was selfish. please come back.